If one thing has defined the video game industry over the past five years more than anything else–more than the games themselves, the achievements and the money made–it’s layoffs. As platform holders and studio owners (especially those in the AAA space) become increasingly fixated on short-term profits, the people actually making video games have somehow become the expendable ones.
You know all this already, I know this already, you can’t have been around video games in any capacity since 2023 without knowing this. While we all know the scale of the layoffs and the consequences of them, though, one thing I’ve been wondering for a while is: what’s it actually like to have to lay someone off? And how does it work?
Because Andrew Wilson doesn’t have to tell someone they’re now out of work to their face. He gets other people to do it, then those people get other people to do it, people much lower down the chain, managers and leaders who instead of sitting in boardrooms all day dreaming of lines going up have often actually worked alongside the affected, got to know them and are often acutely aware of how valuable they are to the job of making video games.
So for this Inside Baseball Week piece I wanted to hear from people working in video games–mostly in the AAA space–who have had a loaded gun handed to them by ownership, and told to tell their colleagues that they’re being laid off. It’s no surprise to learn that this has fucked them up, but I thought showcasing the awfulness of video game layoffs from the most direct, human angle possible (while also learning in some cases how they actually work) was also useful in reminding us that as bad as the scale of this decade's video game layoffs has been, it's even managed to deeply impact those left behind as well.
“It does get easier to an extent, but even knowing that feels kind of gross, you know? I don't love the idea of becoming more emotionally disconnected from it, even if it's necessary sometimes to protect one's own mental and emotional health”
For this story I spoke with three video game industry workers who have, at some point in their careers, been asked to be the one actioning a layoff decision. Sandy (not their real name) had previously worked in tech before moving over to video games and working with a number of studios in both games production and operations. Asked what it was like having to tell a former colleague they were being laid off, Sandy says, “Honestly, it was horrible. I carried so much guilt. As a leader, I felt like my job was to protect these people, and in that moment, I couldn't. It felt like my soul left my body. It weighed on me so much that I knew I couldn't stay on after letting my team go, so I asked to leave with them. I don't think it's supposed to get easier, and I'm not sure I'd want it to”.
James (not their real name), meanwhile, has been working in video games for over 20 years now, across various platforms and regions, and has been in leadership roles for over a decade. “I've had to do layoffs a few different ways, depending on the circumstance and legal requirements for the given country”, James says. “I've had to do both in-person, and with some falling during Covid lockdown, those needed to be done via video call. I've also been pressured by leadership to lay off people in situations where I fundamentally disagreed, which was so much worse in some respects”.
“Laying someone off sucks, to be frank. Even in circumstances in which you know it's going to be better for that person in the long run, you're still responsible for a huge emotional impact on another human being. ‘It's just business’ is the common refrain, even though we all know that's a fucking lie. It's never just business to the person on the other end, or to the teams impacted in the wake of it”.
If they’ve had to do it multiple times, I asked if it ever got any easier. “It does get easier to an extent, but even knowing that feels kind of gross, you know? I don't love the idea of becoming more emotionally disconnected from it, even if it's necessary sometimes to protect one's own mental and emotional health”.
Given the toll it can take on the leader asked to perform the layoff, James feels it’s an area in which the games industry is failing its managers. “I think there's very little training or support for those doing the layoffs, which exacerbates the situation. In the 'best' case scenario I've experienced, you have a brief chat with HR beforehand and they give you a script that you're not meant to deviate from. There's very little compassion involved for both the person being laid off, and the person having to be the one to do it”.
“It feels like you're supposed to just focus on that and wholly divorce yourself from the real impact it's having on you. Having to let people go and potentially be seen as a monster is part of the burden of leadership, but we shouldn't pretend it has no impact on the people involved”. James says this extends to discussions between managers as well, where a stern corporate culture can often make things worse. “There's very little room for leaders within most companies to talk about these topics, let alone share what's worked well for them, or provide support to others who are struggling with it themselves”, they say. “While some teams might allow the person who had to do the layoff to 'take the rest of the day off', my experience is that this is mostly a token gesture and that, at worst, you're seen as 'weak' if you need to exercise it”.
"There's no bigger feeling of failure for me than having to lay someone off because the feeling that I struggled with the most was if I had just been able to demonstrate their value better, maybe ownership would have kept them"
Predictably, given James actually worked alongside the people they were forced to lay off, their thoughts on the constant cycle of downsizing and closures don’t align with those of ownership. “Many companies are quick to save a few thousand dollars up front, failing to realize that longer term they'll instead be faced with hundreds of thousands of dollars in cost in replacing burned out employees when they inevitably need to recruit again. The cause and effect are rarely attributed correctly, let alone measured, so nothing ever changes. Companies churn through great people, provide them little support in the moments when they need it the most, then replace them with the next fresh young recruit”.
Frank (not their real name) has spent the last 15 years working at major AAA game studios, most recently at EA, where over a three-year period they had to suffer the double blow of first having to lay off a number of colleagues before themselves being laid off. Unlike James’ experiences, Frank says EA–perhaps because of the company’s size, perhaps because they have so much experience at it–had a methodical routine to the whole process. “The process at EA is extremely organized and formal, like most of the corporate interactions there”, they say, adding that there was “a lot of therapeutic and professional support” available to managers if they needed it.
I’ll let Frank describe the process at EA itself in detail:
One time I received notification that my team was impacted (along with the name of the team member) about a week ahead of the actual meeting (although, the signs were often legible in the month leading up, as this coincides with performance review periods to some degree). I received a script from "People Experience" (the name for HR at EA) outlining the 'run of show' for a call that I had to schedule with the team member... I could usually schedule it a few days out (so as not to arouse suspicion), but then I was directed to add a PE representative about a half-hour prior to the actual meeting so they would be able to join. The meeting name was suggested to be something innocuous like "Update - please prioritize" or something along those lines, and I was told that I needed to do whatever I could to ensure the team member's attendance.
The script was very clear, typically noted that the separation was not for performance concerns but rather business considerations, and that everything had been done to avoid this, but now that the decision had been made, it is irrevocable. I was given a brief time to console my team member, but after some time, I was directed to leave the call so the PE representative could go over the relevant information of what would happen next.
Unfortunately, these were not the only times that I had team members cry in front of me, and by the time it was my turn to be laid off, I considered it a blessing that I didn't have to do it again.
For the people laid off, they are offered 30 days during which they are technically still employed, but not expected to do any work at all; however they retain access to all of their internal instant messaging and email channels (though, notably, access to any social/community external channel is immediately severed during the meeting - it was my responsibility to deactivate credentials once I'd left the call).
Also during that 30 days, they have access to the careers page and can apply to any other positions they may be qualified for, and one of my team actually did secure a new position on another team and is still there today.
When I asked Frank how it felt to have to lay a colleague off, their response was clear: “It sucks, man! There's no bigger feeling of failure for me than having to lay someone off because the feeling that I struggled with the most was if I had just been able to demonstrate their value better, maybe ownership would have kept them. It's also agonizing sitting across from someone you have been working with and had meetings with and launched games with and watch them lose their livelihood in a market that was garbage even in 2023”.
“There's also the feeling that we're cutting the wrong people... sales aren't down because my team members didn't do their jobs”.
Welcome to Inside Baseball Week, our annual excuse to explore topics so niche and weeds-y that no other video game website would touch them: deep dives into the industry’s least-plumbed depths, interviews with people whose jobs you’ve never even considered the existence of, detailed breakdowns of minute decisions like when to delay a game or lay people off, transparent and sometimes unflattering examinations of games journalism, and this time around, poop (ask Riley).
