There are some games that sound absolutely ridiculous when you try to explain them to someone. Unpacking is one of those games.

“You, uh… unpack boxes.”

That’s it. That’s the game.

Or so it would seem on the surface. But Unpacking is a masterclass in environmental storytelling, nostalgia, and the sheer, inexplicable joy of placing objects in neatly arranged spaces. It’s a love letter to the small, personal details of life—the kind of details that 90s kids, in particular, will find themselves unexpectedly emotional over.

The Premise: Moving, Sorting, and Finding Space for a Life

At its core, Unpacking is a puzzle game where you organise belongings as you move through different stages of a character’s life. You start in a childhood bedroom, carefully placing toys, books, and stuffed animals in their rightful spots. As the years progress, you move through various locations—university dorms, shared flats, first apartments, all the way up to adulthood and relationships, each new space reflecting the changes in your character’s life.

There are no explicit cutscenes or dialogue to explain the story, just the objects you’re given, their placement (or misplacement), and how they change over time. And that’s where Unpacking shines. It tells an entire life story through belongings alone, without a single spoken word.

Also, you will learn very quickly that some things, like that one dodgy mug or childhood plushie, will follow you through every single move. And if that’s not painfully relatable, I don’t know what is.

Mechanics: Chill Vibes, Hidden Depth

The gameplay is almost meditative. You open up boxes, take out items one by one, and find places for them in each new living space. Some objects can go wherever you like. Others must be placed in their ‘proper’ locations, leading to occasional moments of “Where the hell do you want me to put this, game?!”

The process is soothing, though, in the same way tidying up or organising a bookshelf can be. There’s a deep, primal satisfaction in creating order out of chaos. Everything clicks into place, and with each completed room, there’s a genuine sense of accomplishment.

That said, if you’re a stickler for aesthetic organisation, Unpacking will either be your dream game or the cause of your slow descent into madness. The game has a few rules about placement, and sometimes they make no sense. Why can’t I put the toaster on the floor? Why does this one particular book have to be in the wardrobe? The game says no, and so you must obey.

Still, it’s all part of the charm. And once you get into the rhythm, you start noticing the small, poignant details—the items that stay with you across moves, the ones that disappear, and the ones that feel wrong in certain places because of what they represent.

A Nostalgic Gut-Punch for 90s Kids

If you grew up in the 90s or early 2000s, Unpacking will hit you right in the childhood memories. There are recognisable pixel-art versions of classic Game Boys, stackable Polly Pocket-style houses, and those horrible early 2000s low-rise jeans we all pretend never happened.

The soundtrack is also wonderfully fitting with its soft, lo-fi beats that somehow make you feel like you’re living through a late 90s Sunday afternoon, sat in your room, debating which CD to put in your clunky Discman. (Spoiler: it always skips.)

And then there are the more bittersweet moments, like when you realise certain items have disappeared over the years. A favourite childhood toy might make it through the first few moves but is suddenly absent in a later stage. A beloved book series might be replaced with more ‘grown-up’ reads. It’s a quiet, gut-punching way of saying, Time has moved on, whether you like it or not.

The Emotional Weight of a Toaster

For a game that’s supposedly just about putting things in their proper place, Unpacking somehow manages to be devastating. One particular level—the one where you move into a shared space that isn’t really yours—hit me like a freight train. The placement rules suddenly become restrictive. You realise your character’s life isn’t entirely in their control at this moment. Their things (your things!) feel out of place.

And when you get to a later stage and finally have the freedom to put things where you want again? Relief. Actual, genuine relief.

Few games manage to tell such a powerful story without ever speaking a word.

Final Thoughts: A Small, Perfectly Formed Gem

Unpacking is the kind of game that sneaks up on you. You start it thinking, “Oh, this will be a nice, relaxing way to spend a couple of hours.” And then suddenly, you’re emotionally attached to a pixelated stuffed pig and questioning the meaning of life.

It’s a beautiful, thoughtful, and weirdly profound game—one that proves you don’t need grand cinematic narratives or flashy action sequences to tell an incredible story. Just a few boxes, some treasured items, and a quiet understanding of what home really means.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and find my childhood plushies. Because apparently, I’m not over them after all.