Journal of Consumer Behaviour, J. Consumer Behav.

, 16: 101–120 (2017)

Published online 3 October 2016 in Wiley Online Library (wileyonlinelibrary.com) DOI: 10.1002/cb.1620

From Super Mario to Skyrim: A framework for the evolution of video game
consumption
ANDREW KUO1*, JACOB L. HILER2 and RICHARD J. LUTZ3
1
E. J. Ourso College of Business, Louisiana State University, Baton Rouge, LA, USA
2
College of Business, Ohio University, Athens, OH, USA
3
Warrington College of Business Administration, University of Florida, Gainesville, FL, USA

ABSTRACT

In contrast with traditional forms of entertainment media (e.g., movies, novels, and television), video games are unique in their ability to
provide immersion, agency, and transformation (IAT) during the consumptive experience. As the video game medium has evolved over
generations of consoles, the experience of IAT has become increasingly complex from the perspective of consumers. To better understand
this phenomenon, this research presents a framework for understanding the consumption of video games by examining the intersection of
player, narrative, and gameplay. Our findings suggest that advancements in video game technology and design have gradually increased the
degree of integration among these domains. Although the subjective experience of IAT has generally improved as a function of greater in-
tegration, various conflicts arise from the tensions that exist between player, narrative, and gameplay. Consequently, this research explores
the specific nature of such conflicts to provide a richer understanding of video game consumption and the impact of its evolution on con-
sumers. Copyright © 2016 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.

INTRODUCTION Activision an estimated $50–100 million each year

In its relatively brief commercial history, console and PC
video gaming has attained a level of social and cultural influ-
ence that belies its humble origins in Pong, the prototypical
table tennis simulator. The release of Atari’s Home Pong in
1975 brought the arcade hit from bars and taverns into the
living rooms of families across the USA for the first time.
It was the runaway success of Home Pong—selling
150,000 units that Christmas season—that encouraged com-
panies like Coleco and Nintendo to release the first gaming
consoles, revolutionizing the consumption of computer en-
tertainment (Dillon, 2011). A recent report released by the
Electronic Software Association (2015) illustrates the preva-
lence of gaming today: 80% of households in the USA own a
device used to play video games, and 42% of Americans play
video games for at least 3 h per week. Furthermore, gaming
has begun to displace other forms of entertainment, with
nearly half of all gamers preferring video games to movies
and music (Electronic Software Association, 2015). Finan-
cially, blockbuster video games are breaking not just video
game sales records but records for all entertainment products.
The popular crime-focused title Grand Theft Auto V
surpassed $1 billion in sales just 3 days after release, making
it the fastest grossing entertainment product in history
(Wingfield, 2003). While gaming begins to supplant other
forms of media entertainment, the costs of video game
production have also increased in magnitude as publishers
compete for the growing market. In 2005, the total cost to
produce and market Call of Duty 2 was $14.5 million;
marketing alone for the Call of Duty franchise now costs
*Correspondence to: Andrew Kuo, Assistant Professor of Marketing, E. J.
Ourso College of Business, Louisiana State University, Baton Rouge, LA
70803, USA.
E-mail: akuo@lsu.edu
(Thielman, 2014).
Despite growing social and cultural importance, the
consumer behavior literature has yet to explore the
phenomenology of video games as a consumptive experi-
ence. Rather, consumer research has largely examined video
games as a new medium for advertising. Recent work, for ex-
ample, has examined the impact of in-game advertisements
(Choi et al., 2015), product placements (Kuo and Rice,
2015), and violence in advergames (Jeong et al., 2011). Such
research explores the influence of video game-based
marketing on subsequent consumer behavior, but it largely
ignores the richness of gaming as a consumptive behavior
worthy of investigation in its own right. In the broader
literature, where gaming has received greater attention from
academics, discourse has been organized around three areas
of critical analysis (Konzack, 2007): product-oriented rhe-
toric (e.g., the technology and economics of video games),
socio-culturally oriented rhetoric (e.g., issues pertaining to
anxiety, learning, gender, and ideology), and esthetically
oriented rhetoric (e.g., story-telling and play). As noted by
Taylor (2007), however, most empirical research within
these categories has focused primarily on PC-based mas-
sively multiplayer online role-playing games (MMORPGs)
such as the fantasy-themed World of Warcraft (WoW) and
space warfare simulator Eve Online.
The Daedalus Project, for example, has tracked gamers
across the most popular MMORPGs to examine the social
norms, interpersonal relationships, and player life cycles that
have emerged (Yee, 2014). Likewise, empirical research ex-
ploring identity and social interactions most often occurs in
the context of MMORPGs, with emphasis on online avatars
and community organization (Kendall, 2002; Nardi, 2010;
Schaap, 2002). The prominence of MMORPGs in the extant
literature, however, ignores the significant portion of gamers
preferring predominantly single-player experiences such as

Copyright © 2016 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.

102 A. Kuo et al.
the Grand Theft Auto, Far Cry, and Mass Effect series that
routinely top the sales charts each year (Electronic Software
Association, 2015). In contrast, WoW was the only traditional
MMORPG to rank in the top 20 games of 2014 with respect
to units sold. As such, it is clear that MMORPGs capture but
a fraction of all videogame-related behaviors. Furthermore,
when the scope of empirical studies is broadened to include
video games in general, research goals are most often con-
cerned with gaming outcomes such as violence and addiction
(Carnagey et al., 2007).
