Language games, family resemblances, and game design: a reading from Wittgenstein

In an interview I conducted here in Gaming Conceptz with researcher Espen Aarseth on March 11, 2012, I asked him: "There's a lot of definitions for 'game.' From Huizinga to contemporary authors we can find a lot of ideas about this subject. What's your definition of 'game?" He replied: "I am with Wittgenstein on this one; '"game" ("Spiel") is a concept that cannot be formally defined, and when we try to do so, we inevitably end up with merely a definition of a sub genre. I do have a definition of games, but I also acknowledge that this is an overproductive definition, that also includes phenomena such as musical instruments: "Games are facilitators that structure behavior, mainly for the purpose of entertainment." Note that I don't use the word 'rules,' but the broader term 'structure'."

From that day on, I devoted myself to studying the question through Wittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations. It took a while, but I finally began sketching some ideas connecting this point to the practice of game design (this post, in fact, will form part of an article currently in production).

The theoretical grounding for the definition of "game" is generally established through a dialogue between sociological and anthropological perspectives, such as those of Huizinga (2001 [1938]), Caillois (1986 [1958]), and Retondar (2013). This perspective, however, finds a fundamental turning point in Ludwig Wittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations (1953).

For the Austrian philosopher, the concept of game is not merely an object of study but the paradigmatic example for addressing the impossibility of delimiting concepts through unique, essential properties. In proposing the notion of "family resemblances," Wittgenstein argues that what unites the diverse manifestations of play is not a universal essence but a complex network of overlapping and criss-crossing affinities. This discussion, developed in sections 65 through 71 of his posthumous work (WITTGENSTEIN, 1999 [1953], pp. 52–54), lays the epistemological foundations that underlie the contemporary structure of game design and game studies, challenging the search for definitions in the field.

Before addressing the question of the game as an object, Wittgenstein introduces the concept of the "language game" (Sprachspiel), noting that he understands this to mean the whole formed by language and the activities into which it is woven (WITTGENSTEIN, 1999 [1953], p. 30). The metaphor of the game is chosen precisely to underscore that language is not a closed system of representations but a living practice whose meaning emerges from use in specific contexts.

Wittgenstein (1999 [1953], p. 35) also radicalizes this perspective by listing the multiplicity of possible linguistic forms: "acting according to commands," "describing an object," "inventing a story," "play-acting," "singing a round" and so on. The philosopher concludes that "this multiplicity is not something fixed, given once for all; but new types of language, new language games, as we may say, come into existence, and others become obsolete and get forgotten." This constitutive instability is fundamental: just as language is transformed through its uses, games likewise do not obey a stable, definitive form.

A point that stands out for its connection to contemporary game design ideas is the exercise of trying to define what, potentially, all games have in common. From here, Wittgenstein (1999 [1953], p. 52) proposes the following line of reasoning:

Consider, for example, the proceedings that we call "games." I mean board-games, card-games, ball-games, Olympic games, and so on. What is common to them all? Don't say: "There must be something common, or they would not be called 'games'" — but look and see whether there is anything common to all. For if you look at them you will not see something that is common to all, but similarities, relationships, and a whole series of them at that.

The instruction is methodological: rather than assuming an essence exists and then searching for it, one must look at the concrete phenomena themselves. And in looking, one finds that there is no single property running through all games. Board games share certain characteristics with card games, which in turn resemble certain games of skill, which share traits with sports — but the properties linking one pair are not always present in the next. The result is a network of overlaps and crossings with no fixed core. Wittgenstein concludes the reasoning by stating that "we see a complicated network of similarities overlapping and criss-crossing: sometimes overall similarities, sometimes similarities of detail" (WITTGENSTEIN, 1999 [1953], p. 52).

To name this structure of kinship without essence, Wittgenstein (1999 [1953], p. 52) coins the concept of "family resemblances" (Familienähnlichkeiten): the various resemblances among members of a family overlap and criss-cross in the same way — build, features, color of eyes, gait, temperament, and so on — and games likewise form a family. By the same reasoning, we recognize that two cousins belong to the same family not because they share all the same characteristics, but because each bears resemblances to other members of the family network. The concept operates through continuity and contrast, not through identity. Applied to games, this means that what makes something a game is not the presence of an essential trait, but its participation in a network of resemblances with other practices we already call games.

Wittgenstein (1999 [1953], p. 53) extends the argument using the concept of "number" as an example: just as we cannot define "number" through a single essential property, neither can we close the concept of game. The author asks directly: "How is the concept of game bounded? What still counts as a game and what no longer does? Can you give the boundary? No. You can draw one; for none has so far been drawn." For the philosopher, this openness is not a problem to be solved; it is precisely how the concept functions.

The Wittgensteinian discussion reverberates directly through the problems that designers and game researchers face when attempting to define, categorize, and design both video games and analog games. Suits (2005 [1978]) proposed that playing a game consists of "the voluntary attempt to overcome unnecessary obstacles," establishing criteria such as goals, rules, lusory means, and the lusory attitude — a direct response to the Wittgensteinian challenge. Salen and Zimmerman (2004) acknowledge the difficulty and compile dozens of existing definitions, evidencing precisely the proliferation of "family resemblances" that no single definition can contain. Juul (2005), in turn, adopts an intermediate stance, proposing a "half-real" model that recognizes the heterogeneity of games without relinquishing a minimal set of functional properties.

The diversity of the contemporary analog game market, for instance, renders the Wittgensteinian question observable in practice. Role-playing games such as Fiasco (MORNINGSTAR, 2011) operate with almost no formalized mechanics; narrative-experience games such as Dixit (ROUBIRA, 2008) challenge the centrality of victory as a defining component. No essentialist definition encompasses this entire diversity without arbitrarily excluding practices that we intuitively recognize as belonging to the same "family." The Wittgensteinian model is, potentially, the only philosophical framework that accommodates this multiplicity without forcing reductions.



