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Used to be, you bought a game, you owned a game. Plain and simple. Stick it in the console, off you went. You played it, you finished it, or you didn’t. Maybe you went back years later, felt a bit of nostalgia. That was it. No ticking clocks, no ‘limited time only’ banners flashing in your face, no digital shopkeep whispering in your ear about the shiny new bit of armour you’d miss if you logged off for a week. We just played the bloody things. These days, though? It’s a different beast entirely, isn’t it? More like a casino than a game, sometimes. And nowhere is that clearer than with what they’ve done to folks playing Destiny. The whole ‘fear of missing out’ thing, or FOMO as the younger crowd calls it, it’s not just a buzzword anymore, it’s the bloody business model.
Now, I’ve been kicking around this newspaper business for a good twenty years, seen trends come and go like bad fashion. But this one? This FOMO game, it’s got teeth. And it’s sunk them right into the players, dragging ’em along, whether they want to be dragged or not. You see it everywhere, not just in games, mind you. Social media, concerts, even the way they sell bloody biscuits now. “Limited Edition!” “Only here for a week!” It’s all designed to make you feel a bit sick inside if you don’t jump on it right then and there. But in a game like Destiny, where it’s a constant, living thing, that feeling just gets dialled up to eleven.
I’ve had a gander at some of the online chatter, places like that `shitforum.nu/threads/destiny-fomo.302/page-32` link. And let me tell you, the sentiment there, page after page of it, ain’t exactly sunshine and rainbows. It’s people proper fed up. Burnt out. They love the game, maybe, they really do, but they’re being worked over. They’re talking about feeling like they’re chasing their tail, logged in just to keep up, not because they’re having a proper laugh. It reminds me of the early days of online news, when every little click was a battle, every second of attention, a victory. They’re selling time, not just entertainment, and they’re doing it with a bit of emotional blackmail. It’s subtle, mind, but it’s there. You log in, don’t you? Because what if that cool shader, that neat little gun perk, that bit of story you’re following, just vanishes? Poof. Gone. And you’re left holding the bag.
The Constant Grind: More Chore Than Choice
It’s a clever trick, this FOMO. It’s not just about selling you cosmetic junk, though there’s plenty of that. It’s about keeping you hooked on the hamster wheel. Seasons, battle passes, weekly resets, daily bounties, limited-time events, triumphs that vanish after a few months. It’s an endless checklist designed to consume every spare minute you’ve got. I remember talking to a bloke down at the pub, works twelve-hour shifts, got two wee kids. He said he barely saw his family because he felt obliged to log into Destiny every night, just to “get his chores done” so he didn’t fall behind. Chores. In a game. That’s not a game, mate, that’s a second job they’re not paying you for.
What’s the point in all that grinding if it doesn’t even feel like fun anymore? You’re not exploring, you’re not messing about with your mates for a laugh. You’re ticking boxes. You’re farming materials, re-running the same old activities for a tiny chance at a weapon that’ll probably be replaced or ‘sunsetting’ in a few months anyway. And this is where the forums light up like a Christmas tree, isn’t it? Blokes asking, “Is Destiny FOMO real?” You bet your bottom dollar it’s real. It’s as real as the look on a kid’s face when he can’t have the latest toy because his parents are working themselves ragged to pay the bills. It’s a manufactured scarcity in a world of endless digital possibility. That, to me, is a bit of a bloody joke.
The Psychology of the Perpetual Player
You gotta wonder, why do we put up with it? We do, don’t we? It’s not like they’re holding a gun to our heads. I suppose part of it is the community. You play with your friends, and you don’t want to be left out when they’re tackling the latest raid or trying to get that fancy new armour set. There’s a social pressure, a bit of peer expectation. And then there’s the sunk cost fallacy, isn’t there? You’ve put hundreds, maybe thousands, of hours into this thing. You’ve bought expansions, season passes, maybe even some of those shiny cosmetics. You’ve invested a chunk of your life. Walking away feels like throwing all that down the drain. So you keep logging in, hoping it’ll get better, hoping that next season will be the one where they finally ease up.