One benefit of broadening the investigative scope to
include offline single-player video games is a richer socio-
historical context in which to study individual gaming
behaviors. While the gameplay of WoW has remained
largely static, with only incremental updates since its release
in 2004, the popular single-player game Final Fantasy has
undergone dramatic transformation because the title was
first published in 1987 on Nintendo’s Nintendo Entertain-
ment System (NES) platform. The original Final Fantasy,
for example, is rendered in two-dimensional sprites with
an overall file size of roughly 150 kB. In contrast, the most
recent installment of Final Fantasy (FF XIII) is over 60 GB,
taking place in a fully rendered three-dimensional (3D) uni-
verse spanning multiple planets. This tremendous increase
in graphical processing has greater implications beyond
simple esthetics; the immersive, cinematic quality of mod-
ern video games allows for the morally complex and
open-ended narratives that characterize the medium today.
With an average age of 35 and 43 for male and female
gamers in the USA, respectively (Electronic Software Asso-
ciation, 2015), a large percentage of consumers have per-
sonally experienced the rapid evolution of videogames in
their lifetime, from the original Super Mario Bros. in 1985
to the recent blockbuster role-playing game (RPG), Skyrim.
While early video games were largely tests of reflexes and
skill (e.g., Pac-Man, Breakout, and Galaga), modern games
strive to blur the line between the real and the virtual, such
that gaming experiences today are more personal, meaning-
ful, and ultimately, conflicting. Yet it is unclear how these
changes have impacted the experiential aspects of gaming
from the perspective of consumers who have witnessed this
evolution first hand. Although such technical and artistic
achievements suggest that modern video games offer greater
degrees of immersion, agency, and transformation (IAT) to
players, researchers have yet to examine this assumption by
documenting the lived experience of consumers as they con-
tinuously adapt to an evolving medium. In this research, we
investigate the ways in which individuals must renegotiate
their relationship with video games as innovations are intro-
duced with each new generation of consoles. Consequently,
we propose a framework for (1) conceptualizing the
evolution of videogames as the gradual integration of player,
narrative, and gameplay and (2) exploring how this evolution
has simultaneously facilitated and disrupted the immersive,
empowering, and transformative experiences that video
games are designed to create. In the next section, we present
a brief historical timeline of the evolution of videogames,
followed by a review of pertinent literature. Subsequently,
we report the results of 23 qualitative interviews that explore
Copyright © 2016 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
the shifts in phenomenological experience that characterize
the experience of modern gaming.
HISTORICAL CONTEXT AND CONCEPTUAL
BACKGROUND
Video game and home console history in the USA
In 1946, the USA military publicly revealed the electronic
and numerical integrator and computer, a machine designed
to compute the complex data needed to deploy the hydrogen
bomb in World War II. Within a year of its unveiling, this
technology was used to develop the first video game—a sim-
ple missile shooting game played on a cathode ray tube
(CRT) monitor. Since then, video games have come to play
an increasingly important role in our society, growing from
niche hobby to national pastime. Following several decades
of development, the first hit in the video game industry was
Atari’s original arcade cabinet, Pong, in 1972. The extreme
success of Pong prompted Atari and a spate of competitors
to develop the first generation of home consoles, including
Home Pong, Taito’s Gunfight, and the Magnavox Odyssey.
Since then, each successive generation of consoles has
pushed the medium forward, with several important mile-
stones (e.g., 3D graphics) that have resonated both inside
and outside the video game industry. While the term “video
game” encompasses numerous subcategories that have pro-
liferated over time (e.g., arcade games, PC games, and mo-
bile games), a large percentage of video game sales today
are composed of the console and PC titles developed for
the “hardcore” demographic of gamers. Consequently, as
the cultural and social influence of this segment continues
to grow, the present research focuses primarily on console
gaming to explore the phenomenological experience of
long-term “hardcore” gamers.
From the consumer perspective, the most discernible
changes to occur between successive generations of video
game consoles are the enhancements to graphical realism.
Technological advances in external media (e.g., CD-ROM,
DVD, and Blu-Ray) and CPU/GPU performance have sub-
stantially increased the size and scope of video games,
transforming the overall esthetic from two-dimensional pixel
art to fully rendered, 3D virtual worlds (McMahan, 2003).
The impact of graphical refinements, however, is not limited
to improved esthetics—the increasing realism of video
games has the additional effect of generating greater degrees
of telepresence, defined as believable immersion within a
mediated (e.g., virtual) environment (Steuer, 1992). While
earlier games such as Super Mario Bros. contained thread-
bare plots to provide basic motivations for the protagonist
(e.g., save the princess), the immersive and transporting
nature of modern games allows for greater complexity in
cinematic storytelling, such that game mechanics now exist
to serve the broader objective of advancing narrative (Lahti,
2003). As the core demographic of gamers has matured, so
have their games—simplistic storytelling tropes were
gradually replaced with explorations of themes such as iden-
tity, gender, and politics (Voorhees, 2012).
J. Consumer Behav., 16: 101–120 (2017)
DOI: 10.1002/cb
 A framework for the evolution of video game consumption
The shift toward narrative-driven games occurring in the
fifth generation of consoles (i.e., Playstation and Nintendo
64) had the additional benefit of granting players a new level
of agency during the gaming experience. Beyond control
over the immediate, micro-aspects of a character (e.g., run-
ning, jumping, and shooting), modern games often give
players the opportunity to make in-game choices that eventu-
ally shape the macro-narrative of the entire game universe
(Dovey and Kennedy, 2007). Unlike the one-dimensional
narratives of early games that clearly delineate between good
and evil, modern games present morally ambiguous scenar-
ios that often lack a clear path to resolution (McDowell,
2012). In some instances, these choices have long-lasting
consequences; in the Mass Effect series, for example, players
are asked to arbitrate disputes between races, decide the fate
of key characters, and align themselves with warring political
factions. To underscore the significance of these decisions,
choices made in the first game persist throughout the entire
Mass Effect trilogy, such that the repercussions of a single
action might continue to influence the narrative many years
into the future (Call, 2012).