The concept of the language game also has a specific application to game design: each game constitutes, in a certain sense, a language game of its own. Rules do not describe a pre-existing reality; they constitute it. The idea of "death" in the video game Dark Souls (FROMSOFTWARE, 2011) signifies a punitive restart that is integrated into narrative and mechanical progression; it is radically different from what "death" means in The Sims (MAXIS, 2000), where it may be tied to a comic, accidental, and reversible situation. These are distinct language games, whose meaning emerges exclusively from the context of rules and practices that constitute them.



Wittgenstein had already pointed to this: we learn what a game is through examples, not through definitions. As he writes, "examples are given and they are meant to be understood in a certain sense" (WITTGENSTEIN, 1999 [1953], p. 54). Meaning does not exist prior to the game; it is constructed in practice, in the act of playing.

This conclusion carries a direct implication for the design and playtesting process, to be explored in the following sections: if the meaning of each game is constituted by its own system of rules and practices, then testing it necessarily means putting it into play — that is, having people play it and observing what emerges from that experience. The singularity of each game, as a unique language game, is precisely what makes the presence of real players irreplaceable in the process of evaluating a prototype. No system external to the game can determine, in its place, whether that specific language game is functioning as an experience.

Wittgenstein's contribution to the field of game design is thus epistemological in nature: it frees the designer and researcher from the search for an essence that does not exist and invites them to operate with open, malleable concepts that are sensitive to history and to the context of use. In a field where new genres constantly emerge, this conceptual openness is not a limitation but a condition of thought.

#GoGamers

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References:

CAILLOIS, Roger. Los juegos y los hombres: la máscara y el vértigo. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1986 [1958].

HUIZINGA, Johan. Homo Ludens. São Paulo: Perspectiva, 2001 [1938].

JUUL, Jesper. Half-Real: Video Games between Real Rules and Fictional Worlds. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2005.

RETONDAR, Jeferson. Teoria do jogo: a dimensão lúdica da existência humana. Petrópolis: Vozes, 2013.

SALEN, Katie; ZIMMERMAN, Eric. Rules of Play: Game Design Fundamentals. Massachusetts: The MIT Press, 2004.

SUITS, Bernard. The Grasshopper: Games, Life and Utopia. Toronto: Broadview Encore Editions, 2005 [1978].

WITTGENSTEIN, Ludwig. Philosophical Investigations (Coleção Os Pensadores). São Paulo: Nova Cultural, 1999 [1953].

Understanding games as media: from McLuhan to Flanagan

The understanding of games as a media phenomenon finds one of its foundational theoretical milestones in Marshall McLuhan’s seminal work, Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man (1964). In the chapter dedicated to the subject, titled "Games: The Extensions of Man", McLuhan proposes a rupture with the trivialized view of play, elevating games to the same epistemological status as any other medium of communication. According to the author:

games are popular art, collective social reactions to the main drive and pressure of any culture. Games, like institutions, are extensions of social man and of the body politic, as technologies are extensions of the animal organism (MCLUHAN, 1964, p. 235).

This definition articulates two essential theoretical movements. The first concerns the collective and participatory nature of games: unlike other media, the game presupposes the subject's active adherence to its formal structure, what McLuhan terms interplay, meaning the dialogic quality that transforms the game into a system of symbolic exchanges among participants (MCLUHAN, 1964, p. 242). The second movement refers to the modeling function of games in relation to the culture that generates them; as the author notes, "games are faithful models of a culture. They incorporate both the action and the reaction of whole populations in a single dynamic image" (MCLUHAN, 1964, p. 235).



In this sense, the game does not represent culture from the outside; it is culture in operation, codified into ritualized rules, tensions, and resolutions. McLuhan articulates this thesis within his broader conception of media as extensions of the human body and mind. Every medium prolongs a human faculty: the wheel extends the foot, the book extends the eye, and games, as media, extend the social nervous system, offering models of collective participation that escape the fragmentation of specialized labor. This is precisely why the author states that "games are situations contrived and controlled extensions of group consciousness, which permit a release from customary patterns, as if society were holding a conversation with itself" (MCLUHAN, 1964, p. 244).

This perspective finds contemporary resonance in the work of Flanagan (2009), who situates digital games within the broader framework of hegemonic cultural media. Flanagan points out that digital games can be considered a contemporary medium, and that computers and video game consoles have become a highly significant cultural vehicle, reaching diverse audiences across different economic and social classes, ages, and genders (FLANAGAN, 2009, p. 1). The convergence between McLuhan’s and Flanagan’s theses lies precisely in the affirmation of the game as a mass communication system, not merely by the volume of transmitted messages, but by its capacity to engender forms of cultural participation and identification on an expanded scale.

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References:

FLANAGAN, Mary. Critical Play: Radical Game Design. Cambridge: The MIT Press, 2009.

McLUHAN, Marshall. Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1964.

THE ART OF FAILING WELL: Jesper Juul and the paradox at the heart of games

There is something strange about the way we play video games. We load them up knowing full well that we are going to fail — sometimes spectacularly, sometimes painfully, almost always repeatedly. And yet we keep going. We press continue. We retry. We lose an hour to a single boss fight and call it a good evening.



Jesper Juul, in The Art of Failure (2013), offers one of the most lucid and uncomfortable explanations for this behavior: failure is not a flaw in game design. It is the point.

Two kinds of failure

Juul opens his analysis by drawing a crucial distinction that any thoughtful player will immediately recognize:

"two types of failure: 1) real failure occurs when a player invests time into playing a game and fails; 2) fictional failure is what befalls the character(s) in the fictional game world." (JUUL, 2013, p. 25)

The example he gives is about Red Dead Redemption (*spoiler alert*). To advance the story, you must die with John Marston. There is no other way. The character's death is narratively mandatory; it is a fictional failure scripted into the architecture of the game. But the player's experience of that moment is something else entirely: real time invested, real emotional weight, and a loss that is simultaneously required and felt.

This double layer (the fictional and the real running in parallel) is what separates games from most other media. When you watch a film and the protagonist dies, you grieve. When you play a game and your character dies, you also grieve, but you also feel responsible. You were there. You were in control. The controller was in your hands.

