Summary
For me, Consume Me was more than just another indie experiment. It was a mirror, one that was sometimes painful to look into but ultimately cathartic. It’s the kind of game that proves how the medium can go beyond simple entertainment, using humor, mechanics, and storytelling to shine light on struggles many people hide. You may not walk away with a happy ending, but you’ll walk away with something far more valuable: recognition, empathy, and maybe even a little understanding of yourself.
Developer – Jenny Jiao Hsia, AP Thomson, Jie En Lee, Violet W-P, Ken “coda” Snyder
Publisher – Hexecutable
Platforms – PC (Reviewed)
Review copy given by Publisher
CONTENT WARNING: Consume Me is a semi-autobiographical game that depicts dieting, disordered eating, and fatphobia. If you are someone who struggles with or has struggled with disordered eating, it’s possible that Consume Me will be a stressful or even upsetting experience .
Furthermore, we encourage players to seek help or support if they are personally affected by any of these issues in real life. Please Play responsibly and be aware of the impact of the content on your emotions and well-being.
If your in the US ,struggling with Dieting , Eating Disorders ,Fatphobia or other related issues , contact the National Alliance for Eating Disorders at 1-866-662-1235 or Visit https://www.allianceforeatingdisorders.com/
or in Canada , Call (1-866-633-4220 or 416-340-4156) or Visit https://nedic.ca/
As Always with any sensitive game we cover: If you or someone you know is experiencing thoughts of Self-harm or Suicide, In Canada, you can reach out to Kids Help Phone at 1-800-668-6868 or visit kidshelpphone.ca , or The Crisis Hotline by calling or texting 9-8-8 . For assistance in the United States, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is available at 1-800-273-8255, or visit suicidepreventionlifeline.org , as well as you can Text HOME to 741741 to connect with a volunteer Crisis Counselor from the Crisis Text Line. We’d also like to thank Safe in Our World for being supportive of our work in Gaming and Helping support Mental Health Awareness through Gaming.
If you need help managing your Mental Health , Check out our review on Sidekick: The Video Games Mental Health Journal
Additionally, be aware that Consume Me contains some nudity as the protagonist Jenny is occasionally depicted in her underwear.
There are some games you play for fun, and others you play because they cut a little too close to the bone. Consume Me is the kind of game that lingers in the back of your mind after you close it, not just because of its clever mechanics and biting humor, but because it feels raw, lived-in, and painfully familiar. For me, that familiarity hits harder than usual. Like developer Jenny Jiao Hsia, I carried a lot of the same insecurities she folds into this semiautobiographical story. The words “stupid, fat, and ugly” were ones I let live rent-free in my own head during those years, and seeing them woven into the DNA of this game makes it feel more like reflection than simple play.
At first glance, the game disarms you with quirky charm. You’re scheduling homework, chasing a relationship, managing chores, and yes, tackling the endless puzzle of eating in a way that feels “correct.” But under the pastel sheen and the wry, self-deprecating jokes is something that feels uncomfortably true. Every meal becomes a calculation, every spare hour a decision, every interaction an evaluation. That rhythm is familiar to anyone who has tried to measure their worth against impossible standards.
The way Hsia portrays her relationship with her mother is where the game’s sense of satire really crystallizes. Mom swoops in with Persona-style boss battle music, always ready to nag about something. It’s funny, yes, but also devastating, because behind the exaggerated dramatics lies the sting of being constantly scrutinized by the person you want most to understand you. I laughed the first time it happened, but by the third or fourth, I felt the same exasperation the character does. It’s that mix of comedy and hurt that makes Consume Me so effective.
There’s also a tenderness in how the game handles first love. The insecurity of stepping into a long-term relationship while still figuring out who you are is perfectly mirrored in the mechanics. You’re never sure if you’re doing enough, if you’re saying the right thing, or if the balancing act of time, diet, and school will collapse and take the relationship down with it. For me, those moments felt eerily close to my own experiences. The uncertainty, the self-consciousness, the constant internal scoreboard—it all lands with a weight I wasn’t expecting.
Where the game begins to stand out is in the way it makes even the smallest choices feel monumental. You’re not just picking what to eat for lunch; you’re silently asking yourself what that choice says about you. You’re not just deciding how to spend your evening; you’re silently debating whether you’re working hard enough, or if someone else is doing more. Consume Me understands the endless self-critique that defines those years of life, and it forces you to confront that cycle without ever turning it into melodrama.
