Sometimes I think self-inserting means something very different to me than it does to almost anyone else.
I’ve never once found a game I couldn’t play as a self-insert. I’ve played Sabres of Infinity as a self-insert - it wasn’t particularly satisfying (my character was basically the Major-General from The Pirates of Penzance, without the confidence and charisma), but I did it. I’ve played All-World Pro Wrestling as a self-insert. The character is written as so many things I’m not - an athletic, highly sexual male - but that didn’t stop me playing him as much as possible as things I am: modest, serious about the work I love, commitment-minded. If anything, I found it harder to picture myself enlisting in the military or voluntarily playing a competitive sport than to picture myself as a man.
For me, self-inserting is about my values, my interests, my talents, and my weaknesses and faults - not my vital statistics. My self-inserts do share my vital statistics, of course, as much as possible, but that’s not what makes them me.
Maybe it’s because my life has been shaped far more by my disabilities than by my gender or even my asexuality, so even when I play an asexual woman I’m constantly bombarded with reminders that someone like me couldn’t really be the hero of this story. Maybe I just didn’t get the memo in my formative years about what I was supposed to be defined by. I am spectacularly good at not getting proverbial memos.
Don’t get me wrong, I love what CoG has done for representation. I love being able to see a woman as the hero of any kind of story, from a romance to a war drama. It brought me so much joy when I began to see options to play an explicitly asexual character, and even more when writers started to realize “asexual” didn’t necessarily mean “aromantic” or “sex-averse.” There’s still something in me that wants to cry sometimes, seeing those options: aching for the young woman I used to be, trying to be something she wasn’t in a world that told her at every turn something was wrong with her; rejoicing that maybe the day will come that no one ever has to feel that way again.
But when it comes to making me feel as if I could be the hero of the story, a demisexual woman slashing through the enemy ranks with a battle axe and slaying the dragon with a single powerful blow does far less for me than a straight guy who saves the day by remembering some obscure bit of lore he picked up when he slipped out of a noisy party to chill in the library. Because although neither character is a perfect reflection of me, the latter comes closer to what I feel really matters about me.
My point in all this is not to say that my way is “right,” or even better than anyone else’s. (I don’t even play self-inserts most of the time.) But I do think it’s important to bear in mind that what we all bring of ourselves to these games is different. Not only is self-insertion not the only way to play, it’s a variety of playstyles in its own right. Some seek a power fantasy, other the catharsis (or angst) of seeing themself as a tragic hero. Some play themselves as they truly are, others as they wish they were. And what elements are essential to be able to look at a character and say “yes, that’s a reflection of me” aren’t going to be the same for every player.