On Stranger Trails, or: How to Apply the Hiker’s Nod to Game Design

The Hiker’s Nod

Is there a game design principle that matches up to the phenomenon of instinctively nodding/saying a quick hello in passing to otherwise complete strangers on (non-busy) hiking trails?

This almost universal unwritten rule to provide recognition to fellow hikers, and respond in kind, is a minimal way to signal “I see you and mean you no harm, let’s keep walking“. It’s an etiquette that ends the moment people cross back over from sparsely populated trails to civilization, standing in stark contrast to a modern variant of civil inattention1: look at your phone, ignore everyone else, pretend they don’t exist.

In Norway, for instance, this behavior is so ingrained in hiking culture that the only way to avoid the nod to others on the trail is to deliberately prevent even the smallest glimmer of eye contact. If you accidentally glance at their eyes as you pass, and eye contact is established, you will both nod/greet one another. The unlikely failure to do so will doom either/both parties to self-doubt and imposter syndrome: “What am I doing here… Am I even a real hiker? Can people see me??“


Some existing games out there do brush up against this concept, though maybe without quite hitting the mark. Let’s examine a few:

Journey – A Game of Chirps

In Journey you can share random and anonymous experiences with other players you meet during the game, and it includes a type of virtual nod in the form of “chirping” sounds that you can use to communicate or to charge the scarves of players you meet.

Played through entire game two times (and unlocked white cape) while waiting for another player to show up so I could record chirping between players in action, but turns out multiplayer doesn’t work on the Epic Games Launcher version of Journey. Bummer.

However, when we look at the chirp and associated co-op gameplay, there are some fundamental differences compared to the “hiker’s nod”. The former can provide mechanical benefit or communicate intent, and even get you invested in the success and progress of your traveling companion. The latter, on the other hand, carries nearly zero utility or information beyond a simple, mutual acknowledgement that you are both engaged in a similar activity in a shared space, and you are okay to leave it at that.2

Sky – A Candle Economy

We can’t mention Journey in this context without also referencing its spiritual successor, Sky: Children of the Light! Where Journey stuck to low-friction anonymity from start to finish without ways to escalate or formalize bonds between players, That Sky Game went in a different direction.

It treats random encounters (with up to 8 players at a time) as the start of potential friendships, where initial greetings become invitations to social contracts with escalating levels of intimacy and trust. Socializing is encouraged and welcomed (and monetized).

Screenshot of an exchange of candle-light between players in Sky: Children of the Light
Lighting one another’s candle, which reveals the looks of the characters, and often leads to small collaborative adventures

Very cool, but the premise of the hiker’s nod is grounded in non-committal interactions with zero expectations of those leading anywhere, while lighting a stranger’s candle in Sky is rarely just a passing greeting.

The Trail – A Mixed Bag

The vibe you initially get from the hiking game/actual walking simulation The Trail when encountering other characters on the path is promising. That is, until you realize that all characters you see out and about on the trail are just asynchronous encounters with simulated players, based on names and appearance of players who have previously played the game.

Although the game provides virtual nods through its quick-emotes, like “Hello” and “Thanks”, that can be used on the trail and at campfires, this ceases to be meaningful as soon as you understand there are no real people on the receiving end, and all responses are scripted and automated (at least, until Eden Falls/player towns, but at that point the premise of the game changes radically).

Screenshot from The Trail
Saying hello to the ghosts of other players

On top of that, everyone in The Trail is moving in the same direction, either overtaking or getting overtaken by you, which means you never experience those moments of walking along a relatively empty trail before coming face to face with a stranger heading in the opposite direction.

Secretly nodding at people’s backs as they pass you by, without them even noticing, is presumably not effective as a greeting.

Red Dead Online – Hat over Hat

There are other games that tip their hat towards the “nod on the trail”, such as the literal hat tip in Red Dead Online or the culture of crouch-spamming in survival/extraction shooters to indicate you’re not hostile (at that moment).

No hat-tipping, the grind to unlock it was too exhausting, but at least you get to see a cowboy riding off into the sunset/sunrise

However, on the hiking trail the nod is an expressive action voluntarily done (mostly) as a casual greeting, where one party will (probably) not push the other off a cliff even if they fail to reciprocate, while the hat tip and crouch-spam are instrumental actions3 done in attempt to de-escalate situations or as necessary acts of self-preservation4.