A framework for gaming engagement: the player, the
narrative, and the gameplay
Despite the sheer breadth of formats, genres, and platforms
encompassed by the category, the general consensus among
academics is that video games are a unique form of entertain-
ment media due to their ludic (i.e., play-focused) orientation
(Henton, 2012). Unlike other forms of media (e.g., film, tele-
vision, and literature) that rely on narrative transportation for
engagement, video games combine both the narrative and
the ludic as integral components of the consumption experi-
ence. Within this context, video games have generally ad-
hered to traditional storytelling conventions that structure
narrative as “a sequence of events … based on simulations
of experiences in which there is a constant interaction of per-
ceptions, emotions, cognitions, and actions,” (Grodal, 2003).
In combination with play-focused interactivity, however,
video game narratives diverge from the modes of passive
consumption that characterize other storytelling media.
Super Mario Bros., for example, is defined by both its
narrative components (i.e., a quest to save Princess Peach
from the tyrant Bowser) and its ludic components (i.e., game
mechanics such as running, jumping, and collecting items).
While some authors argue that video games can exist
entirely without narrative (Juul, 2011), others argue that
even puzzle-based games such as Tetris contain dramatic
content as interpreted by the player (Murray, 1997).
Nonetheless, story-telling in modern games has become in-
creasingly nuanced and sophisticated such that some critics
have argued for the reclassification of video games as art
(Robinett, 2003).
For the purpose of examining and discussing the ludic as-
pects of gaming in finer detail, the terms game mechanic and
gameplay will be utilized throughout this research. A game
mechanic refers to a specific rule that governs interactions
within the virtual world of a video game (Call et al., 2012).
In the original Mario Bros., for example, enemies can be
defeated with a well-timed “stomp” to their heads, but
Copyright © 2016 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
103
touching an enemy in any other circumstance results in
death. Furthermore, a red mushroom can be consumed to in-
crease Mario’s size, giving him the ability to sustain damage
from one additional enemy before dying. To succeed (i.e.,
“beat” the game), players must learn and master the specific
mechanics of a particular game.
Gameplay, on the other hand, represents the distinct com-
bination of mechanics that comprise a single game, as expe-
rienced by the player. Evoking the Gestalt principle of
totality, the individual mechanics of a game may not be com-
pelling on their own, but the sum total of a game’s mechanics
creates a unique gaming experience for the player when com-
bined during play (Arsenault and Perron, 2009). Unlike
movie genres, which are typically defined by theme (e.g.,
science-fiction, romance, and comedy), video game genres
are generally defined by their mechanics—in most
“platformers” like Super Mario Bros., for example, players
must maneuver their character around obstacles and enemies
in a multi-tiered, two-dimensional space. Consequently, two
games of the same genre (e.g., Super Mario Bros. and Sonic
the Hedgehog) may produce a similar gameplay experience
for the player, even when they differ drastically in theme,
presentation, or tone.
The synthesis of narrative (i.e., story) and ludic (i.e.,
gameplay) elements results in a set of experiential outcomes
unique to the video game medium (Murray, 1997; Delwiche,
2007; Kaneva, 2007): (1) a high degree of immersion within
a computer-generated virtual world; (2) the agency to mean-
ingfully dictate one’s own experience within the game (i.e.,
interactivity); and (3) the process of transformation, whereby
gamers come to psychologically embody their avatars during
the course of play (i.e., identification). Although traditional
media such as film is capable of achieving audience immer-
sion (e.g., through cinematography, set design, or special ef-
fects), video games are unique in their ability to provide both
agency and transformation during the consumption experi-
ence. In combination, these factors change the fundamental
relationship between consumer and narrative—passive
viewers become active co-producers of content when they
assume the role of protagonist in a virtual world (Bu-
chanan-Oliver and Seo, 2012).
By taking on the role of protagonist, players experience
video games as simulational rather than representational
(Frasca, 2003)—while traditional media presents narrative
in a predetermined sequence of events, plot development is
contingent on player actions or interventions in a video game
(Grodal, 2003). Consequently, a traditional medium such as
film can produce only secondary identification, wherein the
audience may empathize with the actors from a third-person
perspective (Rehak, 2003). In contrast, the interactivity of
video games can lead to primary identification, such that
player and avatar (i.e., the on-screen presentation of the
player) merge to become one and the same (Filiciak, 2003;
Murphy, 2004). Under such circumstances, virtual identity
becomes an amalgamation of a player’s self-concept—an in-
dividual’s “belief about himself of herself, including the per-
son’s attributes and who and what the self is” (Baumeister,
1999)—and in-game avatar. The degree to which primary
identification occurs, however, can vary across individuals;
J. Consumer Behav., 16: 101–120 (2017)
DOI: 10.1002/cb
104 A. Kuo et al.
Eldahari (2007) notes that player identification can range
from role play to the development of true, in-game personas.
Whereas player and avatar may be experienced as separate
entities during role play, individuals no longer recognize
such a distinction when they establish personas within the
virtual world.
Along the continuum of identification, role play (i.e., the
lowest degree of identification) occurs most frequently when
some amount of visual separation exists between player and
avatar; in games played from a two-dimensional or isometric
perspective (e.g., Super Mario Bros.), the avatar appears
more as a digitally manipulable puppet than an on-screen
representation of self. However, as gaming technology has
evolved to create realistic 3D gamescapes (often experienced
from a first-person perspective), the separation between
player and avatar diminishes such that individuals feel a
heightened sense of telepresence within the virtual world.
This degree of immersion is often further reinforced by
character creation systems that give players minute control
over the appearance of their avatar, from facial structure to
body type (Martey and Consalvo, 2011). When given the op-
portunity to thoroughly embody their digital avatars (i.e., in
both perspective and appearance), players instinctively allow
for their own personalities and characteristics to emerge
during the course of play (Costa Pinto et al., 2015). As noted
by Belk (2013), this process of reembodiment redefines the
role that physical bodies play in the process of digital
self-extension.
