The Ritual of Buying a Game in the 1990s

These days, you only need press a couple of buttons. Add to cart, checkout - congratulations, you've bought a game!

Fast, efficient, perfunctory. 

I tend to drag it out though. I procrastinate when making a purchase, stalling even when my mind is already made up. I knew I was going to pre-order Final Fantasy XVI, so why did I wait until five days before release to do so? I'd had Ghost Trick in my basket for two weeks before finally checking out, even though I 100% knew I wanted to buy it. Perhaps I'm trying to add layers and a sense of occasion to my purchase? Giving myself the time to savor the shopping experience.

When I do commit to making my purchase, it's all over in a few seconds. A brief moment on the Amazon app - two days later, delivery. On console stores I press a couple of buttons, wait a bit, and then I have my game. I can't remember the last time I walked into a brick-and-mortar store and bought a new release. Several years, must be.

It didn't used to be like this. Back in the day, buying a new game was borderline ritualistic. There were stages to be adhered to, a gradual build up to bringing a new game home. And within those stages, we found meaning and excitement. 

This is how I remember it, back in my day. Back in the mid-late 1990s.

Stage One: Discovery

I'd discover most new games in one of two ways: magazines or word of mouth. And very occasionally, via Games Master on the telly. There was no social media to hype me up, and I wasn't even online until the very end of the decade. There were no E3 broadcasts, and certainly no Amazon Recommends. I learnt about games in print or in the playground, and the time between becoming aware of a game and buying it was often several months. Time to save up, if I was using my pocket money, or the time needed to reach a birthday or Christmas. Gratification was far from instant.

I'd jump between different game magazines, picking up whatever had the best cover art from my local newsagent. In the mid-90s that was often Sega Power or Mean Machines; as I hit my teens I preferred single-platform mags. First there was the Sega Saturn Magazine. Many of those covers are still ingrained in my mind, despite having chucked out my copies more than twenty years ago. And then the Official PlayStation magazine with its wonderful demo discs. I'd pore over my mags, and would always have a couple at arms' reach at any given time. I'd read and re-read previews, features and reviews, building up knowledge and nurturing an interest in my next purchase.

Remember when we used to read magazines? Perhaps a topic for another day.

Stage Two: The Store

Future Zone, then Electronics Boutique, and eventually Game. HMV, Virgin Megastore, maybe Woolworths or W H Smiths. Argos, or occasionally Currys, Dixons or Tandy. Toys R Us on occasion, but only around the festive season. Options were plentiful on the UK high street.

The game specialist stores were generally pretty dark and uninviting, or at least that's how I remember them. My mum always complained that our local EB stank of piss, though the pissy-pant punters were perhaps to blame, rather than the store itself. Smelly fucking nerds.

I'd head to the back of the store, as I was always half a generation behind. PlayStation was at the front, Mega Drive games were in the far corner, out of sight and soon to be out of mind. Even when I joined the next gen, I managed to do it wrong. I had to navigate the aisles full of PS1 games, weaving through cool-gamers, to reach the Saturn section tucked away in the corner. Me and a couple of other losers, resolute in our commitment to Sega. 

Remember when video game stores actually had games in them?

I'd spot my game, grab the empty box and march to the counter. Next came the excitement of seeing the guy at the till retrieve the game cartridge/disc and manual from the special drawer and insert them into the case. I'd often have to endure some awkward social interaction, as the clerk clumsily attempted a chat.

Staff: Desert Strike? Mega Drive is pretty cool, but have you seen the PlayStation? It's the future of gaming.

Me: No, I am 11.

Stage Three: The Car Ride Home

Thirty minutes that were as unbearable as they were exciting. I'd rip off the outer packaging, partake in that new game smell, and then flick through the manual, familiarizing myself with the controls and imagining what it'd be like to play. Thumbing through a thick Mega Drive manual; studying the comics in the MGS instruction booklet, or staring at the fold-out map that came with GTA, mouth agape. I finally had the object of my affection in-hand and I was over the moon. I'd be in my own world on that backseat, fully immersed in my new game.

"Mum, can I use the big TV when we get home?"

Stage Four: Play the Game!

Maybe on the living room TV, if no one else was using it. If not, on the tiny CRT in my bedroom - a VCR combo with a comically small screen that was so heavy that I could barely lift it. I'd play the game and hope it's good, because back in the day new games only came along a handful of times each year.

Three decades later, and I'm still playing. While the process of acquiring games has been streamlined, I still find joy within that process. Legging it out the front door to check the post box, because I know the delivery person has been, and there's a game in there. And then asking my daughter if she wants to open the package, so I can see some of that new-arrival joy beaming from her.

And then playing on the big TV, because these days video games belong in the living room.

Games are good. They were back then, and they are now. Long may that continue.