Tomodachi Collection

When I first started playing Tomodachi Collection on the Nintendo DS, I honestly had no idea what to expect. I was already a fan of life-simulation games like Animal Crossing, but this felt completely different from the very beginning. Instead of controlling a character directly and walking around a town, you act more like a manager or observer of a strange little society made up of Miis—those customizable avatars originally introduced on the Wii. And somehow, that simple concept turns into one of the most bizarrely entertaining experiences I’ve had on the DS.

The first thing you do is create Miis and move them into an apartment building on a small island. You can base them on yourself, your friends, celebrities, fictional characters—literally anyone. I started by making myself and a few close friends, just to see how the game would handle our personalities. That’s when the magic began. The Miis develop their own quirks, voices, friendships, rivalries, and even romantic relationships. Watching digital versions of people I know interact in unpredictable ways was both hilarious and slightly unsettling.

Unlike traditional simulation games where you directly control actions, Tomodachi Collection plays out more like a social experiment. You don’t force relationships—you influence them. If two Miis start becoming friends, you can encourage it. If someone confesses their feelings, you can decide whether it succeeds or fails. But you never fully control the outcome. That unpredictability is what kept me coming back every day. I’d boot up the game just to see what chaos had unfolded while I was away.

One of my favorite aspects is how the Miis communicate. The game uses a text-to-speech system, allowing you to customize how each character sounds. You can adjust pitch, speed, and tone. Hearing my digital self sing terribly during a concert event or argue about food preferences with a friend’s Mii was genuinely funny. The humor in Tomodachi Collection feels very Japanese—quirky, random, and sometimes completely absurd. It doesn’t always make logical sense, but that’s part of the charm.

Daily life on the island revolves around solving your Miis’ problems. An icon appears in their apartment window when they need something. Sometimes they’re hungry and want a specific food. Sometimes they want new clothes. Other times they’re worried about friendships or love. Solving these small issues earns you money and items, which you use to customize the island further. It sounds repetitive, but because the situations are constantly changing, it rarely feels stale.

Romance is where the game becomes especially entertaining. Miis can fall in love, date, break up, and even get married. I remember being genuinely shocked when two Miis I never expected to interact ended up together. Watching their relationship progress through awkward confessions and dates felt oddly emotional. Weddings are full events with decorations and music, and eventually, married couples can even have children. Yes, baby Miis exist—and they grow up over time.

Customization is another strong point. You can buy new interiors for apartments, give Miis costumes, feed them different foods to discover their favorites, and even create songs for them to perform in concerts. The concert feature is one of the most ridiculous and entertaining parts of the game. You choose a genre, write lyrics (or use presets), and watch your Miis perform choreographed songs. Seeing serious-looking characters sing absurd lyrics never gets old.

Graphically, Tomodachi Collection is simple but expressive. The Miis themselves are basic, but their exaggerated reactions and facial expressions give them personality. The apartment building interface is clean and easy to navigate using the DS touch screen. It’s not a technically demanding game, but it doesn’t need to be. Its strength lies in personality and interaction rather than visuals.

If there’s one limitation, it’s that the original Tomodachi Collection was released only in Japan. That means English-speaking players often need a translation guide to fully understand dialogue and menus. Despite that barrier, I still found it worth playing because so much of the humor comes from visual situations rather than text alone.

Playing Tomodachi Collection feels less like progressing through a game and more like checking in on a strange, living sitcom. There’s no final boss, no major objective—just ongoing, unpredictable social drama. It’s the kind of game you don’t binge for ten straight hours, but instead return to daily for small, surprising moments.

Even years later, I remember specific interactions that made me laugh out loud. That’s rare for a handheld simulation title. Tomodachi Collection may look simple on the surface, but once you dive in, it becomes a wonderfully weird social sandbox that’s hard to put down.