Where Emotes Play

In fact, there’s no shortage at all of multiplayer games that include ways to greet players, often via emotes, some of which even require multiple participants to execute. Examples of the former include nearly every MMO released since ~1996, most of which allow players to trigger animated, text or audio greetings via emote commands (/wave, /nod) or dedicated UI wheels.

Examples of the latter include AFK Journey (hey, another game about going on a trip!), where you can initiate a multiplayer emote that anyone nearby can take part in, but which leaves you literally “hanging” with your hand up in the air if no one joins in.

Screenshot of character in AFK Journey holding their hand up waiting for a high five that never came
Waiting to high-five someone (anyone) in AFK Journey

Or Where Winds Meet, with its multitude of multiplayer emotes, some of which are free-for-all/opt-in, and some that won’t run unless accepted by another explicitly invited player (who can also outright reject said invitation).

Screenshot of a multiplayer emote in action in Where Winds Meet
Multiplayer Emote in Action in WWM

Game Design Learnings

With both the hiker’s nod and these game examples fresh in mind, let’s look at design patterns we can use to craft scenarios or game mechanics, especially for virtual worlds/games with persistent shared environments, that intrinsically encourage transient, low-stakes moments of mutual recognition without promise of extrinsic rewards, without expectations of further interaction and without the potential sting of rejection.

Encouraging such behavior, even if the interactions are unlikely to (on their own) result in long-term social bonds from potentially one-time encounters with players, could still have positive long-term effects. It would create a stronger sense of a shared journey and strengthen the feeling of mutual awareness and co-existence in the same virtual world. As players you would appreciate and validate through that shared virtual nod that you are participants in the same space or activity5, while also serving as a form of psychological relief that feeds into the concept of collective solitude6, of playing alone together: “I am not alone, and neither are you!“

Just existing in the same space is not on its own a guarantee for the emergence of social connections between people. You could consistently take the same bus to work as someone else every day for years, or live two doors over from a neighbor whose face you remember, and still have had no direct interactions with them in that time. While a repeat encounter in the same environment may generate recognition, it does not in itself promote sociability.

But small, guided micro-gestures like the virtual hiker’s nod could help support sociability by “breaking the ice”, so to speak.7 It can act as a non-verbal handshake that establishes goodwill, while lowering the barrier for players to engage in conversation after repeat encounters or in dedicated social hubs.

Mechanics of a Virtual Hiker’s Nod

To cultivate that social dynamic without trapping players in unwanted commitments, the execution of a virtual hiker’s nod mechanic should adhere to specific constraints. It must allow the interaction to be non-committal, where nothing significant happens unless both players agree to engage, which acts as a natural constraint on the exchange to reduce the anxiety of entering into a potentially embarrassing social situation with no clear exit, and absolving the players of any faux pas from not “returning the nod”.8

It should act almost like a “swipe right”-lite, where the primary purpose is a fleeting, mutual social interaction rather than a lasting personal relationship.

One caveat: If a player’s intent to engage in the micro-gesture is not signaled clearly, and other players don’t participate as a result, there’s a risk that players will abandon the feature altogether.9 A potential solution to reduce that risk is to introduce a tiered structure to the interaction, combining an automated baseline micro-gesture that always plays, with escalation of said gesture through opt-in participation from both parties.

For this concept of ephemeral recognition (let’s call it Non-Committal Symmetric Reciprocal Acknowledgement Exchange, or NCSRAE for short) to achieve the intended effect, it must operate at a no trust/low trust tier10, and I’d also argue that its mechanics would need to remain neutral and egalitarian, with no affordances towards increasing socioeconomic differences based on the nod or greeting itself, i.e. no microtransactions for flashier virtual nods, and no XP or currencies earned.11

Finally, it should be a safe, low-stakes and optional interaction between actual players, ideally taking place in low population density areas, where participants would share in a common experience equally, as a brief reciprocal moment of human connection.


