As politicians continue the battle against gambling addiction by regulating casinos and online poker, a new mobile gaming addiction has emerged through free-to-play games. These games, such as Candy Crush and Clash of Clans, allow players to access content without paying. Often, they’re the types of games that get your friends to send you pesky Facebook invites. Countries have tried to protect gamers from addiction in myriad ways to little avail. That’s because mobile-gaming industry regulations don’t parallel the regulations on other industries that similarly profit from addiction; however, that distinction may be for good reason.
Video game dependency has manifested itself in many forms. A decade ago, a 28-year-old died in an incident related to a 50-hour-long gaming binge. In 2006, Google Trends showed a spike in the query “World of Warcraft addiction,” and interest has been growing ever since. Nearly five years ago, FarmVille found a new arena for its target audience: social networks, where a massive number of people were constantly online. Although seemingly innocuous, the game flooded newsfeeds, advertising itself under the guise of sharing players’ scores or inviting players’ friends to join the game. Soon after, a young mother was arrested for killing her baby in frustration while trying to progress in FarmVille; she was later sentenced to 50 years in prison for second-degree murder. In response to the growth of gaming addiction, the American Psychiatric Association (APA) put video game dependency in the “Conditions For Further Study” part of the “Manual of Mental Disorders” in 2013. TIME Magazine, asking for insight from psychology experts, attributes the addictive nature of these game to a few key points: forced wait times ensuring players return to the game, consistent but minute positive reinforcement for successful play, extreme accessibility (options to play offline), the ability to multitask while playing, an “unlosable” game structure with ever-increasing levels and stages, a competitive and engaging social aspect that markets itself through social networking, and content designed to makes players feel like the game responds to their whims. For example, King, the makers of Candy Crush, changed level 65 in response to complaints just enough to engage players with its difficulty, but not enough to exasperate them.
In a poll of Candy Crush users, Ask Your Target Market found that around one in three players describes herself as a Candy Crush addict. Though self-diagnosed, these social game addictions have meaningful social consequences. One in ten Candy Crush players has gotten in arguments with a significant other due to the game. Prior to having their own APA entry, addicted gamers were compared to pathological gamblers; the National Institute on Media and the Family found that more than 8 percent of American youth showed signs of video game dependence, and, of these, some displayed as many as 6 of the 11 signs of dependent gamblers. Despite comparisons to the heavily-regulated industries of drugs and gambling, the gaming industry has been allowed to evolve its business model to meet this new type of addiction-driven demand.In the case of George Yao, whose 48-hour binges on the game Clash of Clans placed him at the top of the leaderboards for nearly six months, his habit cost him more than $10,000 a year. When interviewed about his experiences, Yao revealed that initially took to the games because he “found the ‘round-the-clock promise of camaraderie’ of the game kept him from feeling lonely.” He was such an active member of his clan that he found a sponsor willing to finance his in-game expenses. Outside of the game, Yao noticed his life crumbling. He had lost a serious amount of weight due to malnutrition, and he found that the game “felt more like a job than anything else.” Yao ruminates, “Nowadays, I can’t even stand opening the app, the sight of it…I was so immersed in it at the time. I knew it was abnormal, but never to the extent that I see it now.”
To make a profit, game developers cater to “whales” like Yao — as they call large in-game spenders. When whales spend in excess of $10,000 per month, companies use the player data they collect each day to assign employees to actively engage and design personalized content for each whale. An anonymous ex-developer reveals, “I remember we had a whale in one game that loved American football…We built several custom virtual items in both his favorite team colors and their opponents, just to sell to this one guy.” Engaged by the social interaction from the millions of free-to-play gamers and amazed by the content made specially for them, whales can stay engaged in the game long enough for the developer companies to rake in enormous profits. In 2015, Clash of Clans made more than $5 million per day; King reported almost $120 million in profit in just one quarter of 2015.
Payment options for games have moved from one-time buys to expansion packs that provide additional content at extra costs to zero-dollar initial cost games riddled with microtransactions. Mobile games advertised as “free-to-play” with significant microtransactions are installable even without a credit card number. These games’ low barriers-to-entry are part of their allure: This “first taste free” style of marketing is what game developers rely on to reach large populations. Eventually, the developers hit a whale whose charges are large enough to sustain the game. That’s why, of the 93 million daily Candy Crush players, the vast majority don’t pay anything. It’s only approximately 4 percent of the player pool that pays at all, and the mobile marketing group Swrve reports that about one-tenth of 1 percent of active players make up half of the in-game revenue. This movement in cost structure is particularly daunting in the face of growing video game dependence. It’s unsettling that users are able to pour thousands of hours and limitless sums of money into in-game consumables.
While this industry has flourished in the US, it hasn’t seen quite the same exposure in European and Asian countries, as regulators have stepped in to protect customers from manipulative advertising. Japanese game developers have been pressured to pull certain microtransactions off of local markets, despite the fact that half of some Japanese developers’ sales rely on them. South Korea, for example, attempted to thwart youth gaming addiction by passing laws that required online games to request a national ID to verify users’ ages between midnight and 6:00 a.m. The Australian Competition and Consumer Commission took a close look at more than 300 apps two years ago, investigating whether a case for dishonest interactions leading to charges can be made. Ultimately, companies were subject to minimal refunds and few lasting regulations. Similarly, the United Kingdom’s Advertising Standards Authority and Germany’s highest civil courts have imposed several regulations on the marketing elements of microtransactions: Phrasing can’t be manipulative, microtransactions must take place in an outside-of-the-game environment, and consumers must have a direct route of contact to the developer. However, none of these countries have outwardly discussed ethical gaming regulation with respect to psychological dependence.
In the United States, where dependency might affect more than three million adolescents, free-to-play games on a mobile platform continue to boom in an unregulated industry. The Federal Trade Commission (FTC) has shown similar superficial interest. An investigation made into the same false-advertising claims of “free-to-play” games judged whether the self-proclaimed “free” status was reasonable, considering the countless microtransactions. The FTC ruled that the “confusing, deceptive microtransaction systems” warranted a $19 million refund from Android’s Google Play Store and a $32 million refund from Apple’s App Store. But beyond this slap on the wrist for some marketing schemes, US authorities have not explored regulating the ethical dilemmas of catering to dependent consumers.
For now, Candy Crush has defined itself as a “casual” game that is “easy to learn but hard to master” — that is, distinguishing itself as a game of skill rather than luck which keeps it away from the regulations applied to similarly colorful slot machines. And to a great extent, that distinction is true; there are many players who enjoy free-to-play games with no detriment to their health, and regulations would harm these players. A limit on total spending in a game like Candy Crush would break the system, as there are players who can afford to pay an in-game microtransaction, but won’t return in the face of imposed wait times. A larger upfront cost that comes with all the “in-game” perks would do the same. While those who would have originally paid the cost still could, the millions who enjoy the game for free would no longer be able to.
It’s undeniable that the microtransactional framework and recent game designs have become exploitative in both the gaming and financial worlds. Requiring gamers to return at set intervals or advertise the game through social media accounts in order to progress has games overstepping bounds. Without a doubt, some of the games have gone so far as to permanently impact people’s lives. When an industry holds the power to provide both entertainment and psychological damage, it is difficult to make the call — especially when there’s always another level.
Art by Alyssa Schulman