Four Years Later, Cyberpunk 2077 Is Perfect (If You Rebel Hard Enough)

I still have the scars from Cyberpunk 2077's launch. Not metaphorical ones — I'm talking about the actual indent my DualSense left on my palm after the 60th crash forced me to squeeze it a little too hard. Back in the grim winter of 2020, playing on a PS5 that had no business running this game, I was blue-screening every 25 minutes like clockwork. That's 60 crashes over one playthrough. I finished it anyway, out of sheer, unadulterated stubbornness. Flash forward to 2026, and I’m sitting here with update 2.12 (or is it 2.13? I’ve lost count), Phantom Liberty safely in my library, and the game humming along at a buttery 60 fps with ray tracing. It's fixed, people. Truly, finally, ostensibly fixed. Unless, of course, your definition of “fixed” includes things like meaningful role-play choices, a third-person perspective that isn't a camera mod, or an ending that doesn't make you want to hug your own brain stem. If those were your deal-breakers, buddy, I’ve got some bad news: those were never bugs. They were features. \ud83d\ude05

But here’s the thing: I’ve logged over 400 hours in Night City now. I’ve seen every ending, collected every tarot card, and yes, I even tracked down the gamer girl’s bathwater because I am a completionist with no shame. And the secret to my happiness? I stopped playing the game CD Projekt RED made and started playing the one I invented inside it. Cyberpunk 2077 isn’t an action RPG. It’s a fashion simulator with a side of existential dread. And once you accept that, you’ll have more fun than you ever thought possible.

Let’s rewind a bit. After my original masochistic playthrough, I gave the game another shot about nine months later when the first stabilization patch dropped. The crashes thinned out enough that I could actually hear the NPCs speaking instead of my own frustrated screaming. But the design flaws? Still there, hanging around like a bad choom. Linear missions, doors that would never open no matter how high your Tech Ability, and a skill tree that felt designed by committee. I remember thinking, “Why do I keep coming back?” The answer was simple: clothes.

In a game literally named “Cyberpunk,” the launch version let you customize your hairstyle about as much as a potato. Even now, in its fully polished 2026 state, you’re still locked into one body type, your genitals remain hilariously irrelevant to any intimate scene (Judy’s and Panam’s are very specifically tailored to cis bodies, and no amount of patches will fix that), and the aesthetic options are basically tattoos, eyeballs, and lipstick. Yet somehow, maybe through sheer spite, I’ve turned this limitation into an art form. Photo mode became my endgame. Every new jacket, every pair of questionable trousers, every neon-lit alley in Japantown — all of it fuel for my personal runway. It’s the reason I survived my second 100-hour playthrough and the reason I’m still tinkering in Dogtown today.

The 2.0 update and Phantom Liberty doubled down on this weirdness. The expanded wardrobe is glorious — though mysteriously, we still have a shoe shortage. Who decided V only needs three pairs of boots for the apocalypse? Phantom Liberty even tosses in mission-specific outfits that look straight out of a Milan runway, which would be incredible if Dogtown itself weren't so soul-crushingly miserable. I mean, every single character you meet in that DLC is drowning in sadness. Solomon Reed talks like he’s reading his own obituary. Hell, the entire expansion feels like it was designed to be the absolute last thing you do in a playthrough, right when V is already gasping for breath and wondering if Jackie would’ve wanted the pizza with pineapple. Jumping back in just for Phantom Liberty after two years away? It’s like attending a funeral for someone you only half-remember. No wonder people struggle to connect with it.

So here’s my unsolicited advice, from a gamer who has turned rebellion into a lifestyle: if you’re diving back into Night City in 2026 (and you should, because Night City is gorgeous and driving around while shooting people badly is still weirdly therapeutic), don’t let the game tell you what to feel. Finish the Voodoo Boys questline. Go hunt down those ridiculous street performers. Turn your V into a neon cowgirl and take 47 pictures next to a dumpster fire. Live a little before you surrender to the heartbreak of Phantom Liberty. Swim in that very small pool of water — yes, the one in the Peralez’s penthouse — just because you can now without the game crashing.

Let’s get real for a sec. Cyberpunk 2077 in 2026 is the best version of itself it will ever be. The skill tree finally makes sense. Vehicle combat exists, even if it’s jankier than a three-legged chair. The bugs that remain are charming rather than game-breaking — I once saw an NPC T-pose through a wall, and I just nodded and said, “Same, buddy.” But to truly love this game, you have to rebel against its linear heart. You have to care more about the color of your pants than the fate of your soul. Because the moment you do, Night City stops being a dystopian nightmare and becomes your personal sandbox of chaotic joy.

Next time someone tells you Cyberpunk 2077 is finally fixed, give them a knowing smile. It’s not fixed. It’s just made peace with its own glorious, beautiful brokenness. And frankly, so have we. \ud83d\udc8e