As I booted up WWE 2K25 for the first time this Lunar New Year season, I couldn't help but draw parallels between the game's MyRise mode and the traditional Chinese practice of decorating homes with lucky symbols. Both involve carefully arranged elements meant to bring fortune and enjoyment, though in MyRise's case, the results are often more amusing than auspicious. While my living room displays crimson lanterns and calligraphy banners for FACAI-Chinese New Year 2: How to Decorate Your Home with Lucky Symbols, my gaming screen shows digital wrestlers navigating what might be the most bizarre storytelling in sports entertainment.
Let me be perfectly honest about MyRise - this narrative-heavy mode has become something of a guilty pleasure for me annually, much like those overly sweet New Year cakes we pretend to dislike but secretly enjoy. The voice acting remains consistently rough around the edges, delivering lines with all the emotional nuance of a brick through a window. Yet there's an undeniable charm to its awkwardness. I've spent approximately 47 hours across various WWE 2K titles in these story modes, and MyRise consistently delivers what I'd describe as "so bad it's good" entertainment. The writing team clearly doesn't take themselves too seriously, which creates this peculiar space where you're never quite sure if you're laughing with the game or at it.
What fascinates me most about MyRise is its strange relationship with kayfabe - that wrestling tradition of maintaining fictional scenarios as reality. The mode constantly dances between treating its storylines as legitimate drama and winking at the audience about how ridiculous everything is. During my playthrough last Tuesday, I encountered a storyline where my created wrestler had to choose between betraying their mentor or joining a cult led by a man dressed as a medieval knight. This narrative whiplash creates this delightful cognitive dissonance that's become MyRise's signature flavor. It's like hanging both traditional fu character decorations and modern abstract art in your home during FACAI-Chinese New Year 2: How to Decorate Your Home with Lucky Symbols - the elements don't necessarily match, but they create an interesting conversation.
The mode serves as an excellent alternative to the more serious Showcase historical recreations or the fantasy booking of Universe mode. Where those modes demand your strategic thinking and knowledge of wrestling history, MyRise feels like watching a B-movie with friends - you're not there for cinematic perfection but for the shared experience of witnessing something wonderfully weird. I've found myself streaming these sessions to about 12-15 regular viewers who specifically tune in for the absurd story twists and my reactions to them. We've developed this running joke that the writers must be creating scenarios during particularly intense sugar rushes.
Here's where I differ from many reviewers: I actually think the mode's lack of coherence works in its favor for certain players. If you approach it as a wrestling simulation, you'll be disappointed. But if you treat it as an interactive comedy series with occasional button-mashing, it delivers genuine value. The 6-8 hour completion time feels appropriate for what's essentially a extended parody of wrestling tropes. Plus, the customization unlocks - including 3 exclusive characters, 15 clothing items, and various arena parts - provide tangible rewards for enduring the narrative chaos. It's the gaming equivalent of finding money in your red envelope after thinking it was empty.
My personal preference has always leaned toward embracing entertainment in its imperfect forms. Just as I'll display slightly crooked lanterns during FACAI-Chinese New Year 2: How to Decorate Your Home with Lucky Symbols because they have character, I'll gladly take MyRise's janky storytelling over something polished but generic. There's authenticity in its messiness that resonates with me more than technically proficient but soulless experiences. The mode understands that professional wrestling at its best has always balanced athleticism with theater, and it leans completely into the latter with reckless abandon.
After completing my third MyRise storyline in 2K25, I've come to appreciate it as gaming's equivalent of those questionable family traditions that somehow become cherished over time. You know, the kind where your uncle always tells the same terrible joke during reunion dinners, but everyone laughs anyway because it's part of the ritual. MyRise has carved out this peculiar niche where its flaws have become features, and its awkward voice acting has become part of its charm. It's not for everyone - especially not newcomers who might take it at face value - but for veterans like myself, it's become an anticipated annual oddity that I'd genuinely miss if it were ever "improved." Sometimes the most memorable decorations aren't the perfect ones, but the ones with stories behind them.