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Le futur et l’avenir

Tatu Pohjavirta, an experienced CEO and futurist, recently posted a brilliant take on why Venture Capitalists, and so developers, get stuck. They ask, “Are you the next Supercell?” or “What’s the next Netflix?”

As Tatu points out, they are looking for le futur, the foreseeable sequel to the present, when what truly changes the world is l’avenir, the radical, unexpected break from the past.

“The true future doesn’t really inherit the present—it breaks from it.”

This is an inability to step outside the invisible grasp of the present. We assume that our current systems are permanent. But they are just historical accidents waiting for the next great interruption.

Building the Unforeseen

Our job as game designers is to increase the risk of predictability by building something genuinely “other.”. Our work is not to design the next of something; it is to design the first of something else.

But how do you design l’avenir when you don’t even have the language for it? This is where your methodical approach, the discipline you apply to strategy and prototyping, becomes the most powerful creative tool.

Design a game where the question becomes, “What is that?”

  1. Deconstruct Your Genre’s Assumptions (The Historical Accident): Take the genre you know best and list all its “permanent” features (e.g., Shooter: First-Person Camera, Health Bars, Headshots). Identify the Historical Accident, the feature that isn’t essential to the instinct (Combat, Acquisition, Escape) but exists purely because of platform or technology limitations 15 years ago.
  2. Prototype the Vocabulary: Tatu asks, “What’s the wildest thing you can imagine into existence that you don’t yet have language to describe to others?” Your job is to prototype the vocabulary. Build a prototype that demonstrates this “wildest thing” using only simple geometric shapes and text. Playtest it with people and watch their reactions.

Your job is to stop being trapped by le futur and start building the unexpected arrival of l’avenir.

The studio lie

Tim Plöger on LinkedIn shared a critique of the glib advice given to laid-off developers: “You got fired? Then start your own studio!”. This message often gets mixed up, confusing the business problem with the craft problem.

Tim, coming from a focus on the structural and financial side of the industry, correctly points out that starting a studio is not the answer. A studio isn’t just about making games; it’s about allocating people and financials, legal structuring, and sales. That’s a different type of work, and often, a recipe for quick failure for someone whose expertise is in pure creation.

The advice tells you to become an Executive/CEO when all you need to do is remain a Designer/Developer. My counterpoint to Tim was simple: “You don’t have money to buy bread? Well, maybe you have it to buy flour and cook your own bread.”

If your job is to design games, your energy should go into designing games. Spending six months, a year, or even two years sending out résumés without a response drains your energies. It is better to do your job every single day than to beg others while your energy wanes.

When you are laid off, you are given a clean slate, a golden opportunity to build the things you need.

Cook Your Own Bread

You have the chance to prove your adaptive insight (your ability to transfer design knowledge across genres). Here are three immediate actions for any designer, artist, or programmer who is waiting for “the next job”:

  1. Stop Applying, Start Prototyping: Turn your application time into creation time. Build simple, fast, collaborative projects. Don’t worry about polish; worry about fun and flow.
  2. Master the Instincts of the Market: Use this time to apply System Thinking. Pick a successful micro-genre (like the recent Friend-slop games) and try to replicate its core loop. Don’t copy the art; map the instincts (Acquisition, Gregariousness, Escape) that make it tick. This process demonstrates analytical skill far better than any résumé.
  3. Join the Flour-Buyers: Seek out other developers who are also “baking their own bread.” Join forces for a focused, two-week game jam or prototype challenge. The goal is not profit; the goal is to keep your creative engine running and generate concrete work that proves you’re a builder, not a waiter.

The best way to get hired is to be actively doing the job, with or without a corporate logo on your title.

Believe, don’t expect

I spoke with a former client this week about an experiment we ran. The results are good. The concrete indicators, the raw KPIs, show definite potential.

Yet, the project is under fire. Why? Because the team leader, who has to defend the project to business stakeholders every week, told me: “The expectations were higher.”

This is how good games die unfairly.

You execute a clear vision, the indicators are positive, but because they are “not great” or don’t match someone’s projection, the people who only chase numbers pull the plug.

The Fatal Confusion: KPI vs. Goal

This happens because many business owners—many, many of them—confuse indicators (KPIs) with goals.

  • A KPI is a health report. It tells you where you are bleeding or thriving right now. A good CPI or a solid retention rate is a sign that the game’s core has validity.
  • A Goal is the destination. It’s the vision, the human spark that creates something great.

