We Are OFK's biggest flaw is its hook: This game exists to launch OFK as a music project. The game exists to launch OFK as a music project. It's a fictional origin story for a "real" virtual band (think Riot's music group K/DA). The songs must function as stand-alone commercial hits, which requires compromises that would not be possible with a regular OST. The characters are also the product the game is trying to sell. They want me to like them, root for them, and project myself onto them.

We Are OFK focuses on banding together in LA with lots of pastel colors and minimal interaction. The occasional dialogue option shares insight into a character's thoughts and feelings, but has no impact outside of that moment. There are two ways to call someone a "jerk" and three ways to be enthusiastic about "soba," but the choice is always between "jerk" and "good soba." The stories are divided into five episodes, each about an hour long, and are released weekly along with a single and a music video.

The first episode will conclude with the music video for "Follow/Unfollow". The song debuted at last year's Game Awards over a virtual crew video, but here it is transformed into a nasty breakup song over abstract mini-games, such as calling an ex-boyfriend while drunk and trying not to send him a text, or returning a cat in a box. These sections are more toys than games, providing visual excitement but not affecting anything.

The trap of OFK being a real band trying to make bop accessible to all viewers means that some songs seem to fit their episode synopsis better than others. "Fool's Gold" is an ode to human experiences such as anxiety and imposter syndrome. It is an anthem and has no problem applying it to specific characters. Footsteps, on the other hand, wants to draw you in with a beat and a music video with more technical elements, but when added to the end of an episode about grief and alienation, it is all style and no substance.

The band is a quirky, chaotic team of twenty-somethings. Itsumi, a keyboard player who loves anime, has a habit of getting drunk and smashing his keyboard in group chats. Luca is the lead singer, passionate but easily distracted. Carter, who handles audiovisual effects, is a soft-spoken technical genius whose train of thought is a bit sideways. Finally, Jay, the producer, seems to have a strong sense of self, but tries to live by impossible standards.

We are OFK focuses entirely on the band members, their wants and needs, and how they mesh and clash with one another. The majority of the series is devoted to scenes of them conversing in person or on their cell phones. They sext with coded emojis in bars, spit out texts when bored at work, and check group chats while on dates. Insight into the characters' private spaces (i.e., what they think about what they say) should make me feel closer to them, but it is counterproductive.

There are times when someone shares a screenshot in an attempt to hype up something really funny that happened in a group chat; We Are OFK attempts to replicate that dynamic, but it's often cringe-worthy.

It's so obvious that We Are OFK wants you to like its characters and feel close to them that anything that lands wrong tends to land hard. In the first episode, Luka compares his trivial choice regarding a song to the Holocaust film Sophie's Choice. I found him to be over-the-top and a bit vulgar in an attempt to show off, but I found it offensively obnoxious and hated that the "Sophie's kid thing" became a recurring in-joke between the two characters over the course of multiple episodes.

Given We Are OFK's failed attempts to make the cast emotionally invested, it is not surprising that my favorite episodes are the ones that slow things down away from the group and have relatively little text interaction. Other than a few drunken, yogurt-eating texts from Itsumi, little else is done and the focus is quietly on grief. The series' themes of vulnerability and conflicting desires are best expressed in the episodes that deviate most from the format. In particular, it is the episode in which the music video feels the least integrated: the best episode of OFK, the worst promotion.

We Are OFK has some cleverly constructed scenes. The presentation of dialogue choices is often constructed as small visual gags, with funny and thoughtful callbacks that span multiple episodes. When the format is broken, it is done with incredible playfulness and heart. However, this experience is hampered by the band.

We Are OFK is simultaneously too real and too fake, always making you feel like you are being sold something. There are details that seem to be there for someone's catharsis, for example when Luca and Itsumi talk about the inadequacies and stresses of their day jobs in the gaming industry. Luca talks about wanting to make meaningful art that helps people and is repeatedly reassured that he does, but it is hard to connect that to the catchy but nondescript dance-pop that the band is producing in-universe. Thematically, the band is peddling indie underdogs in a plot that exploits industry connections.

The novelty here is in the hook. It's not just a game, but a fictional biopic of a "real" virtual band that streams three times a week on Twitch and hopes to go on tour. Putting novelty aside, there are more interesting stories of twenty-somethings discovering themselves. There are interactive fictions that use text in more engaging ways, and there are games that don't try to sell you a relationship with a product.