Marketing First, Gameplay Later

The global video games industry now generates over $180 billion annually—more than film and music combined. Games have evolved into one of the most culturally and economically significant forms of entertainment. Yet this meteoric growth has created its own distortions. A record-breaking 14,531 games were launched on Steam in 2023, the number of gamers worldwide reached approximately 3.22 billion in the same year. In 2024, nearly 19,000 games launched on Steam—far outpacing global player growth, which rose modestly to 3.32 billion.

In the deluge, it is not gameplay that stands out—but publicity, the only lifeline against obscurity. Increasingly, studios rely on marketing spectacle and emotional investment to secure revenues long before a product is finished. The result is a hype economy—one where anticipation is monetised, often at the expense of delivery.

Steam Game Releases by Year (2012 to 2024).

When Hype Becomes Hazard

Few games illustrate the perils of the hype economy better than Sid Meier’s Civilization VII. Marketed with lofty ambition and billed as a “premium early access” for paying fans, the title promised a generational leap—only to deliver a clunky interface, stripped-down features and a conspicuous lack of polish. What was sold as exclusive access quickly revealed itself as a glorified beta test. Players who had invested more—financially and emotionally—felt betrayed.

Firaxis gambled that enthusiasm could substitute for readiness; instead, they weaponised expectation against themselves. In a market where anticipation is monetised before delivery, Civ VII stands as a cautionary tale: selling promise is easy, but delivering trust is harder. As disillusioned fans turned to modders for fixes and hot-seat features, the game’s creators were left scrambling to restore credibility.

Indie by Name, Publisher by Nature

When Manor Lords launched in early access in April 2024, it was hailed as a triumph of indie spirit: a mediaeval city-builder developed by a single Polish programmer and supported by boutique publisher Hooded Horse. The game topped Steam’s wishlist chart, sold over a million copies in 24 hours, and reached a peak of 173,000 concurrent players. But behind the rustic charm of ox carts and thatched roofs lay a thoroughly modern publishing strategy. Hooded Horse, while touting its support for independent visionaries, employed aggressive marketing tactics and global reach more typical of mainstream studios.

The real trick was psychological. Players weren’t just buying a game—they were investing in a narrative of ethical consumption. Supporting Manor Lords felt virtuous: a stand against soulless corporate franchises. Yet one year on, development has slowed to a crawl. Promised features remain undelivered, and the player base has dwindled by over 95%. Despite this, many remain loyal, entranced not by what the game is, but by what it symbolises.

In the hype economy, belief becomes currency. By dressing corporate discipline in homespun garb, publishers like Hooded Horse have found a way to monetise virtue—selling both promise and patience, with little obligation to deliver swiftly.

Virtue Signalling in Game Publishing

The marketing approach adopted by Hooded Horse for Manor Lords mirrors broader consumer trends where products are imbued with ethical narratives to appeal to conscientious buyers. Much like “fair trade” coffee or environmentally friendly packaging, the game was presented as a labour of love from a solo developer, fostering a sense of moral participation among consumers. This strategy capitalised on players’ desires to support independent creators, positioning their purchase as a virtuous act.

However, when Raphael van Lierop, CEO of Hinterland Studio, critiqued the game’s slow development pace—a common issue in early access titles—he faced significant backlash. Hooded Horse’s CEO, Tim Bender, responded by framing the criticism as an attack on developer well-being, suggesting that such expectations contribute to industry burnout. This deflection shifted the conversation from product quality to moral high ground, discouraging legitimate discourse on development practices.

Such tactics reflect a growing trend in the gaming industry where ethical branding is employed not only to market products but also to shield them from scrutiny. By intertwining consumer identity with product support, publishers create a protective buffer against criticism, raising questions about the authenticity of their ethical positioning.

Too Big to Fail?

In an industry where anticipation eclipses substance, the prospect of a new Grand Theft Auto game epitomises the perils of the hype economy. The monumental success of GTA V—which sold over 200 million copies and generated more than $6 billion in revenue—sets an almost insurmountable benchmark. With GTA VI slated for release in May 2026, discussions about its successor are already ongoing. One year ahead of its scheduled release, the first trailer alone garnered over 475 million views within 24 hours, breaking records for non-music videos on YouTube.

As development cycles lengthen and production costs soar, the question arises: can any game, regardless of its pedigree, meet the towering expectations set by its predecessors? The risk is that, in striving to outdo past triumphs, developers will overpromise and underdeliver, leading to a cycle of perpetual anticipation and inevitable disappointment. This is not a moral dilemma—it’s a market bubble waiting to burst.

Statement

The gaming industry has crossed a line where style not only trumps substance—but now shields it. This strategic shift stems from a market that produces more games than it can absorb. In an oversaturated landscape, a title needs more than a genre niche. Emotional investment becomes currency. Developers no longer sell games; they sell identity, belief and moral superiority. This is not innovation—it’s manipulation. In such a climate, even failures are reframed as virtuous experiments. But hype cannot patch broken promises forever—and propaganda is no substitute for gameplay. The publisher’s strategy deepens the industry’s crisis instead of resolving it.