In-Game Purchases Poison The Well

Video games will always manipulate us. Each challenge and scenario in a game has been carefully engineered to make us react a certain way. Most of the time, that’s what we sign up for. But the moment real money enters the equation, something changes.


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In-game purchases, also known as microtransactions, have been at the heart of several colossal fan freakouts over the past few months. Last Friday, Destiny 2 developer Bungie changed the game’s experience points system after players discovered it was invisibly throttling their progress, which among other things slowed the pace at which they could earn loot boxes they’d otherwise have to pay for. A week before that, Star Wars Battlefront II ignited a furious online backlash after pre-release coverage revealed that the game’s purchasable loot boxes contained power-ups that made you more effective on the battlefield. A month earlier, Middle-Earth: Shadow of War courted similar controversy with a convoluted loot box scheme that gave players gear and soldiers for their Orc army. September’s NBA 2K18 was so riddled with microtransactions that it significantly detracted from the experience of playing it. Less controversial fall games like Ubisoft’s Assassin’s Creed Origins still gave players an option to pay extra money for better in-game gear.

The debate about in-game purchases predates any of those games. Way back in 2009, my boss, Stephen Totilo, wrote of a microtransaction-laden Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles spin-off: “Is there a dirty trick being played here on gamers? Who knows. There is the possibility. That stinks enough.” Today we’re still asking that question, even if the particulars have changed.

Viewed up close, the differences between the microtransactions in each of the fall games I mentioned above are manifold and relevant. Randomized loot boxes are inherently more exploitative than direct purchases. “Pay-to-win” systems that give tangible gameplay advantages are more of an obvious problem than systems that revolve around cosmetic items. Microtransactions in full-priced games leave a more bitter taste than in free-to-play games. Zoom out a bit, however, and those differences matter less. Whatever form in-game purchases take, their mere existence damages the trust between people who play games and people who make them. Like Stephen wrote in 2009, the possibility of dirty tricks stinks enough that the tricks themselves are almost beside the point.

Every game with a microtransaction system is a player revolt waiting to happen. That’s more true of full-priced games than free-to-play ones, but making a game free doesn’t necessarily make players feel any less taken advantage of. To see that in action, look no further than Destiny 2, whose Eververse microtransaction hub was generally seen as innocuous until last week’s XP revelations. Seemingly overnight, the grumbles of few players about the Eververse amplified into a roar.

The reason is simple: whenever some aspect of the game is locked behind a real-money paywall, every decision the developers make will be suspect. All games are designed to make us feel one way or another, and most operate according to calculations and algorithms that are hidden from the player’s eye. But when real money is involved, those hidden systems take on a more sinister quality. In the wake of the Destiny 2 blow-up, I’ve seen a common refrain from its players: What else aren’t they telling us?