In accordance with the preceding discussion, the model in
Figure 1 depicts the critical components (i.e., domains) of a
gaming experience—player, narrative, and gameplay—in re-
lation to one another. Unlike other forms of entertainment
media, video games are capable of integrating all three do-
mains to create a consumptive experience characterized by
IAT. As we will argue, the evolution of video games over
time (i.e., advances in graphical realism and narrative
Figure 1. A framework for the evolution of video game consumption.
Copyright © 2016 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
complexity) has effectively increased the degree to which
the domains overlap. For example, modern games often con-
tain dynamic storylines that adapt to player decisions (player/
narrative integration), sophisticated game mechanics that
bolster interactivity (player/gameplay integration), and seam-
less transitions between segments of exposition and play
(narrative/gameplay integration). Over successive genera-
tions of consoles, the introduction of such conventions has
fundamentally redefined the experience of gaming for many
individuals.
Conflicts endemic to video game consumption
Mick and Fournier (1998) employed the concept of paradox
to characterize the multiple dimensions of conflict emerging
from the adoption of new technology. Likewise, several con-
flicts endemic to modern gaming have been identified and
discussed in the extant literature. As video game technology
has evolved over time, consumers must continuously renego-
tiate their relationship with the games they play. Oftentimes,
this can lead to situations in which individuals must attempt
to reconcile opposing truths that characterize their gaming
habits. The gameplay of MMORPGs, for example, is rou-
tinely described as a “grind” because of the vast amount of
time completing repetitive tasks (e.g., gathering resources)
for the purpose of leveling (i.e., improving the attributes of)
a character (McGonigal, 2011). What ostensibly starts as
play can quickly devolve into work, which highlights the
complex role of video games as a form of entertainment. Fur-
thermore, the anonymity and flexibility of online identity
bring the promise of virtual communities unburdened by
the social constructs of race and gender, yet the presence of
racism and sexism in MMORPG communities is often mag-
nified rather than diminished (Yee, 2014). Finally, much
clinical research has been devoted to video game addiction,
which has plagued gamers of all demographics. Drawing
comparisons to substance abuse, gamers’ desire for leisure
J. Consumer Behav., 16: 101–120 (2017)
DOI: 10.1002/cb
 A framework for the evolution of video game consumption 105

and recreation can quickly transform into a state of “gamer
regret” when their patterns of consumption become
problematic or pathological (Thompson, 2007). Counter to
initial motivations, managing time spent gaming can become
its own source of anxiety.
While past research has identified concrete examples of
the paradoxes that characterize gaming in its current state,
the goal of the present research is to consider how the evolu-
tion of narrative and gameplay has fundamentally redefined
the experience of gaming as experienced by consumers. To
summarize the preceding discussion, these changes have oc-
curred in two specific areas of gaming: (1) the continual im-
provement of video game graphics to create increasingly
realistic, immersive, and interactive virtual worlds and (2)
the maturation of video game narratives, from the thin
plotting of early games to the complex, morally ambiguous
storytelling found in games today. These two areas of
evolution are distinct, yet interrelated—the cinematic quality
of modern games creates the suspension of disbelief
necessary for players to fully embrace their role as leading
man or woman in the fantastic, sometimes bizarre, stories
that video games tell.
As we will demonstrate, the consequence of this evolution
has been an increase in the degree to which the domains of
player, narrative, and gameplay are integrated. This process
of integration, however, requires the careful coordination of
technological innovation and artistic direction. Thus, oppor-
tunities for conflict abound where each pair of domains inter-
sect. For example, the integration of player and narrative
makes it considerably more difficult—perhaps impossible—
to resist investing an avatar with one’s own personality and
characteristics (i.e., transformation). When a player views
his or her time within a video game as mere play acting,
difficult choices presented by the game (e.g., Mass Effect 3
asks the player to consider genocide for the greater good)
are essentially weightless—such choices reflect not the
character of the player but the character of a fictional
protagonist taking scripted actions. But when a video game
convincingly immerses the player into a virtual world as a
version of himself or herself, those same choices become
moments of profound introspection. The player must ask:
Could I commit genocide, even for the greater good? In the
following section, we present the results of 32 qualitative
interviews that examine how such conflicts manifest as a
consequence of video game evolution. Although not always
cognizant of the dissonance that often accompanies the
gaming experience, players nonetheless organize their in-
game behaviors around these conflicts as they navigate the
boundaries between reality and fantasy in the virtual world.
METHOD
Sample
For the purposes of this study, 23 informants (Table 1) were
purposively sampled primarily based on specific criteria
critical to the study. In order to participate in the study, an
individual had to identify as a “hardcore gamer” (i.e., a
colloquial term used in the gaming community to signify a
serious commitment to video game culture) by meeting the
following qualifications derived from the Entertainment
Software Association (2015): (1) spending a minimum of
10 h per week playing video games; (2) owning at least one
current generation console (i.e., PlayStation 4, Xbox One,
and Wii U); and (3) playing at least one console RPG within
the past year. Additionally, informants must have spent a
significant portion of their lives gaming, with an average
time span of 14 years across three generations of consoles
within our sample. The informants were largely from the
southeastern USA but also represented various other regions

Table 1. Informant characteristics

Participant Occupation Age Sex Ethnicity
Annie Librarian Early 30s Female Caucasian
Blake College student Early 20s Male African–American
Brady Small business owner Early 60s Male Caucasian
Brian College student Early 20s Male African–American
Caleb Product manager Mid 30s Male Caucasian
Carly Software engineer Late 20s Female Asian
Chris Waiter Early 30s Male Caucasian
Damian Theater technician Mid 30s Male Caucasian
David Sales manager Mid 20s Male Caucasian
Gabby Retail manager Early 30s Female Caucasian
Greg Information systems designer Mid 40s Male Caucasian
Hailey College student Early 20s Female Caucasian
James Medical resident Mid 20s Male Asian
Katie Music educator Late 20s Male Caucasian
Kendrick Waiter Mid 20s Male Caucasian
Kyle College student Early 20s Male Caucasian
Lacy Teacher Mid 20s Female Pacific islander
Laine Assistant manager Early 20s Female Caucasian
Martha Accounting Mid 20s Female Caucasian
Nate Graphic designer Early 30s Male Caucasian
Roger College student Early 20s Male Caucasian
Will Construction Mid 20s Male Caucasian
Zeb College student Early 20s Male Hispanic

Copyright © 2016 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. J. Consumer Behav., 16: 101–120 (2017)