The biggest mistake is treating the KPI as the Goal.

When you confuse the current retention rate with the final vision, you kill the process. You are demanding a marathon runner win the race on the first lap.

Think of every successful game out there: most of them started small. They grew with patience, dedication, and the belief that the spark was there. They iterated, they built, and they compounded their small, good indicators into great results.

ROI Without Understanding is Ruin

People in charge look for their own immediate ROI without being willing to truly understand how creative work, especially game design I have to say, actually works.

Creativity is not a linear spreadsheet. It’s a system of feedback and refinement. It requires room to breathe. When you cancel a project with good, but not great, indicators, you are sacrificing future compounding success for the shallow comfort of hitting an immediate number.

Let’s start the week with a clear intention: Stop letting fear-driven number-chasers kill projects that deserve to grow. Believe in the spark.

Strategy as a creative act

Martin Walfisz, founder of Massive Entertainment and writer of the Connecting Pixels newsletter, recently hit a crucial nerve: Most game companies have ambition, but no clear strategy.

He talks about how, when he started out, his ambition was just “Explosions must look amazing!“. I see this same pattern everywhere. Most teams are building a feature-collage that relies on luck rather than design. The core problem is exactly what Walfisz identifies: we confuse motion with direction.

Ambition is Easy; Strategy is Courage

Ambition is a resume: “This game will be the best in the world, it will hit X million MAU, and it will have blockchain integration.” Ambition is free. Everyone has it.

Strategy, by contrast, is courage. Strategy is saying NO to the 99 good ideas so you can focus on the one great thing that your game, and only your game, is built to master.

Walfisz nails the essence: “Strategy is about deciding where to become great.”

  • Ambition asks: “What else can we add to appeal to everyone so we can make lots of money?”
  • Strategy asks: “What will we say no to, so we can double down on this one, unique feeling that respects the player’s time?”

Companies fear that choosing a lane will limit their creative freedom. But as Walfisz notes, it’s the opposite: boundaries don’t stifle creativity, they sharpen it.

Success Should Compound, Not Reset

When you build a game purely on ambition, its success is a lottery win. Walfisz points out the high cost of this: “Without a clear strategy, success doesn’t compound. It resets.”

If your strategy changes with every new project you are throwing away the expertise, the audience loyalty, and the pattern recognition you earned on the last project.

Success must become a pyramid built on the cumulative expertise of your team, not a single, isolated pillar of luck.

Look at the example of Landfall, which Walfisz cites: they were self-aware enough to realize their strength was “creating inventive, funny, highly shareable multiplayer experiences.” They focused on that one thing and restructured their studio around it. That is the definition of turning your culture into your strategy.

Designing for the Great Conjunction

Chris Zukowski, the industry analyst behind How To Market A Game, recently published an optimistic take: indie development is in a “Great Conjunction.”

He argues that a perfect storm is brewing: genres that are “easier to make” are also the genres that Steam players are desperately hungry for. This creates a low-risk, high-upside scenario for small teams to release rapid, viral hits like Friend-slop co-op games or Horror-Casino hybrids.

But simply chasing the “Friend-slop” or “Idle Game” trend is the lazy route. A true designer knows that success is not just about the genre, but the transferability of insight, meaning the system behind the mechanics.

If you are going to take advantage of this “Great Conjunction,” you need to know why these genres are working. You need to identify the core human instincts they are satisfying.

The Designer’s Roadmap: Mapping the Great Conjunction

In my experience, the foundation of every successful game is not the graphic style or the business model, but its ability to satisfy a primal human need.

Here is a practical framework, using Instinct Mapping (the concept of identifying the core Survival and Social instincts a game satisfies) to deconstruct the “Great Conjunction” genres. I am writing a book on this topic, so stay tuned:

