I’ve been a gamer since the mid-90s, lost in worlds built of pixels and imagination. But lately, a troubling realization has settled in: while we celebrate the games themselves, we’re overlooking the quiet erosion of the industry that creates them.
There’s a common refrain – games were better “back then.” It’s easy to dismiss as nostalgia, but the sentiment grows stronger with each passing year. Modern games, while technically impressive, often feel…manufactured. Risk-averse stories, predictable characters, and gameplay designed by committee are becoming the norm.
The blame doesn’t lie with the developers, or even the publishers, entirely. It rests with us, with the culture we’ve created. Our preferences, our demands, dictate the direction of the industry, shaping the very experiences we consume. This is why gaming feels increasingly overbearing and, frankly, harder to enjoy.
The sheer volume of releases is overwhelming. We gravitate towards familiar favorites, creating echo chambers and leaving countless titles unseen. It’s a paradox – a love for games that makes it impossible to experience them all.
Consider the 2022 *Saints Row* reboot. The backlash was fierce, fueled by a sense of betrayal. But was it truly a bad game, or simply a *different* one? We rejected it because it didn’t conform to our idealized past, effectively getting the *Saints Row* we deserved, a product of our own expectations.
Similarly, *Dragon Age: The Veilguard* exists because Electronic Arts is responding to perceived cultural shifts. Whether we like it or not, it’s a reflection of the audience they believe we’ve become. We may criticize it, but we are, in a way, responsible for its creation.
This feels like a path towards self-destruction. The industry is building a foundation on shifting sands, and with it, the culture surrounding gaming itself is at risk. It’s easy to dismiss this as hyperbole, but the contrast between the simplicity of the past and the overwhelming complexity of today is undeniable.
We operate under the assumption that successful games equate to happy developers. This is a dangerous fallacy. When sales fall short of astronomical expectations, studios are vulnerable, and talented teams are disbanded. The fate of Bizarre Creations, Evolution Studios, and even Volition serve as stark reminders.
Fighting for the wellbeing of game creators is difficult when we prioritize the end product over the process. We need to recognize that sales numbers, while important, shouldn’t be the sole determinant of a studio’s survival. The industry needs room to breathe, to experiment, and to take risks without fearing immediate collapse.
We, the players, hold the power to change this. We are not passive consumers; we are active participants in shaping the future of gaming. It’s time to demand more than just polished graphics and endless content. It’s time to demand a sustainable, creative, and respectful industry.
