Magnasanti

I have an embarrassing confession to make: I love SimCity 2000.

As a kid, I played the game frequently and halfheartedly. I never really understood the planning aspects, but I loved to pretend that I did (admittedly, my arrogance hasn't changed much). Recently, however, I've discovered the game anew. I'd been futzing around with online emulators until my S.O. presented me with a copy of the game.

This changed everything.

I've been enjoying the game way too much. SimCity's open-ended structure allows for players to design and build their own tiny cities. Yes, it's as nerdy and addictive as it sounds. Because there's no clear end goal, it's easy to get sucked into the endless pit of development. I'm trying not to become one of those video game-addicted robots who never leaves the house.

Of course, obsession can occasionally lead to remarkable, if creepy outcomes. Sometime in the last five years, an architecture student named Vincent Ocasla used SimCity 3000 to create a dystopia of six million residents. His virtual city, Magnasanti, was inspired by the Ville Radieuse, a conceptual utopia first presented by Le Corbusier. (Ocasla's design eventually landed him a feature on MoMA's Design and Violence.)

Le Corbusier's idealistic, flawed Ville Radieuse

Both projects present compelling questions of urban planning: what is the purpose of mixed-use zoning? What is the relationship between a structure and its site? What is the human experience of such an environment? How do the accidents and imperfections in our cities make our lives better?

But here I am, getting away from myself. If you're still reading this post, check out the weird, mind-boggling video of Ocasla's three-year planning process. I hope it makes you feel at least a little better about how you're spending your life.