It was a mistake to marry Haley in Stardew Valley, though not for the reasons you’d expect

I recently wrapped up a mammoth 65-hour-long play-through of Stardew Valley. It took me the best part of three months to finish (as much as you can “finish” this near-infinite farming sim, anyway) and I loved every minute of it.

Well. Nearly every minute. As satisfied as I was with the day-to-day minutiae of running my digital farm, there was one aspect that left me cold.

We need to talk about Haley.

I’ve dipped back into Stardew Valley a few times since it first launched in 2016, and although I tend to do the same thing over and over again (crops are the cornerstone of my empire, I only mine on rainy days, my pet is a grey cat named George) one thing I do try to switch up is who I choose to date.

Stardew’s roster of eligible singletons is an important part of the game’s lasting appeal. They’re a fun bunch of weirdos, each with their own daily routines, hobbies and preferences. You can gain their affection by stalking their every move, interrupting whatever they’re doing to gift them a raw egg or a mangy flower you found growing next to a bin. This constitutes as romance in Stardew Valley, and after about four weeks of this unhinged behaviour, they will fall madly in love with you. Very normal!

Previously, I have courted and eventually married both Leah and Harvey, two residents that many Stardew players would probably agree are the most obvious – and, therefore, boring – options available. Choosing to marry Leah feels a bit like picking Mario in Mario Kart. No one is necessarily going to judge you for it, but it speaks to a personality type that probably doesn’t make you the favourite within your friend group.

This time around I decided to go in a different direction. Inspired by a TikTok that showcased a mod simply known as Goth Haley (we will not be unpacking this here) I decided to pursue Stardew’s meanest villager, partly to see how she would respond to my constant stream of gifts, but mainly because I think I like it when women bully me (we will not be unpacking this here).

Haley, for those who have yet to play Stardew, occupies the classic mean girl archetype that remains heavily present in both films and TV. She is Regina George in all but name, a fashion-obsessed young woman with blonde hair (or dark purple, depending on your modding decisions) who gives off the impression that she is above living in a small farming community located in the middle of nowhere. She is generally disliked by Stardew players for being aloof and judgemental, an opinion I also held before I saw a single screenshot of her with a lip ring.

At first, dating Haley went about as well as I expected it to. She would tell me how ugly my clothes were, and how she couldn’t possibly imagine being a farmer. She would roll her eyes and seem disgusted by my presence unless I gave her a sunflower, to which she would respond with genuine gratitude.

As our relationship progressed, Haley began to open up. She expressed a gentle interest in visiting the local forest. She began to question her enthusiasm for fashion. As her cool exterior began to melt, I saw a version of Haley that was shy, curious and even kind. Haley the photographer. Haley the caring sister. Readers, I began to think I’d been missing out.

25 sunflowers later (citation needed) I presented Haley with the Mermaid Pendant I had bought from a strange man in the rain (Stardew is weird) and asked her to marry me. She enthusiastically agreed. Married on a crisp autumnal morning, I felt excited about how our relationship would develop from this point on.

However, as I woke up the next day to find Haley cooking breakfast in our kitchen, I was immediately aware that something was… off. Haley told me she had watered my crops and wished me a great day at work. OK. Not too weird, I suppose. Our romance was a whirlwind and we got hitched quickly, thanks in no small part to a sunflower operation that could be described as “sinisterly efficient”. Perhaps Haley’s newfound joy was simply the result of a honeymoon phase? I gave her a smooch and went about my day, assuming the Haley I had gotten to know would make her return in a few day’s time.

Now, I want to make it very clear that I’m aware relationships in Stardew Valley are, perhaps intentionally, shallow. As my Indieventure co-host Rebecca pointed out recently, passive spouses were a fixture of Story of Seasons (previously Harvest Moon), a series Stardew Valley is heavily inspired by. Those games urged you to marry a local villager, who would then become a sort of cardboard person that would hang around your house. In that sense Stardew is no different. Both Leah and Harvey exhibited similar behaviours to Haley once we were married, expressing their love through chores apparently performed in the dead of night and plates of mediocre eggs.

But for some reason this felt weirder when it came to Haley. Haley, a character who actively dislikes rural living when you first meet, was suddenly content with spending all day within my dead grandfather’s cabin, cooking hash browns and raising our children. The transformation was jarring, like my wife had been replaced with an imposter the second we had signed the paperwork. This wasn’t the Haley I knew, the Haley I had seen change over the course of that one perfect summer. This was someone different. A stranger.

Stardew Valley is not a dating sim, nor does it have any desire to be. It’s a farming sim that just so happens to feature a gentle relationship mechanic. Stardew wants you to connect with your neighbours, sure. To establish deep roots in this space through familiarity, love and companionship. A very human instinct. But at the end of the day, its focus is on crop management and mining. It’s not that deep because it doesn’t have to be.

But on this particular playthrough, Stardew’s no-frills approach to romance felt less like an omission and more like a flaw. I’m not saying that Eric Barone, the game’s sole developer, has failed in some way by not fleshing out this particular aspect more, but by providing such a heartfelt arc in the run-up to this point it highlighted just how shallow it actually is.

Haley’s story felt gentle and real. It spoke to past experiences, a life outside of the game that had influenced her personality and the way she interacted with others. With the exception of a single event that sees Haley raise money to buy new books for the village’s children, once you are married something fundamental about her simply fades away. I felt its absence every single time we spoke. It was sad!

By giving Haley an emotional curve, one initiated and given form through your repeated interactions, Barone created a silhouette of a person just believable enough for me to become attached, which is ultimately where things went wrong. Stardew lost me by replacing Haley the human with Haley the function. “Wife” interpreted as a raw game mechanic. The game kept me captivated with its magic trick for hours, only to spill its cards all over the floor the second I demanded more.

Towards the end of my time with Stardew, I would come home to frequently find Haley stood alone in our dark living room. She would be staring at a chair, or a desk, or an ottoman. “I’ve been doing some shopping” she would say. “Do you like it?”. I would look at my wife, who had placed the ugliest piece of furniture I’d ever seen in the middle of a completely empty room, and feel nothing but sorrow. I had done this to her. I had led her down this path. I had ripped away the parts of her that had made her unique.

“I love it” I would think, knowing that my days in this particular version of the game were thankfully numbered. Knowing that next time I had the choice to ignore Haley, to leave her fully formed by refusing to engage with her at all. To let her exist as a person, rather than a function.

“I love it so much.”

Any spelling mistakes, grammatical errors or badly phrased sentences in this post are all intentional. Cheers.