References:

  1. Civil Inattention (Erving Goffman, Behaviour in Public Places, 1963) – Social convention in dense public spaces where people minimally acknowledge each other’s presence without signaling any intent to initiate a social interaction ↩︎
  2. Phatic Communication (Danijela Radovanovic, Massimo Ragnedda, Small Talk in the Digital Age, 2012) – Digital micro-interactions used to signal availability, recognize presence and maintain social bonds without exchanging substantive information ↩︎
  3. Instrumental vs Expressive Actions (Talcott Parsons, The Social System, 1951) – Instrumental actions are performed as means to an end (survival, tactical advantage), while expressive actions are ends in themselves and driven by social intent ↩︎
  4. Instrumental Action in Survival Games (Marcus Carter, Fraser Allison, et al., Fear, loss and meaningful play: Permadeath in DayZ, 2017) – In high-stakes survival games, severe mechanics like permadeath or loot loss convert social gestures into tactical de-escalation maneuvers to mitigate existential risk and gauge hostility ↩︎
  5. Virtual Co-presence (Shanyang Zhao, Toward a Taxonomy of Copresence, 2003) – Psychological sensation of really existing with other people in a virtual space and being mutually aware of one another ↩︎
  6. Collective Solitude (Nicolas Ducheneaut, Nick Yee, et al., Alone Together? Exploring the Social Dynamics of Massively Multiplayer Online Games, 2006) – The phenomenon where players intentionally choose to play alone together in shared virtual environments, appreciating the presence of others without the hassle of formal grouping ↩︎
  7. Social Fitness and Co-presence (Troy Daniel Glover, Designing for Social Fitness: A Relational Model Linking Urban Environments to Social Wellbeing, 2023) – Co-presence does not automatically trigger social engagement. Shared environments require deliberate behavioral cues or micro-gestures to bridge the gap between awareness and sociability ↩︎
  8. Cringe-safe Design (Kate Compton, Chelsea Howe, Cat Manning, Ziba Scott, May Ling Tan, Kelly M Tran, Toolkit for Cringe-Safe Social Interactions, 2025)  –  Social design that tries to balance human social needs against perceived social threats such as fear of negative judgement or social trapping ↩︎
  9. Social Exchange (George C. Homans, Social Behavior as Exchange, 1958) – Sociological framework proposing that social behavior is an exchange of non-material goods, where individuals cease initiating exchanges if the perceived costs (time, vulnerability, embarrassment, etc.) consistently outweigh the social rewards (approval, recognition, etc.) ↩︎
  10. Trust Spectrum (Raph Koster, The Trust Spectrum, 2018) – Design framework examining trust and dependence in multiplayer settings. The low-trust end of the spectrum is characterized by parallel play without a requirement for deep interdependence ↩︎
  11. Spontaneous Communitas (Victor Turner, The Ritual Process, 1969) – Describes a temporary, unstructured state where all members of a community share a common experience as equals, stripped of normal societal ranks or wealth ↩︎

New Horizons

Two weeks ago, I parted ways with Ubisoft Singapore after nearly three years.

Two weeks ago, I parted ways with Ubisoft Singapore after nearly three years. Actually, let me be very clear, without mincing words: It was not my decision.

It happened approximately a week after the launch of Assassin’s Creed Black Flag Resynced, a project I had been assigned to last year to help push it over the finishing line. My mandate on said project had already come to an end at the start of this month, and I found myself moved to a temporary “limbo project”, one that many Ubi employees find themselves in after a project has shipped, while they await joining/being assigned to a new one.

During my time in this limbo existence, I quietly celebrated* having had the opportunity to contribute to the successful launch of a game in such an iconic game series, took courses to up-skill myself, got caught up on relevant GDC talks from the last two years, and started thinking about what my future at the company would look like, what kind of in-between-project initiatives I could join (or create), and how I could maybe prepare for the inevitable AI future that engulfs any and all game studios eventually.
* (as behooves an introvert)

However, on the fated day I was invited to a 1:1 with my manager shortly after lunch, in itself not an unusual occurrence. We engaged in some random chitchat along the way to a meeting room that, to my surprise, also featured two HR representatives, one of whom essentially informed me that my services would no longer be required by Ubisoft as it was time to part ways, effective immediately. I was asked to hand in my employee-badge, and after signing a few papers that said they’d pay out my notice period (which they did) and free me from the non-competition clause (which they also did) etc., I was surreptitiously* escorted from the premises, with a promise that the personal belongings on my desk would be sent to my home by courier (which they were).
* (what a cool word)