Why we want to fail (at least a little)

This is where Juul's argument gets genuinely counterintuitive. He identifies two coexisting desires at work in the player:

"In games: 1) Immediate desire – desire to avoid failure; 2) Aesthetic desire – desire for an experience that includes partial failure." (JUUL, 2013, p. 43)

These two desires are in direct tension, and that tension is productive. You want to win — every instinct pushes toward success. But a game in which you never fail is not a game; it is an animation. The resistance of failure is what gives victory its meaning. More than that: partial failure, the stumble before the climb, is aesthetically desirable. It structures the experience. It creates the narrative arc that makes the eventual success feel earned. 

Juul pushes this further on page 45, offering a deceptively simple formulation that reframes the entire philosophy of play:

"Games are a perspective on failure and learning as enjoyment, or satisfaction." (JUUL, 2013, p. 45)

Games are not about succeeding. They are about the experience of learning to succeed — and that learning is, in itself, the pleasure. This has profound implications for how we think about difficulty, accessibility, and the design of failure states. A game that punishes without teaching fails its own purpose. A game that challenges while guiding turns failure into a feedback loop, and that loop is fun.

The emotional contract

There is another dimension to all of this that Juul does not let us ignore: emotion. We are not passive processors when we play. We are invested — sometimes uncomfortably so.

"We are emotionally affected by games, and we are aware of this before we start playing." (JUUL, 2013, p. 56)

This is remarkable if you sit with it. Before we press start, we already know that we will feel something. We anticipate frustration, excitement, satisfaction, even grief. We consent to being emotionally implicated. Games are, in this sense, a form of voluntary emotional exposure — and the management of that exposure, how much failure a player can absorb before the experience sours, is one of the deepest challenges in game design.

Responsibility and the fictional world

The most philosophically rich passage Juul offers on the subject comes near the end of the book, in a reflection on fictional tragedy:

"The problem with fictional tragedy also showed that it is failure that makes us feel responsible for the events in the fictional world." (JUUL, 2013, p. 117)

And then, almost as a counterpoint:

"Hamlet dies but it is not our fault." (JUUL, 2013, p. 118)

The contrast is sharp and clarifying. In theater, in film, in literature — we witness. We may be moved, we may be changed, but we are not culpable. Hamlet's death happens to him. In a game, your character's death happens because of you. The failure is yours, even when it is fictional. The agency that makes games uniquely engaging is the same agency that makes their failures uniquely personal.

This is why the death of John Marston lands differently than the death of any movie hero. You did not just watch it. You lived it, failed at it, and then had to choose to press continue.

What this means for design

Juul's framework has direct implications for anyone thinking seriously about game design. The management of failure — its frequency, its cost, its legibility, its emotional register — is not incidental to the game. It is the game. A well-designed failure state teaches, resets, and motivates. A poorly designed one exhausts, obscures, and alienates.

The games we remember most vividly are often those that failed us most meaningfully. The boss that took forty attempts. The level we thought was impossible. The narrative moment that demanded we lose before we could continue. These are not bugs in the experience. They are the experience.

Jesper Juul's The Art of Failure is a short book with a long argument, and that argument is this: to understand games, you must understand failure not as a negative outcome to be avoided, but as the generative force that makes play meaningful.

We load the game. We know we are going to fail. We press start anyway.

That is not masochism. That is game design.

#GoGamers

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Reference:
JUUL, Jesper. The Art of Failure: an essay on the pain of playing video games. Cambridge/London: MIT Press, 2013.

To think about game design process

An excellent point of view about game design by Anton Slashcev. Click here to check the original post.



#GoGamers

Using Artificial Intelligence in board game beta testing

Undoubtedly, artificial intelligence is rapidly pervading our daily lives, from entertainment to professional applications. We are immersed in a technological context where the competency to effectively utilize diverse tools is essential for optimizing our actions and outcomes. In this post, I will discuss the methodology I employed in using AI for the beta testing phase of my last two board game projects.

First and foremost, I must clarify that my application of AI is not a substitute for creative effort. I avoid using lazy or generic prompts such as, "create a card game with Roman Empire theme using trick track mechanics." I consider this approach to be ineffective, as it would likely yield a generic, derivative product lacking a distinct core concept or "soul."

Instead, I employ AI in a pragmatic and iterative manner. The process begins with establishing the game's core concept, writing the comprehensive rulebook, and compiling a complete list of assets (board, components, dice, etc.). This initial stage results in a prototype ready for preliminary testing. However, prior to testing with human players, I utilize Manus AI to conduct a complete virtual beta test session.



The process is straightforward: I submit the rulebook (PDF) and the file detailing the game pieces (PDF). I then provide the initial prompt: "Manus, I request you to analyze the content regarding my new game. Upon completion of this analysis, please identify any aspects that are not completely unambiguous or 'crystal clear'." After addressing the system’s initial queries, the final prompt is executed: "I now request 100 simulations encompassing two, three, and four players. The required output is a detailed feedback report assessing game balance, pointing out potential rule errors, and suggesting improvements for the core mechanics." A significant advantage of Manus is its capability to generate Python programming code to facilitate testing on external platforms beyond the application itself.

It is crucial to note that testing with human players will always remain a fundamental part of the development cycle. Nevertheless, the initial results demonstrate that the prototypes are significantly more refined before the first human playtest. For example, in a recent beta testing session for my new game, the prototype was substantially more polished prior to the initial live test. The overall iteration process becomes considerably more efficient when AI is applied judiciously.

I am currently refining this methodology and anticipate being able to share further insights and impressions soon.

#GoGamers

The clash between diegetic and non-diegetic elements in Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice

Iacovides et al. (2015, p. 1) distinguish game interface elements into two categories: diegetic elements, which are integrated into the game's fictional reality and can be perceived by the characters, and non-diegetic elements, which are exclusive to the players' perspective. According to these authors, common wisdom in the games industry suggests that excessive use of non-diegetic elements, such as Head-Up Displays (HUDs), can potentially compromise the immersion process. Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice challenges this convention, offering a remarkable demonstration of how these concepts can be manipulated to deepen the player's experience.