DOI: 10.1002/cb
106 A. Kuo et al.
of the USA as well as Canada. Pseudonyms are used to pro-
tect the identities of the gamers, and all identifiers have been
removed or modified.
Data collection
The aforementioned 23 informants were interviewed using
an interpretivist interview approach during the data collec-
tion phase of the research from the fall of 2014 through the
summer of 2016. A number of these informants also
participated in one or two additional follow-up interviews
to further explore their consumption experiences. Although
a loose discussion guide provided basic structure for the in-
terviews, they were largely conversational in nature. The
interpretivist data collection method also allowed two of
the authors’ personal gaming experience and interests to gen-
erate a significant amount of rapport and credibility with the
gamers interviewed (Tumbat and Belk, 2011). The conversa-
tional tone of the dialog allowed for informants to feel com-
fortable in revealing difficult, confusing, and emotional
experiences related to their gaming behaviors (Branthwaite
and Patterson, 2011).
The interviews were conducted in locations that were
most convenient for the informant (e.g., office settings,
public settings, or online). The interviews themselves were
focused primarily on console gaming (e.g., Nintendo, Xbox,
and Playstation), although a few informants did speak to their
experiences with a selected few PC games (e.g., WoW). The
discussions focused on the consoles and games that were
most salient and relevant, as the goal of the interviews was
to better understand the consumptive processes experienced
by these informants from their early youth to the present
day. In addition to the primary and follow-up interviews,
two informants also participated in a self-narration exercise
whereby they narrated their thoughts for approximately 1 h
while playing games of their choice (Kozinets et al., 2004).
All interviews and self-narration exercises were recorded
and transcribed, which yielded approximately 694 single-
spaced pages of textual data for analysis.
Analysis
The analysis of the data was conducted using a phenomeno-
logical (Thompson et al., 1994) and hermeneutic (Arnold
and Fischer, 1994; Thompson et al., 1994) approach while
also relying on models of naturalistic inquiry (Belk et al.,
1988). A phenomenological framework was applied for the
purpose of understanding the lived experience of gamers in
a time when video games have undergone constant evolu-
tion. The process of exploring individual consumption
stories allowed for the identification of broader thematic
patterns and the dialectical tensions that exist among them
(e.g., conflicts between player, narrative, and gameplay).
Additionally, a hermeneutic framework was applied for the
purpose of examining the socio-cultural and historical forces
actively shaping the relationship between gamers and the
video games they play. In keeping with the hermeneutic
tradition, the social-cultural discourse and historical perspec-
tives fundamental to the consumption of modern video
games provided important context by which personal ac-
counts could be interpreted. Finally, data collected through
Copyright © 2016 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
naturalistic inquiry supplemented our analysis by offering a
more robust understanding of gaming-related thoughts and
behaviors in settings familiar to participants (Thompson,
1997; Wilson, 2012).
The strength of these combined interpretivist approaches
allowed the authors to unpack very rich data through multi-
ple modes of analyses. Although the collection of data was
not structured longitudinally, the recollection of prior gaming
experiences also served as an important context for analysis.
Cross-referencing personal accounts with the extant literature
yielded a high degree of convergence, corroborating the va-
lidity of informants’ autobiographical memories. The data
from the interviews and self-narration exercises were re-
examined and discussed among the authors throughout the
entire data collection process iteratively and comparatively
(Glaser and Strauss, 1967).
FINDINGS
The phenomenological experience of video game evolution
Throughout the interviews, there emerged an understanding
of the gaming experience as a triadic relationship among
player, narrative, and gameplay. As video games have
evolved over time, the degree to which the domains overlap
has steadily increased. As lifelong gamers, many of our in-
formants have experienced this evolution of video game nar-
rative and gameplay first hand. Those who started gaming
before the fifth generation of consoles (i.e., Playstation and
Nintendo 64) recall an era of games defined by blocky pixel
art and simplistic narrative. In contrast, modern games have
introduced increasingly sophisticated storytelling techniques
and graphical realism to the medium. Brady, a small
business owner with 40 years of gaming experience,
recounts his earliest interactions with video games starting
with Home Pong:
Interviewer: Do you remember how you were introduced
to gaming to begin with?
Brady: Yes, I remember when my daddy brought home a
Pong game that we connected to the television. Every-
thing on the screen was black and white—no colors yet
—it was a little white ball on the screen, and there wasn’t
much to be done in that game except move the paddle
around. You hit a ball back and forth.
With each successive console, however, graphical realism
improved:
Interviewer: What are some of the biggest changes you’ve
experienced in gaming after all these years?
Brady: Well, I guess I have always looked at the games
that come out and compared them with what I’ve played
before. And early on, there were some pretty big steps
made pretty quickly. We went from having a little white
ball on the screen [in Pong], to having colorful little Space
Invader creatures. Then you went from no colors to
colors, and they added personality to them eventually.
They weren’t just little blocks of light.
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Interviewer: When did you start noticing that the charac-
ters had personality?
