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Among RPG enthusiasts, the most abhorred form of player misbehavior is munchkinism, immortalized in lists like this. (GMs who feeds their egos by destroying his hapless players’ characters are worse while they last, but happily they don’t last long.)

Unfortunately, the term “munchkin” is a fuzzy one. Like “fascism,” it has been corrupted through overuse, coming very nearly to mean “any behavior the speaker doesn’t like,” with a half dozen or so symptomatic behaviors mistakenly equated with the real thing. Arguments break out over who is and is not a munchkin; it’s entirely possible for two different players, or groups of players, to look down upon one another as munchkins.

That’s something of a shame, because players can benefit from discussions of good and bad play styles. This does not mean that there is only one true, right, “good” way to play; anyone group that is having fun is playing well. Still, it’s always possible to get better, and sometimes a bad player—possibly a munchkin—can ruin everyone else’s fun. So talking about munchkinism can be useful. In the interest of healthier discussion, I’d like to put forth a working definition, along with some other behaviors related to, and often confused with, munchkinism:

RPGs are a story-telling medium. A munchkin is a player who pursues self-glorification to the detriment, or even to the complete destruction, of a story told via an RPG.

Munchkinism usually takes the form of an immature insistence on winning, easily and often. “Winning” is measured in some form of accumulated “points.” These points may take many forms. Gold pieces. Experience levels. Ever deadlier weapons. Honor points. Kills. But whatever form they take, a munchkin loses sight of the fact that these points are abstractions, a rough guide to how well he’s done, and begins to mistake the points themselves as the goal. Everything, including murder, betrayal, and generally psychopathic behavior by the character, and even outright cheating on the part of the player himself, are okay as long as he gets points for it.

This attitude is closely linked to, but still distinct form, some other game phenomena.

A power gamer is not the same as a munchkin. A power gamer prefers the kind of epic stories enshrined in myth and Hollywood blockbusters, and characters with abilities vastly beyond those of ordinary people: superheroes, D&D characters past level 20 or so, and anything ever published by White Wolf. As long as the power gamer expects, and even desires, to square off against equally powerful antagonists, with a reasonable danger of getting beaten, he’s just telling stories of epic heroism. If the power gamer just wants all that power so he can lord it over helpless mortals, he’s probably a munchkin.

A combat-obsessed player is not the same as a munchkin. Some players come home from a hard day at the office, or some other aggravating issue, and just want the vicarious release of killing things. Others aren’t really into RPGs in the first place, treating them as mutant wargames, and their own characters as fungible units. Such players may produce dull narratives, but as long as they accept death and/or losing gracefully, they can’t be considered munchkins. Munchkins do, however, tend to love combat, because it’s an easy way to score victories, certainly easier than negotiating with NPCs. (GMs who indulge this style of munchkinism find it easier to portray NPCs with single-minded bloodthirstiness, too.) In the munchkin’s mind, he never truly loses as long as he gets to kill anyone who makes him look bad. Besides, in many systems, killing things is the most efficient way to rack up points.

A rules lawyer is not the same as a munchkin. A rules lawyer treats the rules as more important than the story, arguing for the grossly implausible because “that’s what the rules say.” Swinging a seven-foot halberd in each hand, automatically successful dodges, carrying obscenely bulky gear because the rules only address weight—these are the province of the rules lawyer. Sometimes, a rules lawyer just enjoys an argument, which is another problem at the gaming table. Other times, he just wants to be sure everyone is following the same rules, and that he isn’t being “punished” for decisions he’s made in expectation of certain rules applying. A decent rules lawyer will argue just as hard against his interests if that’s what the rules say, instead of conveniently ignoring such cases. But yeah, most rules lawyers are munchkins, and vice versa, seeking to overrule both common sense and GM prerogative to their own advantage.

A minimaxer is not the same as a munchkin. Minimaxing is a process of getting maximum return for minimum expense within fixed limiting conditions—in an RPG context, this usually means designing a character within the limits of the rules for maximum effectiveness, through a judicious choice of mutually reinforcing skills or of disadvantages (which grant character points that can be spent on desirable abilities). On a small scale, minimaxing is not only reasonable, but healthy; you do it every time you budget your groceries. It’s only reasonable that the protagonists of an RPG story would try to achieve their heroic deeds with a minimum of risk or a maximum chance of getting rich, famous, and beloved. A player who takes things to extremes, however, turns his character into a rule-twisting monstrosity, and a character who takes things to extremes becomes a cold mercenary, undercutting the heroic tone that many RPGs strive for. Unhealthy minimaxing is often coupled to rules lawyering and/or combat-obsessed play: if your minimaxer takes the “missing hand” disad per finger because it’s worth more points, or if he lives in a cardboard box and eats dumpster remnants in order to save the character points for a marksman skill of 99%, he’s probably a munchkin.

Finally, a child or an adolescent is not the same as a munchkin, although that is the origin of the word—adult players, encountering children who played selfishly and badly, coined the term in reference to their height. Believe me: immature play is shockingly common among adults. Conversely, some kids catch on to the idea of team play and sharing the metaphorical “camera time” right off the bat, especially if they start their experience surrounded by good players. Nevertheless, a disproportionate number of munchkins are adolescent twerps. Happily, most of them grow out of it.

Happily, too, the RPG community can grow out of it, too. Munchkinism has been part of RPGs since the dawn of the hobby—the original Dungeons & Dragons was almost purely a munchkin exercise: characters defined by how they killed things, success measured in experience points, complex yet poorly tested rules to abuse, a presumption of a basically hostile relationship between player and GM, and between player and player, for that matter, if the payoff was big enough. Munchkinism will remain with us as long as the hobby survives. But the strong trend, with a bit of backsliding here and there, has been to move RPGs from point-collecting tactical exercise to narrative. The grinding collection of points moved to the computer game market, where computers (and consoles) can handle the job for people who enjoy that kind of game. And the most recent leaders of the console games, in turn, have begun seeking to replace grind with narrative, too: Mass Effect, Half-Life 2, Halo3, and even Portal.

Onward!