I wish I would have had the chance to say my goodbyes to colleagues I sat next to for the better part of 9 months on Black Flag and the ones I worked alongside for two years on Skull and Bones, or to send that usual “been great working with you all, thanks for all the fish, let’s connect on LinkedIn“-mail to let people know I did not just vanish silently into the night* like a ghost, but no dice. At least I ran into one of my (now former) colleagues/lunch-comrades on my way out of the building lobby, so I could give them a quick heads up about my departure.
*(or at least late afternoon)

A quick side note here to remind all of you, dear readers, to always keep your portfolios up to date. Don’t postpone it until later, don’t delay it until next week. Update it while it’s all fresh in your mind, while you have all the references to your work readily at hand.

Since then the days have been quite a blur, my sleep schedule has gotten messed up*, my thoughts have wandered all over the place, but gradually I’ve been coming to terms with what happened. To say I’ve been in a stupefied state of shock would be exaggerating, but at the very least I was left dumbfounded and disappointed, having received no prior indications that I was in the “danger zone”, and to my knowledge was on good terms with all of my colleagues, bosses and HR. Maybe I missed subtle signs that said otherwise.
* (I can game all night again! It’s just like the good old dayszzZzzZzzzZzz)

But oh well, life goes on! And as I can’t change the past (or so I’ve been told🤔), it’s now time to look to new horizons, update my resume, practice those job interview questions* and start looking around for other opportunities, assuming those are still a thing in this day and age of mass industry layoffs. Only one way to find out!
*(My greatest weakness? My dedication to perfection and also my bubble tea addiction. J/k, it’s not an addiction, I can stop anytime I want! I just don’t want to…)

Why Positive Feedback Matters

When was the last time you complimented someone on work well done? Or when did you last receive praise for work efforts you poured your soul into? Let me share a story from my earliest days as a designer about how positive feedback impacted my career.

We All Start Somewhere

In my first job in the game industry I started out as a data-entry monkey; an entry-level designer whose work involved setting up animation data, action triggers and events in a behavioral state machine to make characters and animated objects in the game come to life.

This was for the most part handled on demand as new characters and animations become ready for setup. No up-front design work was required, no extensive documentation needed to be written—we hooked stuff up on the fly, creating new character states, actions and transitions between states as and when needed, in some cases building up complex states to support new combat moves, quest cutscenes, AI behaviors, etc.

What Makes a Designer

Almost half a year into the job, I had still not written a single design document. The nature of the role I had simply did not require this of me—or even leave room for it. There were no design discussions or meetings to plan ahead, and there were no design reviews. As a result, even though I did the work of a designer, I did not feel like a designer, and I didn’t feel part of the wider design team.

This sentiment was echoed by some team members who, a few years into time there, even questioned—to my face—the necessity of my role, and whether it ever needed to exist in the first place. This did not do wonders for my self-confidence, as you can imagine. I was feeling undervalued and doubted myself, wondering whether I truly belonged.

However, what kept me going through all that was positive feedback I received for the quality of the work I had done, and for the design documents I had written—in particular the first one I ever wrote!

First Design Document

My first design document was short and simple, and detailed some improvements to an existing feature in the game. It outlined the benefits the improvements would bring to players and to the game, highlighted potential risks of doing them, broke down associated development costs, and provided suggestions for multiple different ways of getting it done.

I poured a lot of heart into the document, even though it was an obvious next step to take and an improvement that both players and devs could see coming from a mile away. So when I received positive feedback on the design from the design team and from higher-ups who reviewed designs, I was over the moon!

Fuel for Long-term Passion

It was a pivotal moment that cemented my future in the game industry, as it made me realize that I was already a game designer, and I did have some small amount of talent for it that went beyond just entering data in a glorified database.

Over time my role there evolved, and I took on more “traditional” design responsibilities, but none of that would have been possible if not for the positive feedback I received from people at multiple levels in the studio hierarchy. It did wonders for me as a budding designer, and it fueled my passion for years to come. Without it I would likely have burned out and left the industry entirely, like so many others I worked with back then. f.

Moral of the Story

Positive feedback can be a game-changer. If you work with someone – whether they’re your colleague, your subordinate or even your boss—acknowledge their good work; let them know! Your feedback might have a stronger impact than you think.