It’s almost like an unhealthy relationship, if you ask me. You keep giving, and the game keeps taking, always asking for more of your time, always dangling something just out of reach. It’s a very clever business model from their end, that’s for sure. They’ve figured out how to monetise your time and your anxieties. It makes me a bit cynical about the whole thing. Is it about making truly enjoyable experiences anymore, or is it just about keeping those engagement metrics sky-high and the cash flowing? I reckon it’s leaning heavily towards the latter. It used to be, you made a cracking game, people bought it. Now, you make a pretty good game, then you build a perpetual motion machine that keeps folks hooked, whether they’re having fun or not.
The Developer’s Playbook: Engineered Engagement
So, “Why do games use FOMO?” Simple, really. It’s good for business. Keeps the servers busy, keeps the cash registers ringing. When you know something’s going to vanish, you’re more likely to cough up for it or dedicate the time to earn it. It creates urgency where there is none. It’s not about art; it’s about retention. They release a new season, maybe a new activity, and it’s all set to expire. The ‘Seasonal Challenges’ – they’re not just challenges, they’re deadlines. You complete them before the season ends, or you miss out on rewards, maybe even some story bits. It’s a proper carrot-and-stick approach, only the stick is the fear of missing out, and the carrot is usually just more busywork.
Remember when they started with this ‘sunsetting’ malarkey? Gear you’d worked hard for, levelled up, cherished, suddenly had an expiry date. “What’s the deal with sunsetting gear and FOMO?” Well, it was a bloody masterclass in forced engagement, wasn’t it? Your best guns and armour became useless in harder content, forcing you to grind for new ones. It wasn’t about game balance, not really. It was about making sure you had to play to stay competitive, forcing you to abandon your old favourites and get on the new treadmill. They pulled it back a bit after a massive outcry, but the philosophy behind it, that constant drive to devalue your progress to make you chase new things, that’s still kicking about in various forms. It’s all designed to make sure you can never truly ‘finish’ or feel satisfied.
Will Anything Ever Change? A Cynical View
It’s 2025 now, and this whole FOMO thing, it’s not gone anywhere. If anything, it’s just seeped deeper into everything. “Will Destiny ever change its FOMO strategy?” Honestly, I don’t see it, not in a meaningful way. Not as long as it keeps working. Why would they? They’ve built a multi-million-pound machine on this model. Players complain, sure, they vent on forums, they send angry tweets. But they mostly keep playing. They might moan, but they’re still there, aren’t they? And as long as they’re there, logging in, buying the passes, the cosmetic packs, the next expansion, the companies have no real incentive to pull back.
It’s a vicious cycle. The players feel obliged to play, which reinforces the company’s belief that their strategy is working, which means they double down on it. What would it take for things to change? A mass exodus? Thousands of players just deciding they’ve had enough and walking away? Maybe. But that’s a big ask when you’ve got communities built up, years of friendships, and that little voice in the back of your head whispering about what you’ll miss if you’re not there.
A Word to the Weary: How to Beat the Game
So, what’s a player to do? “How can I avoid Destiny FOMO?” It’s a good question, one I hear a lot. I’ll tell you what I reckon, and it ain’t rocket science, but it’s harder than it sounds. You’ve got to rewire your brain a bit. You’ve got to learn to be okay with missing out. That’s the hard truth of it. That shiny new weapon you might not get? That exclusive emblem? It’s not going to change your life. Your mates are still your mates whether you’ve got the latest god-roll or not.
You’ve got to decide what’s more valuable: your time, your mental state, or that digital trinket that’s probably going to be obsolete in a few months anyway. Play when you want to play, not when you feel you have to play. Set your own pace. If a season’s content doesn’t grab you, don’t buy the battle pass. Take a break. Play something else. There are hundreds of other cracking games out there that just want you to, well, play them, not work for them. Or better yet, go outside, have a coffee with a mate, watch some proper sport, or read a book. Stuff that actually matters.
It’s a tough message to hear when you’re deeply invested, I know. It’s like telling someone to quit smoking when they’re hooked. But that’s the reality of it. The companies selling these games, they’re not your friends. They’re businesses. And their business model right now relies on creating an artificial sense of urgency and scarcity to keep you locked in. Don’t let them turn your hobby into a second job. Your sanity’s worth more than a digital gun, aye? That’s my two cents, anyway. And I’ve seen enough rubbish come and go over the years to know when something smells a bit off. This whole FOMO thing, it stinks of it.
