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Earlier this month, Microsoft bumped up the prices of its entire range of Xbox consoles, first-party video games, and most (or in the US, all) of its accessories. It comes a few weeks after Nintendo revealed a £396 Switch 2, with £75 copies of its own first-party fare in Mario Kart World, and a few months after Sony launched the exorbitant £700 PS5 Pro (stand and disc drive not included), a £40 price rise for its all-digital console in the UK, the second of this generation, and news that it’s considering even more price rises in the months to come.

The suspicion – or depending on where you live, perhaps hope – had been that when Donald Trump’s ludicrously flip-flopping, self-defeating tariffs came into play, that the US would bear the brunt of it. The reality is that we’re still waiting on the full effects. But it’s also clear, already, that this is far from just an American problem. The platform-holders are already spreading the costs, presumably to avoid an outright doubling of prices in one of their largest markets. PS5s in Japan now cost £170 more than they did at launch.

That price rise, mind, took place long before the tariffs, as did the £700 PS5 Pro (stand and disc drive not included!), and the creeping costs of subscriptions such as Game Pass and PS Plus. Nor is it immediately clear how that justifies charging $80 for, say, a copy of Borderlands 4, a price which hasn’t been confirmed but which has still been justified by the ever graceful Randy Pitchford, a man who seems to stride across the world with one foot perpetually bared and ready to be put, squelching, square in it, and who says true fans will still “find a way” to buy his game.

The truth is inflation has been at it here for a while, and that inflation is a funny beast, one which often comes with an awkward mix of genuine unavoidability – tariffs, wars, pandemics – and concealed opportunism. Games are their own case amongst the many, their prices instead impacted more by the cost of labour, which soars not because developers are paid particularly well (I can hear their scoffs from here) but because of the continued, lagging impact of their executives’ total miscalculation, in assuming triple-A budgets and timescales could continue growing exponentially. And by said opportunism – peep how long it took for Microsoft and the like to announce those bumped prices after Nintendo came in with Mario Kart at £75.

Anyway, the causes are, in a sense, kind of moot. The result of all this squeezing from near enough all angles of gaming’s corporate world is less a pincer manoeuvre on the consumer than a suffocating, immaculately executed full-court press, a full team hurtling with ruthless speed towards the poor unwitting sucker at home on the sofa. Identifying whether gaming costs a fortune now for reasons we can or can’t sympathise with does little to change the fact that gaming costs a fortune. And, to be clear, it really does cost a fortune.

Things are getting very expensive in the world of video games. £700 for a PS5 Pro! | Image credit: Eurogamer

Whenever complaints about video game prices come up there is naturally a bit of pushback – games have always been expensive! What about the 90s! – usually via attempts to draw conclusions from economic data. Normally I’d be all on board with this – numbers can’t lie! – but in this case it’s a little different. Numbers can’t lie, but they can, sometimes, be manipulated to prove almost anything you want – or just as often, simply misunderstood to the same ends. (Take most back-of-a-cigarette-packet attempts at doing the maths here, and the infinite considerations to bear in mind: Have you adjusted for inflation? How about for cost of living, as if the rising price of everything else may somehow make expensive games more palatable? Or share of disposable average household salary? For exchange rates? Purchasing power parity? Did you use the mean or the median for average income? What about cost-per-frame of performance? How much value do you place on moving from 1080p to 1440p? Does anyone sit close enough to their TV to tell enough of a difference with 4K?! Ahhhhh!)

Instead, it’s worth remembering that economics isn’t just a numerical science. It is also a behavioural one – a psychological one. The impact of pricing is as much in the mind as it is on the spreadsheet, hence these very real notions of “consumer confidence” and pricing that continues to end in “.99”. And so sometimes with pricing I find it helps to borrow another phrase from sport, alongside that full-court press, in the “eye test”. Sports scouts use all kinds of numerical data to analyse prospective players these days, but the best ones still marry that with a bit of old-school viewing in the flesh. If a player looks good on paper and passes the eye test, they’re probably the real deal. Likewise, if the impact of buying an $80 video game at full price looks unclear in the data, but to your human eye feels about as whince-inducing as biting into a raw onion like it’s an apple, and then rubbing said raw onion all over said eye, it’s probably extremely bloody expensive and you should stop trying to be clever.

Video games, to me, do feel bloody expensive. If I weren’t in the incredibly fortunate position of being able to source or expense most of them for work I am genuinely unsure if I’d be continuing with them as a hobby – at least beyond shifting my patterns, as so many players have over the years, away from premium console and PC games to the forever-tempting, free-to-play time-vampires like Fortnite or League of Legends. Which leads, finally, to the real point here: that there is another cost to rising game and console prices, beyond the one hitting you square in the wallet.

How much is GTA 6 going to cost? $80 or more? | Image credit: Rockstar

The other cost – perhaps the real cost, when things settle – is the notion of ownership itself. Plenty of physical media collectors, aficionados and diehards will tell you this has been locked in the sights of this industry for a long time, of course. They will point to gaming’s sister entertainment industries of music, film and television, and the paradigm shift to streaming in each, as a sign of the inevitability of it all. And they will undoubtedly have a point. But this step change in the cost of gaming will only be an accelerant.

