The Psychology of Video Games

How are loot-based games like World of Warcraft, Torchlight, and Borderlands related to slot machines, chemical bliss, and evolution? Read on for the answer.

During my early days with World of Warcraft (WoW) I remember tromping through Westfall killing crowds of Defias bandits when I was shocked by a loot drop: a rare pair of “blue” gloves that perfectly fit my class’s needs at the time. For those of you who don’t know, killing enemies in WoW gives you a random chance at one or more pieces armor, weapons, or other items called “loot” in WoW parlance. These are stratified according their text’s color: gray, white, green, blue, purple, and orange in order of increasing quality. For a level 20-something character to find a blue item on a random enemy was actually very rare, and I experienced a huge rush from it. But more importantly, with that came an acute desire to keep playing the game and to murder more Defias bandits.

Other games do this, too. Borderlands gives you random guns from drops or chests, which compels us to check EVERY container, vending machine, and item dropped by felled enemies. Torchlight essentially uses the WoW system, and you can bet your thumbs that the upcoming Diablo III will push it even farther. But why are gamers so susceptible to the loot hunting addiction found in these games? Why is this gameplay mechanic so incredibly effective in getting us to keep playing?

Which of these do you think would create a bigger dopamine neuron freakout if it dropped in front of you?

To answer that question, let’s consider slot machines and a type of brain cell called “dopamine neurons.” The latter are the bits of your gray matter responsible for monitoring levels of the pleasure-inducing chemical dopamine in order to regulate behavior and figure out how to get more of a good thing. It’s these cells that light up when something nice happens in your life (say a delicious Hot Pocket or a fuzzy puppy belly) and triggers a gush of the neurotransmitter dopamine. But what’s more, dopamine neurons play the role of trying to predict the rush from nice things, and they may fire before you actually encounter them. Given a couple of chances, they’ll learn to light up when you hear the microwave timer beep that precedes your delicious Hot Pocket. This is a pretty useful thing as far as evolutionary advantages go, since it clues you in ahead of time that something good is in the vicinity.

But this is only part of what makes loot-based games work so well. The real key is that while dopamine neurons fire once your brain has figured out how to predict an event, they really go nuts when an unexpected, unpredicted gush of dopamine shows up, giving you an even bigger rush. It’s like DUDE! UNEXPECTED HOT POCKET! Again, I’m guessing that this is an evolutionary advantage that causes us to obsess over unexpected pleasures and try to predict them so that we can get more of them.

This is either dopamine or a map for the optimal arrangement for dps and off-tanks in some raid encounter.

But we can’t predict the inherently unpredictable. This is how slot machines get you. Your dopamine neurons are trying really hard to learn what precedes a jackpot in terms of what bells, you hear, pictures you see, or even which cocktail waitress last walked by. But in reality, it’s utterly random and by definition can’t be predicted. More rational parts of your brain may understand this, but not the dopamine neurons. They’re stymied, but that doesn’t stop them from flaring up and saying “HEY! THERE’S SOMETHING HERE! KEEP DOING WHAT YOU’RE DOING UNTIL WE FIGURE OUT HOW TO MAKE IT HAPPEN AGAIN!” So you keep playing.¹

So, getting back to World of Warcraft, just replace “slot machine jackpot” with “phat loot drop” and you should have a pretty good idea why the loot game mechanic is so successful. Like all the best motivators, it uses a core concept of psychology as a lever to keep you playing and paying. But like with the slot machines, you DO have the ability to understand what’s happening and put a stop to it.

On the other hand, those blue gloves were pretty sweet on my Hunter. Maybe if I had killed a few more Defias bandits I could have gotten the matching leggings…

1. Lehrer, J. (2009). How We Decide. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. [↩]

How did 2K Games get that cover for Borderlands approved by the ESRB?

In psychology there’s a concept called “the contrast effect.” Basically, it means that some perception (say, weight, brightness, or sweetness) will appear greater or lesser depending on a perception that came immediately before it. Because they contrast so strongly and the memory of one affects your perception of the other.

To test this out, next time you’re at the gym pick up a 15 pound weight. Then pick up a 35 pound weight. Then pick up the 15 pound weight again. Does the second 15 pound weight feel LIGHTER after holding the 35 pound one? Bam! Contrast effect. Or try noting how much more brightly colored a tie appears when paired with a white shirt than with a colored one. Bam, contrast effect again.

Of course, this works for more kinds of perception than just weight or colors. It’s why you should pick your ugly, slovenly friend as a wingman next time you hit the singles bar –he just makes you look much more handsome than if you were alone. This is SCIENCE, people, and it can be used for ill or good.

Take, for example, the cover art for Borderlands, shown below:

Bam!

Wow, that’s pretty extreme. It’s got a dude holding his fingers up like a gun and pretending to literally blow his own mind with the insane action of this first person shooter-slash-loot game. Even for a title rated “M for Mature,” that’s the kind of thing that you might expect the Entertainment Software Rating Board (the ESRB, the organization that assigns content ratings to video games) to balk at.

So how did 2K Games, the publishers of Borderlands, get that cover approved? I don’t have any citations, but while the story of its approval may be apocryphal, even as a thought experiment it illustrates a possible use of the contrast effect by crafty producers. Rumor has it that the current cover is really what 2K Games wanted, but they thought it might get shot down by the ESRB. Since most retailers won’t stock games without a Board rating, they wouldn’ have any choice but to capitulate.

So, the story goes, 2K Games originally sent in an even more graphic version of the cover where the bandit is seemingly blowing his brains out with an actual gun. The ESRB predictably responded with “Yeesh! No way! Change it!” and 2K Games then shot back, no doubt in a curiously timely manner, the current box art. Because the ESRB had seen the more graphic cover first, this one seemed more tame than it would have if they had seen it right away. And they said “Oh yes, much better. Approved.”

And so psychology wins the day, assuming you fancy pictures of Mad Max-style bandits glowering at you and pretending to shoot themselves in the side of the head. And assuming that this story isn’t just some video game urban legend. But even if it is, the point still stands –bam! Contrast effect!

Here’s another bonus example of the contrast effect in practice. Say that a company (like, oh, EA) had a game (like, say Battlefield: Bad Company). And they said to their customers “Hey, y’all, guess what? You’ll be able to BUY exclusive weapons in our game. With real money! Besides the $60 you already spent! How awesome is that?”

And then say that gamers had the entirely reasonable response of freaking the hell out over that. Because it’s ridiculous. So the company says “Oh, okay, be cool, be cool. We’ll give them to you for free. You just gotta give us all your personal information and sign up for a bunch of crap you don’t want. We’ll call it, oh, ‘Find All Five’ or something.”

And gamers were all like “Yeah, that’s totally acceptable! And it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that you put that horrible option out there first!”

Bam. Contrast effect.