Brady: There was Donkey Kong. He had a big face—he
was made out of blocks—but he had a face that kind of
had some expression. You could tell when he got mad
or when he was happy. And then, as you went through
the Mario Brothers games and they began look like real
entities…Now you have games like Destiny—it’s the best
looking game I’ve ever seen. Sometimes I just sit there in
the game and look up at the sky. Then you’ve got the
guardians—they look like actual people running around.
David, a sales manager, has a comparatively shorter
history with video games—his earliest memories take place
during the fourth generation of consoles, shortly before the
transition to 3D visuals. As David explains, the graphical
realism and narrative complexity of fourth generation games
was rudimentary:
Interviewer: You mentioned earlier that Ninja Turtles was
one of the first games you played on the Sega Genesis.
David: Yeah, that was one of my favorites growing up.
Thinking about it now, I don’t think it was very good.
You kind of go along the bottom of the screen, and you’re
just walking in one direction, beating up the same bad
guys. It’s very linear…I remember that the Turtles looked
pretty bad, nothing like the cartoon at all—everything
looked very flat.
Interviewer: What was the storytelling in games like that
back then?
David: I’d say it was really plastic. That’s the word I’d use
to describe it—it’s really cliché. When you think about
the Mario narrative, just think about how thin that is.
Peach gets taken by Bowser, Mario goes and tries to save
Peach. There was no depth.
By the fifth generation of consoles, however, program-
mers developed graphics engines capable of generating 3D
virtual worlds. David vividly recalls his first experience with
a fifth generation console game, Super Mario 64:
David: One of my earliest memories of gaming was get-
ting my Nintendo 64 for Christmas. I just remember
playing [Super Mario 64], and just experiencing the game
on a whole new level. I think part of that was the fact that
it was 3D—Mario could walk in every direction. I felt like
I was in the game, as opposed to just playing it.
Like David, Nate started gaming seriously during the
fourth generation of consoles as well. He compares the rela-
tive lack of narrative complexity in early games with the
depth of storytelling found in games today. Even in games
not focused primarily on narrative (e.g., Call of Duty), the
maturation of storytelling in video games is apparent:
Interviewer: What role did story play in games back then?
Nate: I think story back then, outside of a few RPGs, was
just bare bones objectives. Like in Sonic, Why is [Dr.
Robotonik] the bad guy? He wants to turn critters into
Copyright © 2016 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
107
robots. Okay. He’s a bad guy. We have to jump on his
head several times for him to die. I was a bit older for
Super Mario, but it didn’t really matter why those turtles
were bad—I was having fun doing whatever the game
required.
Interviewer: What about storytelling in games today?
Nate: I usually stick with RPGs for story, but I was
completely caught off guard from Call of Duty. You ex-
pect it to be this dumb shooter, but it is like the best action
movie you can play through, more grandiose than Rambo
and Terminator put together…The bad guys have real mo-
tivations. You start caring about the characters, especially
the ones on your team. With all the twists and turns, dou-
ble crosses, it’s very much like playing through a movie.
As recounted by Brady, David, and Nate, the evolution
of modern games has significantly transformed the
experience of gaming. Their recollection of earlier console
generations brings the role of narrative complexity and
graphical realism into greater focus. To better understand
their impact, the following sections examine the effects of
video game evolution within the context of single-player
“hardcore” games. Using the framework depicted in
Figure 1 and Figure 2, the presentation of data is organized
by each area of intersection that exists between the domains
of player, narrative, and gameplay.
The intersection of player and narrative
As noted in the preceding discussion, the IAT framework
represents a relatively recent shift in video game design—
through the fourth generation of consoles, technological
limitations constrained the degree to which gamers could
experience true IAT. In many games, including Nintendo’s
flagship Super Mario Bros., pixel-based two-dimensional
graphics and a lack of narrative depth created gameplay
experiences focused primarily on the mastery of game
mechanics (e.g., running, jumping, and shooting). As such,
player-controlled characters were treated not as on-screen
representations of self (i.e., avatars) but as digital icons to
be maneuvered around or against in-game obstacles (Rehak,
2003). Even as milestone games improved upon storytelling
techniques (e.g., Final Fantasy III, Chrono Trigger, and
Secret of Mana), narrative exposition remained linear,
giving players minimal influence over scripted events and
outcomes. While “retro” games of this era may have
excelled at generating psychological flow through
achievement-oriented challenges (Camper, 2009), the shift
toward cinematic narrative did not occur until subsequent
generations.
As new technologies emerged, however, players were
given more opportunities to meaningfully shape narrative
as developers became more ambitious with storytelling in
video games. Coupled with greater degrees of transformation
(i.e., identification with an avatar), video games have become
an ideal platform for individuals seeking interactive fantasy
in a virtual world. Consequently, this intersection of player
and narrative has become a distinguishing feature of modern
games—many gamers intuitively understand that the agency
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108 A. Kuo et al.
Figure 2. The integration of player, narrative, and gameplay over time.
provided by such games is an important factor that motivates
their play. When asked to describe the appeal of video
games, Roger describes the role of agency as an integral
component of the medium:
Interviewer: What draws you to gaming as a form of
entertainment versus other types of entertainment?
Roger: Against movies, the fact that you get to make your
own choices instead of watching a movie…I like actually
having control over the story, I can decide if I want to stop
the story and do something else, or continue the story, or
do something different in the story that they weren’t
expecting. In a movie, you’re just there for the ride.
Likewise, Gabby, a retail manager and veteran combat
medic, reiterates the importance of agency as a defining
characteristic of video games. Although she sees less
differentiation between video games and other forms of me-
dia, Gabby acknowledges that the capacity for freedom and
control over narrative draws her to the video game medium:
Interviewer: Are there certain aspects of games that you
like more?
Gabby: Story and world are kind of intertwined for me.
One of the functions of fantasy literature is escape. I think
that’s probably the reason I like video gaming in general.