Understanding that only takes a quick glance at the strategy of, say, Xbox in recent years. While Nintendo is still largely adhering to the buy-it-outright tradition and Sony is busy shooting off its toes with live service-shaped bullets, Microsoft has, like it or not, positioned itself rather deftly. After jacking up the cost of its flatlining hardware and platform-agnostic games, Xbox, its execs would surely argue, is also now rather counterintuitively the home of value gaming – if only because Microsoft itself is the one hoiking up the cost of your main alternative. Because supplanting the waning old faithfuls in this kind of scenario – trade-ins, short-term rentals – is, you guessed it, Game Pass.

You could even argue the consoles are factored in here too. Microsoft, with its “this is an Xbox” campaign and long-stated ambition to reach players in the billions, has made it plain that it doesn’t care where you play its games, as long as you’re playing them. When all physical consoles are jumping up in price, thanks to that rising tide effect of inflation, the platform that lets you spend £15 a month to stream Clair Obscur: Expedition 33, Oblivion Remastered and the latest Doom straight to your TV without even buying one is, at least in theory (and not forgetting the BDS call for a boycott of them) looking like quite an attractive proposition.

Xbox, for its part, has been chipping away at this idea for a while – we at Eurogamer had opinions about team green’s disregard for game ownership as far back as the reveal of the Xbox One, in the ancient times of 2013. Then it was a different method, the once-horrifying face of digital rights management, or DRM, along with regulated digital game sharing and online-only requirements. Here in 2025, with that disdain now platform-agnostic, and where games are being disappeared from people’s libraries, platforms like Steam are, by law, forced to remind you that you’re not actually buying your games at all, where older games are increasingly only playable via subscriptions to Nintendo, Sony, and now Xbox, and bosses are making wild claims about AI’s ability to “preserve” old games by making terrible facsimiles of them, that seems slightly quaint.

More directly, Xbox has been talking about this very openly since at least 2021. As Ben Decker, then head of gaming services marketing at Xbox, said to me at the time: “Our goal for Xbox Game Pass really ladders up to our goal at Xbox, to reach the more than 3 billion gamers worldwide… we are building a future with this in mind.”

Four years on, that future might be now. Jacking up the cost of games and consoles alone won’t do anything to grow gaming’s userbase, that being the touted panacea still by the industry’s top brass. Quite the opposite, obviously (although the Switch 2 looks set to still be massive, and the PS5, with all its price rises, still tracks in line with the price-cut PS4). But funneling more and more core players away from owning games, and towards a newly incentivised world where they merely pay a comparatively low monthly fee to access them, might just. How much a difference that will truly make, and the consequences of it, remain up for debate of course. We’ve seen the impact of streaming on the other entertainment industries in turn, none for the better, but games are a medium of their own.

Perhaps there’s still a little room for optimism. Against the tide there are still organisations like Does It Play? and the Game History Foundation, or platforms such as itch.io and GOG (nothing without its flaws, of course), that exist precisely because of the growing resistance to that current. Just this week, Lost in Cult launched a new wave of luxurious, always-playable physical editions of acclaimed games, another small act of defiance – though perhaps another sign things are going the way of film and music, where purists splurge on vinyl and Criterion Collection BluRays but the vast majority remain on Netflix and Spotify. And as uncomfortable as it may be to hear for those – including this author! – who wish for this medium to be preserved and cared for like any other great artform, there will be some who argue that a model where more games can be enjoyed by more people, for a lower cost, is worth it.

Game Pass often offers great value, but the library is always in a state of flux. Collectors may need to start looking at high-end physical editions. | Image credit: Microsoft

There’s also another point to bear in mind here. Nightmarish as it may be for preservation and consumer rights, against the backdrop of endless layoffs and instability many developers tout the stability of a predefined Game Pass or PS Plus deal over taking a punt in the increasingly crowded, choppy seas of the open market. Bethesda this week has just boasted Doom: The Dark Ages’ achievement of becoming the most widely-played (note: not fastest selling) Doom game ever. That despite it reaching only a fraction of peak Steam concurrents in the same period as its predecessor, Doom: Eternal – a sign, barring some surprise shift away from PC gaming to consoles, that people really are beginning to choose playing games on Game Pass over buying them outright. The likes of Remedy and Rebellion tout PS Plus and Game Pass as stabilisers, or even accelerants, for their games launching straight onto the services. And independent studios and publishers of varying sizes pre-empted that when we spoke to them for a piece about this exact this point, more than four years ago – in a sense, we’re still waiting for a conclusive answer to a question we first began investigating back in 2021: Is Xbox Game Pass just too good to be true?

We’ve talked, at this point, at great length about how this year would be make-or-break for the triple-A model in particular. About how the likes of Xbox, or Warner Bros., or the many others have lost sight of their purpose – and in the process, their path to sustainability – in the quest for exponential growth. How £700 Pro edition consoles are an argument against Pro editions altogether. And about how, it’s becoming clear, the old industry we once knew is no more, with its new form still yet to take shape.

There’s an argument now, however, that a grim new normal for preservation and ownership may, just as grimly, be exactly what the industry needs to save itself. It would be in line with what we’ve seen from the wider world of technology and media – and really, the wider world itself. A shift from owning to renting. That old chestnut of all the capital slowly rising, curdling at the top. The public as mere tenants in a house of culture owned by someone, somewhere else. It needn’t have to be this way, of course. If this all sounds like a particularly unfavourable trade-in, remember this too: it’s one that could almost certainly have been avoided.

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