Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 creative director Guillaume Broche has a surprisingly unfashionable take: games that chase perfection often end up “really boring.” In a new episode of Konbini's Video Game Club on YouTube, Broche frames “perfect” as a personality-killer, comparing it to people who try to be flawless and, in his words, end up “boring because they have no personality.”

That’s not abstract philosophy for him. Broche also points to specific quirks in his own award-winning RPG, including “unbearable” minigames, the fact that “you could get absurdly strong in Act 3,” and the reality that some players could “breeze through the whole thing in one go and won't see all the content.” The punchline: the studio’s stance is basically, who cares. “It’s just funny. That's what we love about it.” And “the imperfections are part of the charm.”

To understand why this matters beyond one developer interview, zoom out to how modern game design (and publishing) gets obsessed with optimization. Teams iterate toward “optimal” player experiences, then backfill with patches, difficulty tuning, UI improvements, and systems polish. The industry rewards measurable smoothness. But Broche is drawing a line between smoothness and memorability. His theory is that flaws reveal intention and character, the same way “slightly weird” people often stand out in a room full of rehearsed perfection. “You see their flaws, and you think to yourself, 'Yeah, it's lame, but I don't care,'” he says, and that emotional permission is a big deal. It can turn friction into fondness.

Broche’s example set also tells you what kind of “imperfections” he means. Speaking about the Devil May Cry series, he calls the first game “a bit of a mess,” pointing at Dante's love interest, Trish, who “looks like his own mother,” and the “cheesy lines” the protagonist is always saying. Yet he still says, “these games are really endearing,” precisely because they are not perfect. That’s a useful distinction for executives: Broche is not celebrating randomness. He’s describing a consistent set of recognizable weirdness, where players can see the edges and still connect.

Now bring it back to Clair Obscur: Expedition 33, which he notes “won countless awards last year.” Even with that success, Broche lists plenty of ways the game can miss the idealized “perfect run.” The minigames are labeled “unbearable,” Act 3 can let players get “absurdly strong,” and there is a path where some players can “breeze through the whole thing in one go and won't see all the content.” If you’re running a live-ops pipeline or planning post-launch strategy, those details are not trivial. They indicate design that tolerates imbalance and diverging play patterns, which can create two opposite effects at once: frustration for some, excitement for others who enjoy power fantasy and comedy.

And the studio’s response is telling. When asked about those quirks, the devs “simply thought: 'Who cares? It's just funny. That's what we love about it.'” That implies a design culture where team taste outruns pure analytics, at least in certain areas. In a world where boards want clear risk management and CFOs want predictable KPIs, that stance can look like a gamble. But it also reduces the temptation to sand everything down into sameness. Second-order, that can strengthen brand identity, because players remember the “funny” parts that others might have removed.

There’s also a business context hidden in plain sight: Broche says he “doesn't 'care' if his next game isn't as popular as Sandfall's GOTY RPG,” because “we're just going to do what we love again.” That’s a direct statement about incentives. Popularity is one metric, but creative output and repeatable internal satisfaction are another. When developers build what they love, they may ship with more conviction, which can translate into stronger community stories even if sales peak elsewhere.

For executives, investors, and operators evaluating which studios to back or how to steer strategy, this interview offers a practical filter. Instead of treating “imperfections” as bugs to eradicate, consider whether those imperfections are generating identity, humor, and replay value. Broche’s framing suggests that chasing perfect smoothness can reduce personality, while embracing specific weirdness can make games feel alive. The strategic stake is simple: in a crowded market, bland “optimized” experiences blend together, but imperfect, character-driven games become cultural objects. If Clair Obscur is any signal, the winners might not be the most flawless. They might be the ones with edges you remember.