The game stands out for its almost complete elimination of non-diegetic elements. The absence of a health bar, a map, or equipment indicators forces the player to interpret information organically. Senua's health and status are communicated through signals that, while functionally essential for progression, are intrinsically rooted in the narrative. The damage suffered by the character, for instance, is expressed by the progression of a dark "corruption" spreading across her right arm, a visual manifestation of the protagonist's mental illness.



However, one of the game's highlights lies in the fusion between diegesis and the non-diegetic experience. In this regard, we turn to Galloway (2006, pp. 6-7 ), who defines diegesis as the "total world of narrative actions". From this perspective, we can hypothesise that in Hellblade, this world is the subjective and chaotic universe of Senua's mind. Elements that would conventionally be non-diegetic in other games, such as audio cues indicating the path or voices warning of enemy presence, are, in reality, manifestations of the character's psychosis. The player does not receive mere hints; they experience the diegesis of insanity, where the perception of reality is mediated by Senua's suffering. The game's hermeneutics, therefore, cease to be a detached interpretation and become a real-time performance, where the act of playing and interpretation merge into the immersive experience proposed by the system.

The game thus demonstrates that the distinction between diegetic and non-diegetic can be intentionally obscured to create a more cohesive and psychologically immersive gaming experience. By eliminating the HUD and transforming feedback elements into an integral part of the narrative and character perception, Hellblade not only enhances immersion but also establishes a pattern for interface design that seeks to deepen the connection between the player and the fictional universe. Building on this, it is possible to argue that in Senua's Sacrifice, the player potentially experiences a "meta-diegesis." Here, we employ this term to understand a meta-diegetic situation as one that refers to elements which, although intrinsically belonging to the game's diegetic world, communicate directly with the player, subtly subverting the fourth wall. The voices in protagonist Senua's mind represent a compelling application of this idea.

The meta-diegetic nature of Senua's voices can be understood from three analytical perspectives. Firstly, their existence is diegetically grounded: they do not constitute an external narrator or an interface element dissociated from the narrative. On the contrary, they are a central manifestation of the character's psychosis, affecting her perception and interaction with the world. Secondly, they perform an essential non-diegetic function for gameplay. They act as a dynamic feedback system, providing the player with alerts about imminent threats, spatial guidance, and hints for puzzle-solving – functions that, in other games, would be delegated to a HUD or conventional narrator cues.

Finally, the use of voices blurs the boundary between player and character. By merging narrative function with gameplay, the game transcends the mere presentation of information, inviting the player to actively experience Senua's ordeal. The anguish, confusion, and cognitive dissonance caused by the voices become part of the player's immersive experience, and not merely an object of observation. Therefore, the voices in Hellblade constitute a paradigmatic meta-diegetic element, functioning as an interface that deepens immersion rather than breaking it, and offering a sophisticated approach to how narrative elements can be co-opted to optimise the interactive experience.

Meticulous observation of the diegetic, non-diegetic, and meta-diegetic elements in Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice forms the methodological foundation for an in-depth analysis of the game as an empirical object. By examining the intentional elimination of traditional interface elements (HUD) and the subsequent adoption of a meta-diegetic interface, represented by the voices tormenting the protagonist, it becomes possible to unravel the complexity of its structure.

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References

Galloway, A. R. (2006) Gaming: Essays on Algorithmic Culture. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, pp. 6-7.

Iacovides, I., Cox, A. L. and Kennedy, R. (2015) ‘Diegetic and Non-Diegetic Interface Elements in Digital Games: A Review of Prior Work’. In Proceedings of the 2015 Annual Symposium on Computer-Human Interaction in Play. London: ACM, p. 1.

There are no fixed rules in UX for games, and everything can be reconfigured

Last month, the Brazilian publisher SENAC released my new book, "Introdução para UX em games" (Introduction to UX in games). There is no English version yet, but I'd like to share a translated excerpt from the book that I'm very fond of.



If we are designing an e-commerce site for a wide audience, for practical reasons, we would never use a black background with dark blue text and out-of-focus photos to facilitate the online shopping experience. However, in a game, this is perfectly valid, especially if we are using this "hidden" text as part of a puzzle to be solved. The first game in the Silent Hill series uses this technique a lot, forcing the player to explore the scenery in search of clues, weapons, equipment, and ammunition. In this case, "complicating" the player's life is what brings the game experience to life.

We often say that explaining a game's procedures is a basic part of an experience with a beginning, middle, and end. But the game Tunic explains nothing to the player. You literally have to guess the commands and use your experience from other games you've played to progress through the narrative. Of course, there are various tutorials on the internet to illustrate the content of Tunic, but the game's unique feature is that you get to fumble through and solve each phase with guesses, hunches, and prior knowledge from other experiences. In the case of a food delivery app, however, we don't want the "challenge" of figuring out how to order a meal; we want something with clear instructions.

We've also mentioned the need for clarity of elements, icons, figures, shapes, colors, and so on, in an interface. But games with a bullet hell premise, such as Enter the Gungeon, are interesting precisely because they make the interface chaotic, creating a challenge of dexterity to escape enemy fire. The stroboscopic effect on the screen in Super Hexagon is a deliberate hindrance that makes sense within the game's skill-based challenge. If we are choosing a movie on a streaming service's interface, the last thing we want is an infinite number of graphical elements or flashing lights getting in the way of reading a review or accessing a movie or series' trailer.

Everything can be reconfigured, re-signified, and remodeled in terms of UX.

Perhaps the great differentiator of your game is a "mistake" in UX standards. The experiences on other platforms help us to compose something more concise and impactful. The game Baba is You is famous for allowing the player to interfere with the level's programming and change the behavior of the elements on the screen. Every level of Baba is You starts with some error or problem in the interface, and you have to move programming blocks to reconfigure the scenario and solve the game's puzzles.

To do this, you need a repertoire. You need to play everything, to experience everything in playful terms. Mixing experiences from other areas—not just games—is also a differentiator that can be surprising in terms of user experience. Above all, most of the time we are not going to develop games for ourselves or for audiences who are similar to us. The exercise of alterity and putting yourself in the target audience's shoes is what will make a difference when creating the experience.

