There’s a moment in Baldur’s Gate 3 where a character looks at you—really looks—and responds not just to what you’ve done, but to who you’ve been trying to be. It feels like recognition. It isn’t. 

And yet, the feeling lingers, stubborn and difficult to dismiss. You start to choose your words more carefully. You hesitate before selecting an option that might disappoint them. You begin, almost without noticing, to act not only within the world of the game, but for someone inside it. It’s a subtle illusion: your actions are being witnessed, interpreted, even understood by another consciousness. 

This is the strange intimacy at the heart of the game. Characters do not simply react; they remember, evaluate, approve or withdraw. Their actions and responses grow into something resembling a relationship. This resemblance is precisely the point. What Baldur’s Gate 3 offers is not mutual recognition, but a carefully constructed simulation of it—one that depends entirely on your willingness to believe, even briefly, that you are not alone in your choices. It is this willingness that defines the experience. You’re aware on some level that the characters cannot know you, and yet, you find yourself wanting to be known. 

Parasocial relationships are a newer phenomenon, made possible with television and the internet, both of which bridge the gap between media and consumers. A parasocial relationship refers to a one-sided bond between an individual and a celebrity, media figure, or fictional character that they do not personally know. The individual involved develops an illusory sense of intimacy or emotional attachment that is not—and often cannot be—reciprocated. 

Interactive video games have made the potential for parasocial relationships even stronger. Unlike the characters in your favourite sitcom, modern game characters respond to the player. In games like Baldur’s Gate 3, the abundance of choices you make suggest true player agency, contributing to the illusion of a mutual relationship between you and the characters in the game world. When one dialogue option changes the way a character treats you, your choices feel weighted and your in-game relationships feel authentic. Even further, character customization allows for greater player-character identification. Being able to play out your character’s choices as you would in real life or physically recreate yourself in game lets you fully embody your character. You are not simply watching a narrative play out before you; you are the subject. 

What makes the experience in Baldur’s Gate 3 feel so distinct is that the characters respond as if they know you. Approval systems, evolving dialogue, and persistent memory give the impression that your actions are being interpreted within a coherent understanding of your character. The game does not simply track what you do; it frames each action as expressions of who you are. 

This is where parasociality in games diverges from its traditional form. A streamer or celebrity cannot change their behaviour based on your individual choices. A character in a game can—or at least, appear to. When a companion reacts differently because of a past decision, it feels less like observation and more like recognition. 

This understanding is conditional. It exists within a closed system of possibilities, pre-written and pre-determined. The character does not actually know you; they know a version of you that the game is capable of recognizing. The feeling of reciprocity is, in reality, a reflection of your choices through a limited interpretive framework. 

And yet, the emotional stakes remain real. You may still feel guilty when you betray a companion or relief when they approve of you. The illusion does not weaken the feeling, but enables it. In simulating reciprocity, the game offers something paradoxical: a relationship that feels responsive without ever going beyond your control. It is not that the connection is inherently false. It is incomplete—a sense of intimacy without the possibility of being known in return. 

This creates tension for real-world emotional fulfillment. For many of us, parasocial relationships may supplement or replace real relationships. Within a closed system, making the “right” choices can reliably produce a sense of emotional fulfillment, particularly for those who lack support outside the game. Further, the ability to reload saves and try again removes the risk of failing in parasocial relationships, further highlighting the ease and comfort of finding fulfillment from video games alone. Parasocial relationships grant players a sense of control that real intimacy resists. In a game, the right choices can guarantee affection and failure can be undone. In this way, intimacy becomes something navigable and optimizable—something that can be achieved without the vulnerability that real relationships demand. 

The modern player’s condition is the experience of being emotionally implicated in a world that cannot reciprocate your existence. Being a player means existing in a space where relationships are responsive but not real. In this way, you may feel known but you are fundamentally alone, a contradiction that has important implications for the future of deeply interactive video games and the social lives of players. 

Parasocial relationships are not “fake” just because they are one-sided. They reveal how easily we can form attachments and how much we want to be understood, allowing players to feel a sense of familiarity and comfort outside of the real world. But the contradictions of parasocial relationships in the gaming world lead to some unsettling and philosophical questions. If something can make us feel seen, does it matter that it never truly sees us?