Is it already time for this???
Your wallet is empty, you’ve missed your last 3 months of rent, and had nothing but cat food and ramen to eat for far too long. Every night creditors call you demanding their cash back and you’re constantly watching your back for gruff men in black suits looking to collect. The city shut off your heat and water, while your cell phone bill’s ridiculously overdue. You are the product of the greatest modern American financial crisis. No, I’m not talking about the growing disparity of wealth distribution, this isn’t #OccupyWallStreet; I’m talking about Steam sale addiction.
That cold fevered sweat when you buy yet another PC game you’ll never get around to, we all know it. But you’re asking yourself, how did I get here? What caused me to be an obsessive compulsive shopper of all things downloadable? The following are the 10 stages of Steam sale addiction that caused you to turn into the hopeless impulse buyer you are today.
Maybe you saw it on a blog, or a friend made mention of it on Twitter, but by some divine providence that one game you’d been holding off buying is suddenly 75% off and it comes with all the DLC for free. If there was ever a time for you to jump on the bandwagon, this is it.
You go through the steps of setting up your credit card or PayPal account with Steam so you can make the purchase, which is unlike you but the deal’s so good you just can’t resist. Before long you’ve payed for your game and it’s the best feeling in the world. Not only do you have an awesome new game to play, but you got it for less than your morning coffee.
You beat this game and feel an incredible sense of satisfaction having enjoyed it at such a value.
You’ve started browsing the Steam storefront every now and again; casually checking out what’s new and once in a while you’ll see a notable title go on sale. One day you see one that you’ve heard a few friends talk about and you’ve heard good things.
You’re not really looking to play anything else new, but it’s in a genre you like and it’s pretty cheap. You think to yourself that you’ll give it a try and even if you don’t have time to beat it, it’d be worth checking out for the price just to see what everyone had been talking about.
The game’s appealing, but you never end up playing this game for more than a few hours.
It’s the long weekend and because you’re not the most popular guy in the world, you’re sitting at home on the computer instead of by the beach with babes and a barbecue. Just when you’re feeling down on yourself you see Steam’s set up a holiday sale to celebrate whatever dead presidents or solstice-oriented occasion’s got everyone off work.
There are a slew of games here and you figure that since you’ve got the spare time you might as well pick up something new so you don’t waste the whole weekend away. You don’t see anything you particularly recognize, but it’s so inexpensive that you feel comfortable taking a chance; you know you’re not going to play it come Monday anyway.
You play this game exactly once and never open it again.
Some publisher has pooled their entire catalog into one massive deal for 80% off. It’s got everything they’ve ever made including that one game from your childhood that you completely forgot about. This is your biggest Steam purchase to date, but it’s loaded with stuff.
You look at your digital library and it’s starting to look like an actual collection. There’s more than a few titles in the bundle you actively dislike, but heck it’s a smashing deal and you’ve always liked the company.
That game you liked as a kid sucks now and most of the bundle goes completely untouched.
By now you’re feeling like a real PC gamer and feel kindred to the community. Steam pulls together a big promotion for all the independent developers who pour their hearts and souls into their games. A lot of these titles look really weird, you’re not even sure if all of them even count as games.
Still, you feel obligated to do your part to support the industry and fancy yourself a respectable and cultured individual; of course you’re going to enjoy a game about an Iranian cat’s world changing actions.
You give each of them a try, but apart from the one that’s Robotron: 2084 reskinned you really don’t understand what’s going on.
By now you’ve got a pretty hefty collection and you’ve been around the block a few times. You know that this weekend the store’s likely going to have a sale and this time you’re ready. You’ve got your daily deal timers set (2PM EST) and you never miss a changeover.
If there’s something worth buying you’re the first to know about it and you rush to grab everything even remotely worthwhile. You make a handful of purchases through the week-long sale and completely forget about what you bought on the first day. You start evangelizing the deals to your friends on Twitter and Facebook, suggesting they go get it too even though all you did was buy it – you haven’t got around to playing it yet.
The real game here is a month down the road when your pals want to talk about the ending and you have to bluff, pretending you too played it after buying. Heaven forbid they realize you’re just stocking a digital pantry now.
Your Steam library is starting to rival your console game collection and you’ve stared thinking about the theoretical permanency of it. Your Xbox 360 and PS3 games can get scratched or lost or stolen, but your Steam library will always be there.
Suddenly there’s an added benefit to having the Steam version of your favorite console games and you start repurchasing them for the PC. You never really intend to play them, but it’s good to have all the best titles in one library that you’ll be able to enjoy when you retire.
You need money to enjoy a work-free retirement, something that your new game buying habit just doesn’t permit.
The library is massive at this point and your collection is incredibly robust. You’ve got everything, or so you think. You stumble upon a title that you’ve long promised yourself you’d pick up and play eventually and throw it in your shopping cart.
As you head through the checkout process Steam suddenly stops and asks you if the purchase is a gift for someone else. You can’t quite figure out why it’s curious, until it dawns on you that you already bought and installed the game months ago. You’re officially forgetting quality titles you’ve purchased and intended to play.
Note that you still never get around to playing the game despite the startling reminder of your intention and commitment.
By this point you’ve given up on the notion of ever playing any of these games. You’ve fully accepted the fact that you’re not really buying games anymore, just icons to add to the ever growing wall of poor purchase decisions.
You’ll still install the games of course – you didn’t upgrade to a 3 TB hard drive for nothing – but you’ve come to grips with your dismissal of games as actual playthings. It’s a nice collection to show off every now and again, but you’re starting to feel distanced from it. You’re fully aware it’s a money pit with no purpose, but you just can’t stop buying. You are beyond repair.
You begin to feel distanced from your collection, but keep feeding it like an alcoholic who’s long since lost the joy of getting buzzed.
You’re broke and you’ve lost it all to half-priced copies of Elf Bowling 2 and other random titles you barely remember. The sick thing is, you still check up on the daily sales and pray that something new comes along with a hefty discount, because your collection is so full you haven’t been able to buy anything because you already own it all.
Somehow, despite Steam’s seemingly infinite supply of new and engaging titles, you’ve managed to get yourself in a position where all you see are repeat sales for games you already paid for.
By now Steam has nothing left to offer you. The thrill of the bargain is gone and you’ve transcended the addiction, but there’s always the hope of some generous pre-order bonus that keeps you coming back to scratch that insatiable itch.