Great Conjunction Genre (Zukowski)My Instinct Mapping ProxyPrimary Instincts (The “Why”)The Design Hook (The “How”)
Idle / Incremental GamesIdle GameAcquisition, Rest, BuildingThe player gets a continuous drip-feed of Acquisition (loot/progress) with minimal effort, justifying the Rest (downtime) and satisfying the need to passively Build a growing system.
Friend-slop Co-op (e.g., Lethal Company)Party GameGregariousness, Play, LaughterThe core loop is dedicated entirely to Gregariousness (social connection) and unconstrained Play, with the physics or design chaos used to trigger Laughter. Human interaction is the feature, not the polish.
Horror Meta-GenreHorrorEscape, Curiosity, RestThe challenge (Horror) is driven by the thrill of Escape and the pull of Curiosity (what’s around the next corner?). The ‘Rest’ is the temporary moment of safety (e.g., hiding, a brief safe zone). The Horror-Casino genre simply layers this instinct over Acquisition.
Autobattler / StrategyAutobattlerAssertiveness, Combat, PlayThe player’s success relies on Assertiveness (making the strategic decision) and Combat (the resulting conflict), packaged as a simple, repeatable loop of Play that allows for quick experimentation.

The Formula: Market + Instinct

The success of these rapidly developed indie games proves that players will overlook polish and graphics if the core design loop is tight, fun, and deep.

Your task as a designer is two-fold:

  1. Analyze the Market (The ‘What’): Identify the “hot quadrant” in the Game Business Matrix (Session Time $\times$ Player Interaction) where there’s a confluence of hunger and low cost (like those mentioned by Zukowski).
  2. Design the Instinct (The ‘Why’): Deconstruct what primal need that market is tapping into, and use the instincts (like Acquisition or Gregariousness) to structure your Opening (hook), Core loop, and Closing (satisfaction).

Don’t be a martyr for a years-long art project when the market is begging for focused, fun systems built quickly. Use the Great Conjunction, but design with a framework. That’s how you turn a trend into a sustainable victory.

Sound effects are art

Music and sound effects are responsible for setting the emotions and tone of a game. Specifically, sound effects are a great tool, from a game design perspective, to direct the player’s attention when they are concentrated on other things. Sounds are fundamentally about feelings; they act straight into our limbic system, much like smells, for example.

When I have to think about sounds for a game, I record a whole session (or set of sessions) in video form. Then I grab competitors and study where they put sound FXs, and I try to understand WHY. In general, there are clear patterns:

  • Every time the player interacts with UI and buttons, there is a sound.
  • Every time a player skill is used, there is a sound.
  • Every time an item is used, there is a sound.
  • Every time there are special statuses, there is a sound.

Usually, sounds are implemented through event systems, so I try to predict them or talk with programmers to understand the underlying architecture. Then, I add the event triggers to my sound specifications.

Sounds depend a lot on the art direction too, so I make sure to talk with artists to assure we are aligned on the tone. It’s easy to understand if you should use cartoony or realistic sounds, for instance, but the tone (serious, funny, epic, impactful, etc.) really makes the difference, also in terms of how players will perceive the art per se.

Imagine a rounded and gummy button, and then you add an explosive sound when the player taps on it. The feeling of that material will change completely.

Ways to lose the game

Since 2016 I worked as a freelancer for many realities. This fact gave me certain insight on the typical mistakes leaders, product managers, and producers, do when they decide on the strategy to follow.

1️⃣ Starting with the Metrics

“Data” is just an unformed, meaningless glob until you apply a creative hypothesis to it. You need to start with the “why” and the “what if,” not the number on the spreadsheet or the curve you saw on Sensor Tower. Stop treating data as a god; treat it as a confusing cloud of information. Your goal is to get your references at the start, not make decisions on them. Decisions have to be made on what makes you (you, intended as a team) special.

2️⃣ Seeking Consensus

Good strategy is always contrarian. If everyone in the room agrees that your next game should be “Fortnite, but with dragons,” be terrified. Consensus, by definition, is average. Have you read the Age of Average? This is how it starts. If everybody is doing something in the market, that something is not disruptive anymore. Follow others is not a good strategy, it can be a tactic for a while. But your goal as a leader is to create the right strategy to disrupt.

3️⃣ Providing a Goal, Not a Strategy

Many “strategies” are actually goals dressed up in fancy slides. “We need to hit X million MAU.” Okay, but how? That’s a target, not a strategy. KPIs are indicators used to understand many things; among them, you can also understand if you reached a specific goal of course. But the goal has to be something like “invent a new genre”, or “make the most downloaded free puzzle game on Steam”. Something achievable, of course, but ambitious.

4️⃣ Running a Strategy Workshop

You can’t expect creative strategy on a timetable, or to arise from a formula. Strategy emerges messily over time. In the shower, in the gaps between the work (remember my “eureka” moment?). It doesn’t come from a neat stack of Post-Its. I have been in plenty ultra long workshops where in the end nothing happened.