The minigames that serve as the backbone of Consume Me are deceptively simple. One moment you’re arranging food like puzzle pieces, trying not to eat too much or too little. The next you’re dodging distractions during study sessions or grinding chores for pocket change. On paper, they’re clever little slices of gameplay, but what they really capture is the exhaustion of constant maintenance. And while the repetition reinforces that theme, I couldn’t help but wish for a little more variety or difficulty as the story progressed.
At times, the repetition works almost too well. I caught myself sighing during a few minigames, not because they were poorly designed, but because I was tired of doing them. And then it hit me—that’s the point. That exhaustion is the same fatigue Jenny is feeling, the same fatigue I felt back then. It’s the grind of trying to control everything while still being told you’re never enough. That meta-layer of frustration becomes its own kind of storytelling, whether or not it was intentional.
The strategic decision-making layer is where the game truly shines. With limited hours and endless obligations, you’re juggling school, relationships, health, chores, and self-image all at once. The act of prioritizing becomes a kind of silent judgment. Did you study enough? Should you have skipped that meal? Why did you waste time resting when you could’ve pushed harder? It’s stressful, but in a way that perfectly mirrors the pressure cooker of adolescence.
Even the equipment system manages to sneak in commentary. Outfits that degrade after a single day unless you do laundry sound absurd at first, but they capture the fleeting, performative nature of appearance during high school. Every morning is another chance to present yourself differently, but it’s all temporary, fragile, and exhausting to maintain. It’s a small mechanic, but it speaks volumes.
What keeps Consume Me from ever feeling too heavy is its humor. Hsia’s writing has a sharp, dark wit that softens the edges of the heavier themes. You’ll laugh at the absurdity of meticulously portioning out lunch, or at Mom’s over-the-top entrance music, only to have that laughter catch in your throat when the reality behind those jokes sinks in. It’s a careful balancing act, and it’s pulled off with surprising grace.
Still, the game isn’t without its flaws. Beyond the repetitive nature of the minigames, the lack of robust resources around eating disorders feels like a missed opportunity. While there are content warnings both at purchase and at the start, the story cuts deep enough that offering links to real-world help could have gone a long way. For a game so rooted in vulnerability, having those safety nets would’ve felt both responsible and compassionate.
That said, the honesty in Consume Me is undeniable. It doesn’t sugarcoat the struggles of being a teenager with body image issues, nor does it drown them in melodrama. It shows you the grind, the nagging voices, the fragile victories, and the inevitable failures. And while much of it is exaggerated for humor, the heart of it all feels authentic.
For me, what made the game most impactful wasn’t the mechanics or the jokes—it was the way it mirrored my own thoughts and experiences. Seeing parts of myself reflected in Jenny’s story was jarring but comforting. It reminded me of how isolating those feelings can be, and how important it is to see them acknowledged in any medium, let alone a game.
The multiple endings reinforce that same sense of precariousness. No matter how carefully you manage your time, things rarely work out perfectly. Most endings are far from happy, but that too feels like an honest reflection. Not every story wraps up neatly. Sometimes you stumble, sometimes you regress, and sometimes you just barely hold it together.
What makes Consume Me powerful is that it doesn’t ask you to win—it asks you to survive. It asks you to laugh, even when you’re hurting. It asks you to keep going, even when you’re tired. And it asks you to reflect on just how much of your self-worth has been shaped by the expectations of others.
I can’t say the game was always “fun” in the traditional sense. But I don’t think it was meant to be. Instead, it’s meaningful, memorable, and deeply human. It uses humor as a scalpel, cutting close to insecurities many of us carry but rarely want to say out loud.
When I closed the game for the first time, I sat staring at the screen for a while. Not because I was unsure of what to do next, but because I realized how much of myself I had just confronted. Few games have done that to me, and even fewer with such a deceptively simple structure.
Consume Me is not a perfect game, but it is an important one. It’s funny, raw, frustrating, and at times uncomfortably real. At its heart, it’s a darkly funny coming-of-age story—you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, and sometimes you’ll even feel a little hungry, all at the same time. Its meal-based puzzle mechanics force you to think about every bite, while its strategic time management system keeps you constantly weighing what matters most. Even the armor system that requires daily “laundry” reinforces how fleeting appearances can be. With over 13 possible endings (most of them bad), it reminds you how fragile those teenage years can feel, and how little control you often have despite all the effort you put in.
For me, Consume Me was more than just another indie experiment. It was a mirror, one that was sometimes painful to look into but ultimately cathartic. It’s the kind of game that proves how the medium can go beyond simple entertainment, using humor, mechanics, and storytelling to shine light on struggles many people hide. You may not walk away with a happy ending, but you’ll walk away with something far more valuable: recognition, empathy, and maybe even a little understanding of yourself.