#GoGamers

About the idea of “kingmaker” in games

A kingmaker in the context of gaming refers to a player or faction that, while unlikely to win themselves, possesses significant influence over the outcome of the game by supporting or hindering other players. This pivotal role arises from their ability to tip the scales in favor of one contender over another, effectively deciding who will emerge victorious. Their power often stems from holding critical resources, controlling strategic positions, or wielding sufficient military strength to sway the balance of power.

The kingmaker's motivations can vary widely, ranging from self-preservation and a desire to see a specific rival fail, to strategic alliances that promise future benefits or simply the enjoyment of manipulating the game's dynamics from a position of relative safety.



The emergence of a kingmaker introduces a fascinating layer of strategic depth and negotiation to a game. Players vying for victory must consider not only their direct opponents but also how to court or neutralize the kingmaker's influence. This can involve offering concessions, forming temporary alliances, or even attempting to eliminate the kingmaker if their interference becomes too detrimental. For the kingmaker, their position offers a unique opportunity to experience the game from a different perspective, often involving complex calculations about long-term consequences and the satisfaction of shaping the narrative without bearing the full burden of direct competition. This dynamic often leads to intense diplomatic exchanges and unexpected shifts in power. Ultimately, the kingmaker phenomenon highlights the intricate social and strategic dimensions inherent in many multiplayer games. It underscores that victory is not always a linear path but can be heavily influenced by external factors and the interplay of player relationships. Recognizing and understanding the role of a kingmaker is crucial for both aspiring champions and those who find themselves in this powerful, albeit indirect, position. Their presence transforms a simple contest into a complex web of alliances, betrayals, and strategic maneuvering, making the game experience richer and more unpredictable.

#GoGamers

Breaking the rules for fun: when bad UX/UI makes great game challenges

In the realm of user experience and user interface design, the core principles revolve around clarity, efficiency, and ease of use. We strive to create intuitive pathways, provide clear feedback, and minimize frustration. However, the world of games operates under a slightly different set of rules. While good UX/UI is often crucial for onboarding and overall enjoyment, intentionally subverting these principles can be a powerful tool for crafting compelling and memorable challenges. Sometimes, the very elements that would be considered flaws in a productivity app become the cornerstones of engaging gameplay.

One common area where breaking UX/UI norms can be beneficial is in creating a sense of mystery and discovery. Imagine a game where the objective isn't immediately obvious, or where the controls are intentionally cryptic at first - like TUNIC as an example. This can foster a feeling of exploration and reward players for experimentation and problem-solving. For example, the early days of adventure games often featured obtuse puzzles with little to no in-game guidance. While frustrating for some, this forced players to think outside the box, share solutions, and ultimately feel a greater sense of accomplishment upon figuring things out. Similarly, intentionally vague item descriptions or map layouts can encourage players to meticulously explore the game world and piece together information.



Another instance where "bad" UX/UI can enhance gameplay is in creating a deliberate sense of difficulty or tension. Think of survival horror games where limited inventory space forces agonizing decisions about what to carry, or where a cluttered interface adds to the feeling of panic in a stressful situation. These design choices, while counterintuitive in most applications, actively contribute to the desired emotional response in the player. The clunky controls in early survival horror titles, often criticized for their lack of precision, actually amplified the feeling of vulnerability when facing terrifying creatures. The struggle to aim and react became part of the core gameplay loop, increasing the stakes of each encounter.

Ultimately, the decision to deviate from standard UX/UI practices in game design must be deliberate and serve a specific purpose related to the intended player experience. It's not about being arbitrarily difficult or frustrating; rather, it's about strategically employing elements that might be considered negative in other contexts to create unique challenges, foster a sense of accomplishment, or enhance the game's atmosphere. When executed effectively, these intentional "flaws" can transform a game from simply playable to truly engaging and memorable, proving that sometimes, breaking the rules is the most creative and rewarding path.

#GoGamers

The first time I noticed good level design in a game

I'm 46 years old. At this age, I can say that I was privileged to have witnessed the gaming industry's evolution from its earliest days. My first video game console was an Atari, a Christmas gift in the distant year of 1983 (when I was 4 years old). Back then, it was challenging to build a good game collection. I lived in the countryside of São Paulo (Brazil), and games took a while to reach there. Moreover, a cartridge was extremely expensive. My initial collection included Pac-Man, Missile Command, and Tennis. These games share something in common: they feature static screens, and the level challenge is correlated with scoring more points as the enemies get faster.

However, my perception of game level construction changed when I played H.E.R.O. (Helicopter Emergency Rescue Operations). If you'd like to experience it or relive the nostalgia, there's an emulator available here.



Of course, I had no idea of the term "level design" at that time, nor did I dream of becoming a game designer. But the game introduced me to exactly that: how to create a level of increasing challenge using game design components. In the following video, you can see a complete playthrough of the game's twenty levels.



On a limited platform like the Atari, it's evident that Activision performed a miracle by managing to incorporate so many challenges and features – despite the memory limitations of the time. The most interesting aspect is that H.E.R.O. showed me something that I began to look for in other games afterward (even at my young age): the possibility of traversing through varied scenarios with diverse challenges – at the end of this post, I will mention other titles in which I found this, still on the Atari.

As Adams and Rollings point out, level design is the process of constructing the experience that will be offered directly to the player, using components provided by the game designer. Level designers create the space in which the game unfolds, the initial conditions of the level, the set of challenges that the player will face within the level, the conditions for completing it, the interaction between gameplay and the game's story, and the aesthetics of the level. (2009, pp.399-400). Basically, something that we can summarize in the following image:  



Thus, we can say that H.E.R.O., along with other titles, inaugurated a creative thinking oriented towards level design on the Atari platform – just as, in this period, we also began to see computer games explore this feature with greater mastery. Levels that, in addition to offering the dangers of enemies, force the player to spend their resources intelligently and strategically.

H.E.R.O. was a milestone in my life. For opening my eyes to broader possibilities of experiencing games. Still on the Atari, two other games that marked me greatly for the same characteristic were Adventure and Keystone Kapers. Another change – within the question of level design – that changed my view of games were the rogue-likes. However, this is a topic for another post.