5️⃣ Putting Strategy in the Calendar

Strategy isn’t a “task” that you “schedule,” like an art review. It occurs in the unprompted, serendipitous moments that surprise you. It’s always on, somehow. It emerges from nuances, suddenly. Do the work, think as a strategist and it will come. And if not, you already have a strategy: shut down the project and stop losing money.

6️⃣ Looking for Proof

All strategy is a punt. A gamble. You can get some validation from soft-launch metrics, sure. But you’ll never be certain. The only proof you’ll find is by trying it. Stop looking for certainty; the real world is a chaos engine. These podcasts that only speak bad about the others? These “pundits” are not really in the game, they are judging from the outside many times. Again, do your work, step by step, every single day.

7️⃣ Making it Many Things, Not One Thing

Strategy is not a “list of stuff” (e.g., “We will integrate blockchain, launch F2P, and focus on narrative”). Strategy is one thing: the core fantasy, the single unique hook. Then organize and define the list of stuff you’re going to do. If you can’t point to that one thing, it doesn’t exist. Players want something important, not stuff to play.

8️⃣ Mistaking Boring for Intelligent

Man, with all those charts, all that jargon, and all that complexity, this strategy MUST be good! Ha, no. This isn’t a research paper for a thesis committee. It needs to be exciting—it needs to motivate the team, or it will never make a great game. Boring is fatal. And the team is probably composed by people really passionate about games.

9️⃣ Asking the Customer

Yes, of course, you must speak to the Player. But this doesn’t mean you should ask them what you should build and then build it. If it was that easy, every studio would be printing money. Their job is to tell you what they hate and what they love of what you are doing; your job is to build what they didn’t know they needed. It’s hard, very hard, but that’s the only way I know.

🔟 Hiding Your Opinions

You are not objective. Your strategy isn’t objective. And it shouldn’t be! Strategy is about making a choice. A subjective, opinionated bet. Those who embrace the fact that it’s all opinions and commit to them are the ones who master it.

Stop knocking

Imagine a big gate. Behind that gate lies the success of the game you are making. Now, imagine you are standing right in front of it. Suddenly, you hear a voice:

“Why should you enter this gate?”

This voice represents all the Players. They want a single, compelling reason for you to gain access to that success.

You could start by listing the good qualities of your game—it’s like sending a resume: “This game does this and that.” Or, you could tell them the game is simply proof that you can make games, which isn’t a terrible argument, considering 80% of games never see the light. You could even beg them to let you in, like a personal favor, so you can continue making games.

Sending resumes, trying to prove things to strangers, or begging will probably not make them open the gate for you. In fact, they need a real will to open the gate in the first place.

Whether you’re looking for a job or selling your game, try to avoid the “gate situation.” Build your own stand outside of the walls, show off your merchandise, and let them invite you in.

We are based on deadlines

The games industry is a deadline-based industry. That’s why you often see terrible practices like crunch. Crunch is typically concentrated in the last few weeks of a project, and it is fundamentally a management failure. Systemic crunch makes things unsustainable. People will become stressed, burn out, and quit—and this could eventually damage the entire industry.

Great games are made by teams that strive for success. If you are both ambitious and smart, you can design a game to be sustainable. But you must be acutely aware of deadlines and accept that our sector is based on them, because you can’t really control everything else.

Collage of features

I met a colleague yesterday who is working on a project with no clear vision. Because of this, plans are constantly shifting, and prototypes are discarded just by pointing a finger to the sky. There is no one accountable for the game’s vision; the Creative Director is the company founder, and of course, he cannot be fired. The game feels like a collage of features, not a proper, cohesive experience.

I told him that this is very common, and it’s one of the main reasons behind the failure of so many games. Someone years ago said that 80% of games never see the light. This is why: you don’t have a clear vision of the experience you want to deliver. You only decide on the genre, and then you add, “but we’ll make it more casual,” without even intensively playing those kinds of games. You aren’t connecting with the audience. You aren’t willing to embark on the creative journey for real. So, you end up trying out things, making one prototype, not properly evaluating the results, and then moving on to something else—like throwing spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks.

Maybe something will stick, and in rare cases, you might even get lucky and make some money. But that is not the way you build long-lasting, billion-dollar games.