Generosity of Gamers

The games industry has gone through a tough few years for several reasons, resulting in widespread job losses and continued career uncertainty. There aren't many professional teams this Sword of Damocles hasn't threatened in the last 18 months. Just spend five minutes on LinkedIn and you'll drown in a sea of green banners and "open to work" updates.

I'm no stranger to the turbulence of the games industry at the moment. During my previous role, our studio went through two rounds of redundancy in just nine months. Then, in my most recent role, I found out I wouldn't be extended and made a permanent member of staff without much warning at all. The industry feels quite unkind at the moment, with many facing the very real prospect of being forced to look beyond our space for more secure employment prospects. I can't blame them. The evaporation of remote-friendly work makes even less sense when you consider you could be uprooting your life for a job that barely lasts six months.

As unfriendly as the cold and clinical corporate face of the industry is right now, the people continue to blow me away with their ability to mobilise and share the burden of their peers. Ex-colleagues and online strangers sharing out-of-work posts for reach. Friends sending job listings to each other despite being potential competitors, to give everyone a fair chance at landing their next role. Organisers offering free tickets to networking events in the hope you'll talk to the right person. Industry besties doing wellness checks to make sure you're still sane.

Some of my friends have been out of work for nearly a year. Their resolve, determination, and ability to keep going with such a positive outlook are incredibly impressive. I couldn't even make it two months. As a family, we don't have much of a financial runway. After losing my job in August, getting through September was a struggle (despite some deep cutbacks). It became apparent quickly that we wouldn't have enough money to get us through October.

I swallowed a lot of pride, but after exhausting all our other options, I turned to internet friends. I hate asking for help. It's the worst. It's probably the thing I'm least good at. It's always my answer when an interviewer asks for my worst quality. I'd rather just manage, if I can...but we couldn't. I was pretty scared that being public about it would ruin potential job prospects during a time I really needed those to come through for us. I was worried about what people would think. I really needn't have worried.

24 hours after my original post, we'd raised 100% of the funds we needed to stay afloat for another month, and I'd been flooded with public and private messages of support and well-wishes. It's not often that I'm lost for words, but I genuinely don't think I have the vocabulary to adequately express the level of gratitude and impact on our little family it's had. My little corner of the games industry mobilised. Hard. Ex-collegues, industry friends, peers, creators I've worked with, the VR community, and people that only really know me as that dork online who can't shut up about Killzone.

Working in games right now can be quite rough, and has been for a hell of a lot of people. It made me incredibly hesitant to put my hand up and go "hey, sorry to be a bother, but we really need help." We're one family. I know we're not alone in facing financial difficulties. Not by a long shot. But seeing how "games people" rushed to our aid during a serious time of need is staggering. I can't possibly thank everyone enough.