It fulfills all the functions of fantasy literature—escape,
recovery … but with modern gaming, the escapism is
more of an experience you get to customize yourself.
When asked to give examples of meaningful agency
within a video game, Roger also brings up Mass Effect 3, a
science-fiction RPG in which players unite various alien races
to combat an intergalactic threat. The Mass Effect series is no-
table due to its use of a reputation “meter” that keeps track of
players’ choices throughout the game (Travis, 2012). Roger
Copyright © 2016 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
explains how this mechanic enhances agency and immersion
during the gameplay experience:
Roger: You can choose between paragon and renegade,
and whenever you do a good decision, your paragon goes
up, and whenever you do a bad decision, your renegade
goes up, and that opens up different types of choices that
you can make in the game. If you’re a renegade, you don’t
care for anyone else. I really love that about games where
you actually have to choose your own decisions. Who I
am matters in the game, and that actually affects the
gameplay.
The inclusion of a reputation meter heightens the degree
to which Roger identifies with his avatar (i.e., transforma-
tion); the choices he makes within the game reflect his own
character in a tangible way that meaningfully impacts the
metanarrative. This deep level of identification, however,
can undermine the very sense of agency that Roger expects
to find in a video game—what he initially describes as free-
dom and control over narrative begins to feel much more
constraining when taken in the context of actual gameplay.
Because he is not engaging in mere role play, Roger feels re-
stricted to the choices that he would make in reality; despite
the opportunity to play as a renegade antihero, he cannot bear
to take actions that are not true to himself. In some ways, the
choices offered in the game exist only to give him the illu-
sion of agency. When Roger begins to realize this during
the interview, he is strongly conflicted:
Interviewer: Do you find yourself leaning one way or the
other whenever you play these games?
Roger: [Long pause]. I usually try to go the “right” way.
[Long pause]. In the Mass Effect series, you can be a ren-
egade, and I really wanted—I’ve tried to be a renegade,
but I just felt terrible.
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 A framework for the evolution of video game consumption
Interviewer: It’s difficult for you to play as the renegade?
Roger: I don’t like that if you’re a renegade, you can push
people away from you that would’ve helped you later on,
or everyone respects you, but they secretly hate you, and
so they won’t help you as much, or just the fact that
you’re being terrible to this group that you have no idea
who they are, and just leaving them to themselves instead
of helping them. I don’t like not being a helper.
Interviewer: But you still want to play as the renegade
sometimes.
Roger: [Long pause]. I want to, sometimes. I mean, it
should be more fun to play as a renegade and to not care,
to not always be thinking about what’s right in every sit-
uation…Sometimes I go into a game thinking that I’m go-
ing to choose renegade this time, but it never ends up
going that way. I end up making the paragon choices be-
cause I can’t not think about what I would do in that
situation.
Roger then recalls an instance in which he chose the ren-
egade option during an important sequence of events. In the
particular section of Mass Effect 3 he references, the player is
given the option of rendering an entire alien race (i.e., the
Krogans) infertile, effectively committing genocide. In the
game, Krogans are a warmongering race of reptilian human-
oids responsible for devastation throughout the galaxy, and
the player must decide to either show mercy (i.e., the paragon
choice) or inflict retribution for their war crimes (i.e., the
renegade choice). Roger struggled with the implication of
his actions:
Interviewer: Have you ever made a decision that was on
the renegade side and then felt really bad about it?
Roger: Yes. The first time I played Mass Effect, the
species that you got rid of were actually a whole bunch
of murderers at one point, but then they promised to not
do it anymore, but I was like, No, you’re dead. Because
you see it happen, I felt terrible after that, and so I had
to make a whole other play through of doing everything
right.
Interviewer: You replayed everything up until that part?
Roger: Yeah, because I didn’t have the save point, so I
couldn’t go back and be like, I change my mind. I don’t
want that to happen.
From Roger’s perspective, the renegade option exists
solely to create the impression that he is exerting influence
over the metanarrative. Despite the opportunity to enact an
exciting fantasy persona (i.e., the renegade antihero), he is
held captive by his own conscience, even in a virtual world
where those choices will never have any real-life conse-
quences. At one point in the interview, Roger expresses sud-
den excitement when recounting in-game moments that
tempted him to choose the renegade option (e.g., punching
an unscrupulous journalist in her face). His desire to explore
the renegade identity is self-evident, yet he never follows
through when asked to make a decision. Carly, a stay-at-
Copyright © 2016 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
109
home mom, experiences a similar moral conflict—although
the “evil” choices seem more fun, they conflict with her spir-
itual beliefs:
Interviewer: What are some of the ways that games make
you feel like a part of the bigger story?
Carly: Well, there’s more games now where you can de-
cide whether you want to do good or do evil, so that’s a
big thing now. Are you going to be a good guy or a bad
guy? It just destroys me because I cannot be the bad
guy, like ever. I’m just going to do the right thing. But
most of the times, the bad stuff is what’s fun, right?
Interviewer: Being bad is fun?
Carly: I think most people want to play games to do
things that they can’t do in real life. Things like Grand
Theft Auto. You can just run over people. I think people
find that fun because they can’t do that in reality. They
try to do those kinds of bad things that you can get away
with in game, but not in the real world.
Interviewer: You don’t like to play that way?
Carly: It just feels bad, yeah. It’s probably my conscience.
For some reason, I just feel like, if it’s my decision, this
means something, right? For me to make those decisions,
that’s almost like I’m the one doing those things…If I
want to do [bad things], what does that mean, for me as
a person? Why do I want to do that?
Interviewer: Even having the desire to be the bad person
seems like it’s a dangerous path.
Carly: It just feels weird, but that might just be because
I’m a Christian, you know? It might be different just for
nonbelievers. They might just be like, Ugh, you know,
whatever, it doesn’t affect me literally. But for me, I know
spiritually, it has some kind of effect sometimes.
