You know that specific, hollow feeling in your chest after finishing a game where you spent twenty hours trying to save everyone, only to watch your best friend die because you didn't have enough "Biology" points? That’s the Exocolonist hangover. It’s a mix of grief, nostalgia, and a desperate urge to go back to age ten and do it all differently. Finding games like I Was a Teenage Exocolonist is honestly a nightmare because Northway Games mashed together so many disparate genres—deck-building, visual novel, dating sim, and time-loop tragedy—that most "similar" recommendations feel like they're missing the soul of the experience.
People usually come for the pretty art. They stay because they’re being forced to choose between a fascist colony collapse or letting their fictional mom starve. It's heavy stuff.
If you’re looking for that same cocktail of "coming-of-age stress" and "meaningful mechanical choices," you have to look beyond just standard farming sims. Most people will point you toward Stardew Valley, but let’s be real: Stardew doesn't have the existential dread of a shimmering alien wormhole or the trauma of repeated lifetimes. You need games that respect your intelligence and your willingness to suffer a little bit for a good story.
The Weird Intersection of Narrative and Math
What makes Exocolonist work isn't just the writing; it’s the way your stats—your Bravery, your Creativity, your weirdly specific knowledge of alien spores—actually dictate the narrative's trajectory. You aren't just reading a book. You are building a person.
Most narrative games treat "stats" as a secondary thing, a little flavor text here and there. But in the best games like I Was a Teenage Exocolonist, the numbers are the story. Take Citizen Sleeper, for example. You’re a digitized human consciousness in a decaying robot body on a lawless space station. Every day, you roll dice. If you roll low, you might literally fall apart. If you roll high, maybe you eat a decent meal.
It captures that same feeling of "I am just a kid/android trying to survive a system way bigger than me."
Then there's Growing Up. It’s much more grounded—no aliens, just the 1990s—but the core loop of "study, gain skills, choose your friends, hope you don't end up a failure" is identical. It uses a brain-map minigame instead of card battles, but the anxiety of your parents' expectations hits just as hard as a Vertumnus boss fight. Honestly, it’s a bit too real sometimes. One minute you're trying to master "Entertainment" skills, and the next you're realizing your childhood crush has moved on because you spent too much time in the library.
Why the Time Loop Matters
The "Groundhog Day" mechanic in Exocolonist is a safety net that actually makes the game more stressful. You know what's coming, which makes your inability to stop it in the first few runs feel like a personal failing.
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If that’s the itch you need to scratch, you have to play The Forgotten City.
Originally a Skyrim mod, it evolved into a standalone masterpiece about a Roman city under a curse: if one person sins, everyone dies. You’re the only one who remembers the previous loops. It’s less about "leveling up" and more about "information leveling." You carry knowledge between runs. It lacks the dating sim elements of Solan’s journey, but it nails the "I have lived a thousand lives to save you" energy.
Cosmic Wheel Sisterhood is another one that sneaks up on you. You play as Fortuna, a witch exiled to an asteroid. You don't "loop" in the traditional sense, but you design your own tarot deck. The cards you build—the literal art and components you choose—determine the fate of the cosmic hierarchy. It’s got that vibrant, queer-coded, philosophical vibe that makes Exocolonist fans feel at home. Plus, the music is incredible.
The Politics of Survival
Let’s talk about the colony. Vertumnus is a political powder keg. Do you side with the military-minded Helios group? Or do you try to live in harmony with the Gardener aliens who are, frankly, trying to kill you?
Pentiment handles this kind of historical and social pressure better than almost anything else on the market. Josh Sawyer and the team at Obsidian created a 16th-century murder mystery where time passes, people age, and your choices as a traveling artist ripple across decades. You don't get a "game over." You just live with the consequences of accusing the wrong person. It’s deeply academic but somehow stays intensely personal.
If you want the sci-fi grit, I Was a Teenage Exocolonist shares a lot of DNA with Digimon Survive.
Wait, stay with me.
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Despite the monster-taming exterior, Digimon Survive is a brutal visual novel about a group of kids lost in another world where—and I cannot stress this enough—they can and will die based on your dialogue choices. It’s dark. It deals with group dynamics under pressure and the loss of innocence in a way that feels very Sol-adjacent.
Managing Your Expectations: It’s Not Just About Dating
We have to address the "Dating Sim" elephant in the room. A lot of people want games like I Was a Teenage Exocolonist specifically for the romance, but romance in these games is usually a byproduct of shared trauma.
Monster Prom is the comedic version of this, but if you want the emotional weight, look at Goodbye Volcano High. It’s about teenage dinosaurs facing the end of the world. It’s a rhythm game/narrative hybrid. It’s about the "what do I do with the time I have left" question. It’s queer, it’s colorful, and it will make you cry.
But maybe you want the card mechanics?
If the card-battling was your favorite part, Griftlands by Klei Entertainment is the move. It’s a roguelike deck-builder where you can "fight" with words or weapons. You build two different decks: one for diplomacy/negotiation and one for physical combat. The world is harsh, your allies are fickle, and every "run" feels like a chapter in a gritty space opera. It doesn't have the "growing up" aspect, but the mechanical depth is significantly higher than Exocolonist.
The Problem With "Cozy" Labels
There’s a trend of calling I Was a Teenage Exocolonist a "cozy game."
It’s not.
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Sure, the colors are bright. The characters are cute. But it’s a game about colonialism, starvation, PTSD, and the ethics of genetic engineering. When looking for similar titles, don't get trapped in the "Cozy Games" tag on Steam. You’ll end up with Animal Crossing, and you’ll be bored out of your mind.
You want "Hard Narrative" or "Emotional Survival."
Pathologic 2 is the extreme end of this. It’s a plague-doctor simulator where everyone is miserable and you will probably fail. Is it "like" Exocolonist? In spirit, yes. It demands you care about a community that is actively falling apart. It’s just much, much meaner.
Actionable Steps for Your Next Playthrough
If you’re ready to move on from Vertumnus, don't just jump into the first game you see. Think about which part of the Exocolonist experience you actually want more of.
- For the "Life Journey" feel: Pick up Growing Up or Chinese Parents. These focus entirely on the stats-to-adulthood pipeline.
- For the "Sci-Fi Narrative" weight: Go with Citizen Sleeper. It is the gold standard for "marginalized person in a big sci-fi world."
- For the "Changing the Future" itch: The Forgotten City or Genesis Noir will satisfy that need to mess with time and fate.
- For the "Art and Vibes" transition: The Cosmic Wheel Sisterhood is the closest aesthetic match you will find.
Most of these games go on sale frequently during Steam’s seasonal events. If you’re on a budget, Citizen Sleeper is often on Game Pass, and The Forgotten City is frequently bundled.
The reality is that I Was a Teenage Exocolonist is a bit of a unicorn. It’s a rare game that manages to be both a spreadsheet-heavy RPG and a heart-wrenching visual novel. You might not find one game that does everything it did, but if you play the ones listed above, you’ll at least find something that makes you feel the same way—even if that "way" is just crying over a fictional teenager's life choices at 3:00 AM.
Start with Citizen Sleeper. It’s the most logical lateral move. It swaps the lush greens of an alien planet for the neon grime of a space station, but the feeling of being a small person trying to do something meaningful? That’s exactly the same.