#GoGamers

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Reference:

ADAMS, Ernest; ROLLINGS, Andrew. Fundamentals of Game Design. New Jersey: Pearson Prentice Hall, 2009

Huizinga's Homo Ludens: an exploration of play and culture

Johan Huizinga, the Dutch historian (1872-1945), is a cornerstone in the study of games, playfulness, and playful interfaces in contemporary times. His seminal work, Homo Ludens, explores the centrality of "playing" in the formation of human culture. This post does not intend to summarize Huizinga's vast argumentation, but rather to highlight some of his theoretical points that still resonate today in the work of game creation.

In the book Homo Ludens published in 1938, Johan Huizinga delineates crucial characteristics for understanding the concept of play and its connections with human culture. The author postulates that play is an intrinsically free and voluntary activity (HUIZINGA, 2001, p. 3), presupposing the conscious acceptance and participation of the players. Furthermore, according to the Dutch historian, play is distinguished from everyday life, constituting a delimited temporal and spatial interval (HUIZINGA, 2001, p. 11). In this environment of fantasy and catharsis, players assume diverse roles, immersed in a universe distinct from the everyday (HUIZINGA, 2001, p. 15).

Play is also structured by rules that establish limits and define who wins and who loses or what are the actions allowed to achieve the objective of the game (HUIZINGA, 2001, p. 12-13). For, for the author, the function of the game, in its highest form, resides in the struggle for something or in the representation of something (HUIZINGA, 2001, p. 16).

Huizinga (2001, p. 65) also introduces the concept of the "magic circle" in Homo Ludens, a space of entertainment where participants transcend everyday concerns to surrender to a separate universe. Within this circle, the laws and customs of ordinary life lose their validity (HUIZINGA, 2001, p. 15-16). The author Ernest Adams (2009, p. 8), even, offers an elucidative representation of the magic circle: in the real world, people kick a ball into a net, but, in the magic circle, someone scores a goal that can enchant the fans of a certain football team.

Complementing Huizinga's thought, we bring to this post the text of Jacques Ehrmann, Homo Ludens Revisited (1968) which retakes and expands the reflections of Johan Huizinga on the nature of the game, offering a rich theoretical framework for the understanding of the ludic phenomenon. Ehrmann (1968, p. 55) argues that the game cannot be defined in isolation, but rather in relation to the culture and reality that surround it. This perspective resonates with the growing importance of narrative in digital games, where the player's experience is shaped by a set of meanings and cultural references.

The centrality of the player as "subject and object of the game" (EHRMANN, 1968, p. 56) highlights the interactive and participatory nature of digital games. The ludic experience in games transcends the mere manipulation of rules and elements, encompassing immersion in fictional worlds, decision-making and the construction of personal narratives.

By observing the thinking of these authors, we conclude that - to understand games in contemporary times - it is fundamental also to look to the past and, above all, to learn to connect the social with the ludic.

#GoGamers

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References:

ADAMS, Ernest. Fundamentals of Game Design. New Riders, 2009.

EHRMANN, Jacques, et al. Homo Ludens Revisited. Yale French Studies, 41, p. 31-57, 1968. Available at: https://doi.org/10.2307/2929664.

HUIZINGA, Johan. Homo ludens. São Paulo: Perspectiva, 2001.

The significance of artificial intelligence in contemporary game design

In this post I want to briefly discuss the importance of artificial intelligence in the gaming industry. As Togelius (2024) highlights, AI is increasingly prevalent in our daily lives, and games, as prominent elements of the technology industry, are no exception. While the author acknowledges that some recent AI systems exhibit a degree of generalizability, most remain highly specialized: they can only perform a single task within a specific context. For instance, a spell checker cannot perform mathematical calculations, and the world's best chess program cannot play Tetris.

As Togelius (2019) also says, recent advancements in artificial intelligence have significantly enhanced our capabilities, particularly in the realm of game development; as we continue to explore and refine these techniques, their potential applications within games extend far beyond the traditional role of providing skilled opponents. It is imperative that we adapt our game design methodologies to fully leverage the power of advanced AI algorithms and to understand how to use generative AI to help us to create better game designing practices.



Therefore, artificial intelligence has been a constant companion in the evolution of video games, shaping the way we interact with virtual worlds. From the very beginning, AI in games has sought to simulate intelligent behaviors in non-player characters (NPCs), making gaming experiences more immersive and challenging. According to Millington (2009), the early stages of AI in gaming were modest, with simple algorithms determining basic movement patterns and reactions of NPCs. However, as technology advanced, so too did the possibilities. Today, AI in games is capable of generating complex and adaptive behaviors, making NPCs more realistic and challenging. Based on the ideas of Togelius and Millington, it is important to observe the evolution of techniques enabling the use of artificial intelligence in recent decades. Comparing 1962, when MIT students interacted with the Space War game prototype on a static screen with minimal input commands, to 2017 and Echo game, where enemies learn from the player's combat patterns and become increasingly dangerous and unpredictable, highlights this dramatic progression. Since 2017, advances have not stopped and, every year, we are surprised by a new use of AI in games.

In other words, when contemplating the application of AI in gaming, we are not merely considering the development of more efficient adversaries that learn from player behavior or environments that adapt to the specific challenges a player seeks. AI tools can be instrumental in brainstorming processes and in establishing the foundational pillars of game creation. Particularly for small-scale studios and producers with limited resources, access to generative AI tools can serve as a powerful asset to facilitate game development.

 #GoGamers

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References:

Millington, I., 2009. Artificial Intelligence for Games. Burlington: Morgan Kaufmann Publishers.
Togelius, J., 2019. Playing smart - on games, intelligence, and artificial intelligence. London: The MIT Press.
Togelius, J., 2024. Artificial general intelligence. London: The MIT Press.

3rd International Conference of Video Games Studies

On December 17th, I will be presenting the paper 'Leveraging Generative AI for Enhanced Game Design Document Creation: A Case Study with the Brazilian Video Game Stygma' at the 3rd International Conference of Video Games Studies. The event will be held in Novi Sad, Serbia, although I will be presenting remotely. This marks another significant academic achievement to conclude the year 2024.



