Smiskis, Sims, and Selfhood: Building a Space That Feels Like You

When you scroll through Twitch and land on Pixels_2001's stream, it doesn't feel like stepping into just another gamer setup. It feels like walking into someone's room at 2 a.m. after a sleepover, lit softly by pink lights, layered in things that bring comfort, and anchored by a presence that doesn't need to shout to be felt. It's not a content machine. It's a lived-in space.

Smiski figurines peek out from behind a lavender humidifier. A set of pastel blind boxes sits neatly on one shelf, stacked like a puzzle that never ends. Nearby, peach-coloured accessories blend in with a glowing monitor. It's soft, cohesive, and unapologetically curated.

"I'm a very picky person," Pixels_2001 says. "If it's a series that only has one or two figures I'd like, I don't bother purchasing it. It would be a waste of money. And who wants to waste money in this economy?"

That's the tone she keeps throughout her collection. Not impulsive. Not showy. Not for clout. For her, collecting is a deeply personal, almost instinctive act. She knows what belongs and what doesn't. Every shelf, every blind box, every little glowing Smiski figure is there because it fits something in her; an aesthetic, a mood, a kind of peace she's trying to hold onto.

"I started collecting cameras at 16 and a few Funkos here and there," she said. "Much later, I discovered Smiskis, and the rest is history. I have like 40 of them. Some would say an entire army."

Smiskis (tiny, glow-in-the-dark characters that are designed to be placed in hidden or tucked-away spaces) mirror a lot about how she exists online. Subtle. Specific. Designed with care. These figures don't demand attention, but they reward the ones who notice, much like her own content.

"I have almost the entire collection," she says with a small laugh. "So I can't allow myself to buy any more."

Even in that, there's a sense of quiet restraint. A joy that doesn't tip into excess. It's clear that she values the process of choosing, not just acquiring.

"I don't know if there's any one thing in particular that plays a large role in my collecting," she said, pausing to think it through. "Well, actually, I have AUDHD, so that definitely plays a large role."

That admission isn't framed as an excuse. It's an honest part of her process. For many neurodivergent creators, physical objects can help with focus, memory, or emotional grounding. The ritual of collecting, organizing, and interacting with a display can be stabilizing in a world that constantly shifts.

"I definitely feel like it [my neurodivergence] has an impact," she says, "but not in a negative way. I like to keep things around me that make me happy or help me focus. My desk has my favorite things on it because it makes it easier to sit down and start working or streaming."

She's not trying to go viral for her setup. In fact, she doesn't post about her collection often. But the one time she did, it got traction. "Most of my community came from Genshin Impact, a gacha game, so they'd absolutely love blind boxes," she said.

That makes sense. Blind boxes and gacha both revolve around chance, patience, and the thrill of small wins. In a gaming space increasingly defined by speed, dominance, and performance, something is refreshing in watching someone take joy in the smallest details.

Her taste in games reflects the same sensibility. "I always make super girly characters," she said. "I spend a ridiculous amount of time in create-a-sim. Accessories, outfits, makeup. It reminds me of the dress-up games I played as a kid."

That act of crafting characters down to the smallest detail is another kind of collecting. This time, digital. The Sims has become less of a game and more of a space for expression. A space where femininity doesn't need to be explained or justified. It just exists.

Her aesthetic leans soft, dreamy, and pastel. It shows up in the figures she collects and in the choices she makes for her Twitch channel. But when she steps outside the digital or display space, it shifts.

"I dress pretty masculine in real life," she said. "So I like being able to play around with girly stuff in my streams or in games. It gives me a way to explore that part of myself."

For many streamers, Twitch is performance. For Pixels, it's expression. "I'm the exact same person online as I am in person," she said. "So my Twitch and my collection are related because they're both reflections of me."

The difference is that she's not trying to fit into the curated streamer aesthetic that floods timelines. She's crafting a smaller, softer space. One that doesn't rely on flash but on feeling.

And it's working. Her community shows up not just because she's playing the newest gacha pull or talking about the latest figures. They show up because she's real. Because her space feels like a pause. Because she knows exactly what she wants to share and how to do it.

"The girlies are really into shoujo core lately, and I am no exception," she said. "I grew up reading so much manga, and it's wonderful to see a resurgence of interest in the shoujo genre."

That resurgence isn't about nostalgia. It's about reclaiming softness as something valuable, especially in gaming and fandom spaces where femininity has often been sidelined or trivialized.

Her display shelf is a tiny rebellion against all that. The pink tones, the shy Smiskis, and the blind boxes that hold tiny surprises stand for something. For care. For presence. For choice. They say you don't have to shout to be powerful. You don't have to collect everything to love something deeply. You don't have to change yourself to build a world that fits.

"I have to genuinely like it," she said. "That's what makes something a must-have for me."

That quiet kind of honesty is rare. It's not about chasing trends. It's about building something that sustains you. For Pixels_2001, that means a desk filled with figures that make her feel calm. A stream that reflects who she is without a filter. A game character in a cute outfit that feels right, even if it only exists on-screen.

This isn't just a collection. It's a practice. A way of holding on to joy. Of grounding identity through objects, colours, shapes, and play. Every choice she makes, from a figure on the shelf to the tone of her stream, reinforces that truth.

She's not here to dominate the algorithm or chase views. She's here to make a space. One that feels safe. One that feels real. One that feels hers.

And in doing so, she offers a quiet kind of power; one figure at a time, one shelf at a time, one soft and specific choice at a time.