Long ago, in the world of Picnic, a world that was then monochromatic, a magic brush sprung forth, allowing its wielder to bring color to the lands and happiness to their people. Ages passed since that day, and pass did the brush, hand to hand, every few years, to a new artist courageous enough to bear the responsibility of wielding it. In the present, the one holding the brush is none other than the talented Chicory, a rabbit who spent years studying art and training under the previous wielder.

It is in this scenario that you, the player, enter the story, taking on the role of none other than... not, actually, Chicory. You play as Chicory's janitor, a small dog who... definitely, uh... janits... or something. The wielder lives in a big tower, after all, and someone has to clean it. And so, our unremarkable pup is going about their unremarkable day, when suddenly, disaster strikes: all of a sudden, the world loses all of its color. Scrambling to find the wielder and get to the root of the matter, the janitor finds not Chicory, but her brush, and dares to try painting with it. With Chicory still MIA, the accidental new wielder finds themselves in the eye of a storm, as a mysterious threat looms over the land of Picnic.

Chicory isn't simply a game, it's a vibe. The player's main means of interacting with the world is through a brush controlled with either the cursor controlled either by the mouse or the right stick, and a lot of time is spent trying to get the player into painting for fun. There are hardly any constraints or requirements even when a specific type of drawing is requested, so inevitably, there will be players that are not captivated whatsoever by the game's premise and just submit whatever to progress in the game. To those people, Chicory will come off as a pretty bland experience.

I almost fell into that group, in part because Chicory takes its time in showing its cards. The game takes heavy inspiration from The Legend of Zelda series, its top-down maps being filled with secrets and, more importantly, there being power-ups to collect that enable exploring new areas. This design, however, only really comes together towards the latter half of the game, when areas become more elaborate and the protagonist's toolset becomes more interesting. For example, the very first power-up the janitor get lets their ink light up dark places, which not only isn't much of a brush-y thing, but also reinforces the slow pace of the opening hours.

And I remember the exact turning point, the moment where I went from "Chicory might be better suited for young children" to "Chicory resonates with me". Somewhere before the midpoint of the game, the janitor meets Chicory, and the duo agrees to each paint one another -- prompting the player to draw Chicory as best they can. This is a pivotal moment in the story as it establishes the type of person (bunny?) the titular character is, and is a time when the central themes and mechanics are beginning to coalesce. And for some reason, even though most drawing assignments the game gave me were done half-heartedly up until that point, I found myself trying my absolute hardest to paint Chicory.

Which leads us into the second reason why the game might not resonate with many: Chicory: A Colorful Tale is a story made by artists, for artists, about the process of making art. Not professional artists, necessarily, but anyone who has ever tried to do art, whether or not they succeeded. Making art is grueling. It requires mastering a swathe of topics with no clear roadmap all while being constantly compared to peers who seem to do way better than you. At the end, what awaits you is very little reward, as any painting, or song, or whatever the end goal is will take hours, if not days of work, assuming it even comes out the way you envisioned it.

(And in the current climate, some dumbass techbro is likely to steal your work and call it an innovation, so there's that too.)

And it's easy, having only the goal in sight and so much pressure to achieve it, to begin to loathe the process, forgetting the fun there was in it in the first place and eventually just giving up on trying. It is the cause of the demise of many an art journey. It has been the biggest struggle in mine, and because of that, a lot of the text in Chicory, its allegories and character archetypes, speaks to me on a personal level. However, this wouldn't have always been the case, and it's easy to imagine many a player seeing it all go way over their head because making art was never really in their minds.

To be fair to that player, the whole flavor given to Chicory due to its narrative and main form of interaction with the environment is what makes the game stand out. Without those, it's just... fine. It has its many pros, but also its many cons. As a Zelda-like adventure, it's lacking in interesting dungeon designs, but does feature good puzzles and an overworld filled with nooks and crannies to unravel. Boss battles are a standout part of the experience, but they're made confusing by the lack of a health bar, and while many questlines are fun, 100%ing the game means chasing after some pretty frustrating collectibles.

So should you play Chicory, after all? If you've dabbled in art yourself, yes: you're likely to find something that resonates with your own journey, and if anything, it's refreshing to know you're not alone. If you've never tried to create things yourself... well, maybe do that. It's very enlightening, and earns you an appreciation for how intricate works like games and movies are. Once you've spent some time challenging yourself in that process, then, and only then, come back and decide if Chicory is the game for you.