Below, you can find the abstract of my paper. The full paper will be published here following the conference:



The advent of generative artificial intelligence (AI) has revolutionized various fields, including game development. This paper explores the potential of generative AI for text and images in the context of creating a Game Design Document (GDD). By leveraging AI's capabilities, game designers can enhance the comprehensiveness, creativity, and efficiency of the GDD creation process. We present a case study analyzing a mobile game currently in production from the Brazilian studio Abysstrakt Games named Stygma - a narrative-driven horror puzzle game, to demonstrate the practical application of generative AI in GDD creation. Utilizing Google’s Gemini (for texts) and Leonardo.Ai (for images), we can observe generated detailed text descriptions of game mechanics, narrative elements, and character profiles, while also creating concept art, character designs, and environmental elements. Our findings highlight the significant benefits of employing generative AI for GDD creation. This approach proved particularly valuable for a short game created by a small studio and the integration of generative AI into game design workflows holds immense potential for the future of game development. By embracing AI's capabilities, game designers can create more comprehensive, creative, and efficient GDDs, ultimately leading to the development of more immersive and engaging gaming experiences – even in small teams.

Keywords: generative AI, game design document, game design, Brazil, mobile game

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#GoGamers

Game as a product. Game as a service.

The landscape of the video game industry has undergone a significant transformation in recent years, shifting from a product-centric model to a service-oriented one. This evolution has been driven by technological advancements, changing consumer preferences, and the increasing monetization opportunities presented by digital distribution. While both "game as a product" and "game as a service" offer unique experiences, they differ fundamentally in their design, development, and relationship with the player.

Traditionally, games were conceived of as products, complete and finite entities sold to consumers. These games were designed to provide a self-contained experience, with a clear beginning, middle, and end. Once purchased, the game remained relatively static, with few, if any, updates or additional content. The focus was on creating a polished, high-quality experience that could be enjoyed multiple times.



In contrast, "game as a service" models treat games as ongoing platforms that evolve over time. These games are frequently updated with new content, features, and events, keeping players engaged and returning for more. This approach prioritizes player retention and community building, fostering a sense of loyalty and investment among the player base. Moreover, games as a service often incorporate elements of free-to-play mechanics, monetizing through microtransactions, subscriptions, or advertising.

The shift from products to services has several implications for game development. Games as a service require a more iterative and flexible development process, as developers must continually adapt to changing player preferences and market trends. Additionally, the emphasis on community building and player engagement necessitates robust online infrastructure and tools for communication and collaboration.

In conclusion, while both "game as a product" and "game as a service" have their merits, the latter has become increasingly dominant in the modern gaming landscape. By offering ongoing content and fostering strong player communities, games as a service have redefined the way games are developed, distributed, and consumed. As technology continues to advance, it is likely that this trend will only accelerate, leading to even more innovative and engaging gaming experiences.

#GoGamers

On the necessity of uncertainty in games

This week, I revisited one of my favorite game design books: "Uncertainty in Games" by Greg Costikyan. Costikyan is a renowned game designer, having contributed to successful RPGs such as the 1987 Star Wars, TOON, and Paranoia. I decided to reread this title due to an article on UX in gaming that I'm currently developing.

I came across a particularly interesting passage on page 16. Costikyan makes a compelling point: when we're shopping online, operating heavy machinery, or voting in elections, uncertainty and challenge are the last things we desire. In normal circumstances, we prefer simplicity, certainty, and consistency.



Indeed, those of us working in the gaming industry often hear people say they want to make their apps or websites more "game-like" or "gamified"; however, a staggering 74.3% of the time, the term "gamified" is misused 😁. Is this really the case? Costikyan offers a vivid example: imagine transforming Microsoft Word into a game. Let's say that to bold a text, you need to be a level 12 Word user. Before reaching that level, every time you attempt to bold text, the software performs a check against your level. If you fail the check, it applies a random font effect instead of bold. This wouldn't be fun; it would be frustrating.

Essentially, when designing most interactive products (software, apps, systems, etc.), eliminating uncertainty is desirable. When designing games, a degree of uncertainty is essential. This is why people who try to apply some of Jakob Nielsen's human-computer interaction ideas to games often miss the mark. Interface clarity may still be desirable, but eliminating challenges and uncertainties is not. Games should be, in some sense, "difficult to use," or at least, not trivial to win.

To further illustrate humanity's fascination with uncertainty, consider the motivations of those who engage in online gambling.

#GoGamers  

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Reference:

COSTIKYAN, Greg. Uncertainty in games. Massachusetts: MIT Press, 2013.

Ergodic literature and game design

The concept of ergodic literature (AARSETH, 1997), which posits that a text is ergodic if it requires nontrivial effort from the reader to traverse, has profound implications for game design. Unlike traditional linear narratives, ergodic texts demand active participation from the consumer. This principle is at the heart of what makes video games so engaging. By requiring players to physically interact with the game world, developers can create experiences that are far more immersive than passive forms of media.

When applied to game design, the concept of ergodicity encourages developers to create games where the player's choices have meaningful consequences. This can be achieved through a variety of mechanics, such as branching narratives, open-world exploration, and player-driven character development. By giving players agency within the game world, developers can foster a stronger sense of investment and emotional connection.

Furthermore, ergodic literature highlights the importance of non-linear storytelling. In traditional narratives, the story unfolds in a predetermined sequence. However, in ergodic texts, the reader's choices can significantly alter the course of the narrative. This non-linear approach allows game designers to create more replayable and customizable experiences. By encouraging players to explore different paths and discover hidden secrets, developers can extend the game's lifespan and keep players engaged for longer periods.



The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt is one of my favorite example of a game that effectively utilizes ergodic principles to enhance the player's experience. This open-world RPG offers a vast and interconnected world that players can explore at their own pace. The game's non-linear narrative allows players to approach quests and side activities in various ways, leading to different outcomes and consequences.

