There was a world, not so long ago, that required disks for playing games. A limited number of copies of a title would be produced and, if players weren’t on the pre-order list, they could be denied the covetous privilege of playing a game on day one, or if demand was high enough, for weeks — if not months. In the modern age, disks are a relic of the past, with most gamers opting for the stress-free experience of downloading a digital copy. If consumers are moving away from pre-orders, why aren’t companies?
Pre-ordering goes all the way back to the 1980s. After the 1983 market crash, retailers were leery of overstocking merchandise that might never see revenue and were unwilling to subject themselves to another Atari Video Game Burial — an urban legend turned into truth when a New Mexico landfill turned up thousands of unsold Atari systems and games. In order to insulate themselves from any outside issues, retailers and distributors purchased smaller quantities of games and waited to stock shelves until sales were all but guaranteed. In response, players had only one option if they wanted to ensure they got a copy: pre-order.
But we don’t live in a world of cartridges or quantity disparities anymore. There is an argument to be made about the longevity of a physical copy during an age where platforms can revoke access to digital materials on a whim, but it’s a protection for consumers rather than a necessity for companies. I’m also going to immediately say that indie games are more than welcome to continue to rely on pre-orders — a very necessary lifeline for smaller studios. According to Xsolla, indie studios can net between 15-28% of their total pre-launch sales the day pre-orders are available to the public, and many indie studios make between 20-30% of their first year’s sales with pre-orders. But most indie studios don’t charge $69.99 for a base game, now do they?
This gripe comes during a year of buggy releases from massive AAA studios with budgets of millions, staff of hundreds, and enough shareholders to pad their pockets. I say “year,” but let’s be honest: the last decade has been stained by this conversation, and yet, we are still having it every year and almost every release. Despite thousands of gamers rebelling against the norm, companies still force the issue and rely on pre-orders to guesstimate how successful a title will be. Perhaps the worst thing of all is the petty little “gifts” that developers use to incentivize gamers. There are a number of players who have been jilted by the practice, and the list of egregious titles is lengthy.
There isn’t a game that makes a better case for how broken this system is than Cyberpunk 2077. It’s been years since the title dropped, but CD Projekt Red is still nursing its reputation back to health. Just before that, it was No Man’s Sky. Before that? Mass Effect: Andromeda. The issue is permeating all sects of gaming, even a multiplayer hero shooter like Overwatch isn’t safe from the predatory practice. There is no shortage of games that have royally-burned players, and yet, all that has come of the horrid practice is apology letters and promises to do better. Well, Cyberpunk was bad enough that refunds were given en masse, but it did nothing to solve the problem.
And why do we do it? For the paltry skins or weapons that developers are kind enough to dangle in front of you as a “reward”? More often than not, those useless cosmetics are made free when the game is ported or once it gets old enough. Just look at one of the 17 times Skyrim has been rereleased — over the decade, those coveted DLCs that cost me more than a twentysomething could afford are all included in one bundle or repackaged “complete edition.” The whole concept of limited-time-only cosmetics or weapons is a fabricated scarcity, one that literally shouldn’t exist in a digital world. And it becomes more insulting when the price of any one game jumps from $70 to $300 depending on the version you purchase. There is a reason to charge more for steelbook cases, or physical art books and soundtracks, but a digital version needs no extra cost. It makes one wonder how much of those extra proceeds go to the artists behind the product and how much ends up in those shareholders’ pockets.
It’s no secret that companies are greedy and tend to fabricate circumstances to drive up their profit margins, but for a long time, it seemed like the video game industry was somewhat insulated. As players, we were all startled to learn about the horrendous crunch conditions foisted on many developers, but the stain of greed seems to be spreading. Worst of all, when outliers like Larian Studios, the developers behind Baldur’s Gate III, break the mold, developers cry witch and refuse to learn from the process, despite gamers’ high praises and adoration.
The industry has created a problem that only it can solve. But before it does, we have to stop throwing our money at broken, half-assed, or outright falsely advertised games.