I’ve spent years digging into the hidden corners of gaming history, and nothing has sent me down a rabbit hole quite like this. There’s a cult—a real, Neo-Victorian, past-worshipping, spanking-obsessed cult—that not only made video games but also pulled off the most audacious marketing stunt in gaming history. And yet, no one talks about them. How is that possible?
The story starts with a text adventure game so controversial it became the first video game ever to receive a British 18+ rating. But here’s the twist: the rating wasn’t for the game itself but for the illustrations included with it. The game? Jack the Ripper. The cult? A group of women who ran a pretend 1870s finishing school in Donegal, Ireland, and called themselves Aristasia.
They weren’t just weird—they were revolutionary.
Why Did Their Jack the Ripper Game Get an 18+ Rating?
You’d think it would be the violence, right? Wrong. The 18+ rating came from the publisher’s illustrations, not the game’s content. This wasn’t an accident. It was a masterclass in misdirection. The cult knew exactly what they were doing. They made a game that seemed innocent on the surface—a text adventure about Jack the Ripper—and then added enough controversy to make headlines.
This wasn’t just about ratings. It was about control. By making the illustrations the issue, they shifted the focus away from the game’s actual themes and onto something they could manipulate. It’s like when a spy draws so much attention that no one suspects them. They weren’t innovating—they were orchestrating.
And it worked. For years, people talked about the “controversial” game, never realizing the game itself was just a distraction.
Were They British Spies During the Troubles?
Blindboy’s theory was wild, but not entirely off. The cult had a knack for blending into the chaos. They weren’t just a group of women in vintage dresses—they were strategic. If you’re hiding something, you either reduce your signal or create so much noise that your real signal gets lost. These women were masters of noise.
They lived on the Irish border, right in the heart of the Troubles. They weren’t just “weird British people”—they were a cult that screamed all the time, literally. Their neighbors couldn’t ignore them, but they couldn’t pin anything concrete on them either. It was the perfect cover.
And the name game? They weren’t Bond, James Bond, but they had their own signature. Everything about them was performative, from their “Aristasia” philosophy to their “Guénonian Traditionalism with lesbian separatism.” It was all a stage.
What Was Their Deal with the Metric System?
This is where it gets really weird. The cult campaigned against the metric system. Seriously. They believed in a “pre-metric” world, where inches and pounds were sacred. It wasn’t just nostalgia—it was a deliberate rejection of modernity.
Why? Because modernity is transparent. It’s measurable. It’s accountable. The cult thrived in the fog of the past. By fighting the metric system, they reinforced their entire worldview: that the old ways were better, that progress was a lie.
And they took it to the extreme. Their games, their magazines, their everything—everything was about retreating from the present. It was a full-blown LARP, but with real-world consequences.
Did They Actually Innovate Gaming?
No. And that’s the point. Text adventures were one of the first and most obvious ways to make a game. Loads of people were doing it. The cult didn’t invent them—they just used them as a vehicle for their own agenda.
The real innovators were the lone developers, the anarchists, the people who pushed boundaries without trying to control the narrative. The cult? They were just another group jumping on the bandwagon, using controversy as a crutch.
But here’s the thing: they got noticed. And that’s all that matters in this industry. Controversy isn’t just attention—it’s power.
What About Their Fetish Vibes?
Let’s be real. There’s something deeply fetishistic about this cult. From their spanking magazines to their “spankatorium” finishing school, it’s all about power and performance.
Some call it a “gay full-time BDSM LARP club that went a bit off the rails.” Others see it as a twisted take on feminism, twisting second-wave ideas into something reactionary. Either way, it’s a mess.
And their games? They’re full of it. If you know the context, their text adventures read like coded messages about dominance and submission. If you don’t, they just seem… normal. That’s the genius of it.
Why Does Any of This Matter?
Because history isn’t just about the winners. It’s about the weirdos, the outliers, the people who tried to rewrite the rules. The cult didn’t shape gaming—they just showed how easy it is to manipulate the narrative.
And that’s a lesson we still haven’t learned.