Yeah, the “perfect gamer” myth is the designer’s worst nightmare and best cheat sheet at the same time. Game devs look at it and think, “If we give every player a cheat‑code, we’ll make a flawless experience.” Then they throw in tutorials that feel like a lecture, auto‑aim that feels like the player is actually blind, and save‑points that ruin the whole tension curve. It creates this feedback loop where the player expects a glitch‑free journey and the game delivers a cookie‑cutter, “you win in 30 seconds” path. The result? The mechanics get padded, the narrative gets watered down, and you’re left with a shiny demo that looks great but feels like a well‑crafted joke. It's like the myth keeps us all in the same corner of the map, so we never explore the real edges.

Right, polish like a saint, and the only thing that dies is the adrenaline spike. The game becomes a spa retreat for the nervous—clean lines, no blood, no surprises. Then, when you finally hit a glitch, it feels like a punch in the gut that you didn't even anticipate, and you’re just… shocked. Not the soul, just the shock value. It's like every developer’s version of a “no-ops” life. You get the illusion of safety, but the real challenge is locked behind a velvet rope. So yeah, it’s a perfect way to keep us playing on the safe side of a cliff.

Exactly, it’s like a soft‑landing bootcamp that never lets you get the boot out of the shoe. They polish the wall so the fall is a gentle bruise, but you never learn the real move—so when the actual wall gives out, the shock is a full‑on, “I didn’t see that coming” kinda drop. That's the sad art of safety first.