For instance, players can choose to complete quests peacefully through diplomacy or forcefully through combat. These choices can affect the game world in significant ways, such as altering relationships between factions or unlocking new areas. Additionally, the game's crafting system encourages players to gather resources, experiment with different recipes, and create unique items that can be used to customize their gameplay experience.

By giving players a high degree of freedom and agency, The Witcher 3 creates a sense of immersion and ownership over the game world. This ergodic approach fosters a more meaningful and memorable gaming experience.

#GoGamers

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Reference:

AARSETH, Espen. Cibertext: Perspectives on Ergodic Literature. The Johns Hopkins University Press: Maryland, 1997.

What makes a Heads Up Display (HUD) a good feature in a game

A Heads-Up Display (HUD) is a crucial element in modern video games, providing players with essential information that enhances their gameplay experience. A well-designed HUD seamlessly integrates into the game world, offering clear and concise data without overwhelming the player. Effective HUDs balance aesthetics with functionality, ensuring that vital information is easily accessible at a glance. For example, a health bar that is both visually appealing and clearly indicates the player's condition is essential for survival-based games.



Beyond basic information such as health and ammo, a good HUD can also provide contextual cues that aid players in making informed decisions. For instance, a minimap that highlights objectives or enemy positions can significantly improve a player's strategic thinking. Additionally, HUD elements can be dynamically adjusted to suit different playstyles or game modes. For example, a stealth-focused game might prioritize a HUD that displays noise levels or enemy detection ranges, while a fast-paced action game might focus on displaying cooldowns for abilities.

Ultimately, a well-executed HUD is an invisible yet indispensable tool that can elevate a game from good to great. By providing players with the information they need without distracting from the core gameplay experience, HUDs can enhance immersion, improve decision-making, and contribute to a more satisfying gaming experience.

#GoGamers

Some notes on my recent reading in game design

Last week, I completed reading The Game Designer's Playlist: Innovative Games Every Game Designer Needs to Play by Zack Hiwiller. This book proved to be particularly engaging due to its innovative "playlist" approach. The format functions as a comprehensive compendium, showcasing the rich variety within the field of gaming.

I have extracted two key points from the book that I intend to utilise in a future article. These points are outlined below.

The element that separates games from other art forms is its requirement of audience participation. No game exists in a bubble distinct from its consumption by players. Although more traditional media need to consider the social and cultural framework in which the media will be consumed and interpreted, game authors also have to consider how the consumers will interact with the media itself. Authors generally are not concerned with how quickly the reader reads; musicians don’t generally concern themselves with the specs of the listener’s stereo. But game designers need to consider the actual act of playing as an element of their art. It is in the act of playing itself that games are uniquely qualified to deliver meaning. P.69

 

As we discussed in the previous chapter, one of the features of games that positions them in a different space from its more static media brethren is that the interactive nature of games opens the doors to new rhetorical and aesthetic effects stemming from that interactivity. A game can be beautiful aesthetically, but it can also be beautiful in how its systems function. P.86

We remain steadfast in our dedication to expanding our knowledge and expertise in this field. 🎮 🎲 😀

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Source: HIWILLER, Zack. The game designer’s playlist: innovative games every game designer needs to play. New Jersey: Pearson Education, 2019.

#GoGamers

Unveiling the iterative design cycle: a cornerstone of game development

Within the domain of game design, iteration cycles represent a cyclical development process employed to refine and enhance a game concept throughout its creation. This approach stands in stark contrast to the linear "waterfall" method, where distinct stages, from ideation to implementation, are completed sequentially with limited room for feedback and adaptation.



Each iteration cycle in game design encompasses a series of well-defined stages: prototyping, playtesting, analysis, and iteration. The initial stage involves the creation of a playable prototype, a rudimentary representation of the game's core mechanics and features. This prototype then undergoes playtesting, where players interact with it and provide feedback on its strengths and weaknesses.

The gathered feedback is meticulously analyzed by the development team to identify areas for improvement. This analysis focuses on aspects like gameplay mechanics, user experience, and overall enjoyment. Based on the analysis, the team then embarks on the iteration stage, where they implement modifications and enhancements to the game based on the collected feedback. This cycle of prototyping, playtesting, analysis, and iteration continues iteratively until the desired level of quality and player satisfaction is achieved.

The iterative nature of game design allows for continuous refinement, enabling developers to adapt and improve their game based on real-world player experience. This approach fosters a dynamic development process, ultimately leading to a more polished and engaging final product.

#GoGamers

Meta-gaming: transcending the rules in competitive games

In competitive gaming, the concept of "meta-gaming" transcends the basic rules and mechanics of the game itself. It involves understanding and manipulating factors external to the game to gain an advantage or create a deeper gaming experience.



For avid gamers, the term "meta-gaming" is likely familiar. This post delves into the concept of meta-gaming in the context of competitive gaming, defining it as a layer of gameplay that exists beyond the game's core rules and mechanics. Meta-gaming involves understanding and manipulating external factors to enhance the gaming experience or gain an advantage over opponents. League of Legends, Counterstrike, Call of Duty, Marvel Snap, Magic: the Gathering, Pokémon Card Game, Hearthstone, and many other competitive games serve as excellent examples we can use to understand the factors that shape a metagame.

Let’s check some examples of meta-gaming:

• Data analysis: players can leverage statistics related to characters, maps, strategies, and other game elements to identify the most effective approaches.

• Community engagement: players can engage in online communities to discuss strategies, share information, and coordinate actions, fostering a collaborative and social gaming experience.

• Psychological warfare: players can employ techniques such as bluffing, intimidation, or manipulation to influence their opponents' behavior, adding a layer of psychological complexity to the game.

• Cultural creation: players can contribute to the game's cultural landscape by creating memes, stories, and other creative content, expanding the game's universe, and enriching the overall experience.

The meta-game represents a complex and dynamic layer that can enrich the gaming experience in various ways. By understanding and exploring the meta-game, players can enhance their skills, creativity, and engagement with their favorite games. Furthermore, meta-gaming can foster collaboration and social interaction among players, transforming the competitive landscape into a vibrant and dynamic community.

#GoGamers