I’ve become fascinated by game monetisation models. (OK bear with me, it gets interesting) It’s a weird and diverse world, which encompasses UX, behaviour, storytelling, business design and commercial pragmatism. In digital we often talk about meeting user needs. But how you frame and design the process of asking your user for money can make or break a product, or an entire brand.
Back in the early days of the internet, if you were in the business of software, there were basically only four ways to make money from your users. Some software worked on a freemium, subscription or ad-funded basis, or some hybrid thereof - but games were almost exclusively sold as a simple one-off transaction: pay once for access to the full game, forever.
As the internet developed, and especially when smartphones entered the picture, games and gamers became more diverse. Today you can hop onto FIFA or League of Legends and play someone new whenever you like; you can build a character and interact with others in World of Warcraft; or you can play Candy Crush on your morning commute.
It stands to reason that a diverse gaming industry, nudging £250bn/yr, has a similarly diverse range of revenue models. From my (non-exhaustive, highly anecdotal) analysis everything fits somewhere in onee of two categories: either pay to play, in which a subscription or a one-off fee gives access to the game, or free to play, which have no paywall, but ‘in-game payments’ can be made for a variety of purposes. Sometimes these microtransactions involve a trade-off of time, attention or skill in return for the player’s cash. Sometimes they’re purely cosmetic and kudos-based. Sometimes it’s all but impossible to advance in the game without paying – aka. ‘pay to win’. FtP games also rarely have limits on how much a player can spend, and in some ways that’s the point: some players end up spending far more money on FtP games than even the most expensive PtP titles - sometimes in the tens of thousands.
Now, here’s the thing: I don’t think either of these models is inherently better or worse. PtP is simple and straightforward, but sometimes you just don’t play a game much after buying it, so you might feel you’ve wasted your money. FtP has a low bar for entry, so it’s great for new or occasional players, or, say, multiplayer games whose experience improves if there are a lot of people online at once. FtP games have entertained millions and made billions of dollars. Many fans are happy with the idea of microtransactions as an exchange for entertainment.
Developers deserve to be paid for their time and skill, of course. But some monetisation tactics are plainly predatory. A prompt might pop up at a critical moment: “Your hero died in that battle? Quick, here’s a power-up to revive them and win the fight! Thirty gems: ten seconds to buy!!” In behavioural science parlance, tactics like this exploit moments of emotional arousal within the game, when a player is more likely to make a rash decision. Sunk-cost bias also applies here, as the player has likely invested considerable time, and possibly money, to get to this point. The item you buy might also have a ‘loot box’ or gacha mechanic: a chance of an in-game benefit. To sidestep gambling regulation, you buy these only with in-game currency, which you can obtain either with cash or through gameplay, thus blurring the line between a game of pure chance and one of skill. In my view, any product that flirts with the line between ‘exploitative’ and ‘lucrative’ probably needs a rethink. Any monetisation mechanic that feels jarring in the context of the game, is probably the wrong mechanic. Playtesting should reveal this - so it’s surprising that games such as Star Wars Battlefront 2 and Mass Effect 3 got released with such egregious monetisation features.
The worst problems seem to emerge in organisations that, somewhere along the line, lose the thread of empathy with players. If game design and revenue generation are treated as totally separate functions, this is a bad sign. Use of language is also indicative: I’ve seen department goals and KPIs that objectify players: ‘how do we monetize this segment of non-paying players’ rather than ‘how do we create an experience more players are willing to pay for’. Games, after all, should be primarily fun.
No doubt the innovation in monetisation models will continue through 2024, and I wonder where it will take us, especially as game audiences continue to grow.
For what it’s worth, here’s my rough attempt at a set of design principles for ethical monetisation:
Honesty – First and foremost, a game should be candid with its players about what they get in exchange for their money, time and/or skill, so the transaction is clear and comprehensible. Set players’ expectations ahead of time: if success or advancement relies on paying, make it clear upfront - don’t hide this fact until the player becomes invested. A loot box (paid-for game of chance) should be designed to be fun in itself, just like how people can enjoy slot machines, but the design of the game should allow for this by framing it appropriately.
Fairness – The trade-off between money, time and skill should be reasonable. If the game is a multiplayer, game dynamics between paying and non-paying players need to preserve a sense of fair play and balance.
Respect – Games should respect players’ money and time by providing value for both. The timing and UX pattern for a payment should not exploit a player’s psychology. Players should be treated as an audience to be entertained, not as a cash-cow to be milked.
There are ways to avoid or offset unfair and exploitative dynamics, and many free-to-play games do strike a successful balance, either by allowing players to go into them open-eyed, or by using pity systems and paid cosmetic upgrades that don’t affect gameplay. (I’m told Genshin Impact and the Honkai series, by miHoYO, are good examples). There’s a place in the world for ‘free to play’ – though, traditionalist that I am, I much prefer the clean simplicity of a purchase or subscription, which sets up clear boundaries and expectations on both sides of a relationship.