As noted by Baumeister (1991), escapism can be con-
ceptualized as a disassociation of the self from itself—a
temporary reprieve from reality achieved by shifting con-
scious awareness away from the self. Often, the opportunity
to experience transformation via the creation of a new in-
game identity allows gamers to explore versions of their
ideal or aspirational selves (Kozinets and Kedzior, 2009).
In this regard, Roger and Carly’s experiences are the
antithesis of escapism; instead of creating a fantasy
gamescape unburdened by the stresses of reality, certain
games ask Roger and Carly to make difficult choices that
become tests of their character (i.e., their actual selves). Al-
though such choices exist as fictional scenarios within a
video game, they carry real weight when experienced in
an immersive virtual world that encourages deep emotional
investment. In the one instance where Roger chose the
renegade option, the subsequent guilt and regret forced
him to restart the entire game, replaying 5–10 h of
previously completed content.
For some individuals, this exercise in constant self-
reflection produces tremendous stress and anxiety as the lines
between fantasy and reality are blurred. Gabby, for example,
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finds a shared trauma between her military experience as a
combat medic and her time with Mass Effect 3:
Gabby: There were certain points in [Mass Effect 3] where
it would be two o’clock in the morning, and something
traumatic would happen, and I would just start crying.
That’s probably one of the reasons I like Mass Effect 3,
because it has such a deep, personal meaning for me as
a soldier…When I finished that game, I probably sat on
the couch for 30 minutes. My girlfriend at the time came
in, and she was like, You all right? I was like, I don’t think
so.
Interviewer: Mass Effect 3 reminds you of your military
experience?
Gabby: To me it was the most realistic war game that I’ve
ever played. With all the bureaucracy and the bull and
constant arguing over what the best course of action is.
The fact that, no matter what you do, and no matter the
choices you make, sometimes people die, and sometimes
things just turn out crappy.
Much like Roger’s experience with the game, Gabby has
clear recollection of the difficult choices she was forced to
make over the course of Mass Effect 3. She points to another
critical juncture within the game’s narrative, where the player
must decide the fate of the Geth, a race of robotic artificial in-
telligence. Originally created by the nomadic Quarians as
worker drones, the Geth eventually gained sentience and re-
belled for their independence. In the game, allowing the Geth
to live comes at the cost of losing the Quarians as an ally.
Gabby recounts this moment vividly:
Interviewer: In Mass Effect 3, there are certain points
where you’re asked to make some really hard choices.
Was there a choice that was particularly difficult?
Gabby: Yes. I still have nightmares. When you’re trying
to decide whether to side with the Geth or side with the
Quarians, it comes down to that moment where Legion
[the Geth leader] is uploading a program into the Geth
to make them completely sanctioned. The Quarians are
targeting them. Tali [the Quarian leader] is yelling at
you, and everybody is yelling at you. You’re trying to
make a value based decision. What’s moral? What’s
going to help me win this war? There’s so many factors
that you’re trying to weigh. I shot Legion. I regret it to
this day.
Gabby’s description of her experience with Mass Effect 3
stands in sharp contrast to her earlier comments portraying
video games as a means of escape and recovery. Rather than
an empowering sense of agency, Gabby is plagued with re-
gret—she is bound by her conscience and past experiences
such that genuine freedom and control are fleeting:
Gabby: It still bugs me. I still try to decide whether or not
it’s in line with my morals, and I don’t think it is. I think
that’s probably the reason it bothers me. I’m the type of
person, even in a video game, I can’t deviate from my
morals, or it makes me feel bad. Some people can play
the good side and the bad side, I can’t.
Copyright © 2016 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
Interviewer: Why do you think that is?
Gabby: Part of it, I think, is just my conscience is very
naggy. I try really hard to be a good person all of the
time…When you’re in the military, it’s very easy to lose
yourself. It’s very easy to give into post-traumatic stress,
and to anger, and all the bad feelings that can come with
being a soldier. To me, there was a very distinct moment
where I realized I had a choice. I could be this angry
person and lose myself, or I could be a better person.
Interviewer: It sounds like you try to extend that part of
yourself into the game.
Gabby: Yeah. I don’t want to make it seem like video
gaming is this big weighty thing for me. Well, I think part
of it is, but part of it is my nagging little conscience. [The
decision to shoot Legion] was so rough. It still is when I
think about it. At the end, Legion asks you, “Does this
unit have a soul?” I’m like, “Yes, you do.” That’s when
I lost it.
Like Roger, Gabby’s relationship with Mass Effect 3 ex-
emplifies the conflict that occurs at the intersection of player
and narrative. Although she is initially drawn to the game’s
promise of freedom and control (i.e., agency), her own iden-
tity and past experiences become self-imposed constraints
within the virtual world. Ultimately, Gabby’s journey through
the narrative of Mass Effect 3 proves fatalistic—every choice
she makes must conform to the moral standards emerging
from her identity as a soldier. Even within the virtual world,
deviations from that standard can result in great emotional
distress. Whereas video games have traditionally been
criticized for a distinct lack of morality (e.g., indiscriminant
violence) (Konzack, 2007), games such as Mass Effect 3
actively encourage players to engage in moral reasoning, or
the deliberate consideration of information to reach an
evaluative (i.e., good versus bad) judgment (Haidt, 2001).
In granting players, the agency to meaningfully influence
narrative outcomes, moral emotions such as guilt, disgust,
and contempt (Haidt, 2003), may be elicited as challenging
dilemmas are imperfectly resolved. Years after finishing the
game, for example, Gabby continues to experience such
emotions over her decision to kill Legion.
The tension existing between identity and narrative in
modern games harkens to the paradoxes of technology
identified by Mick and Fournier (1998). Specifically, their
paradox of freedom/enslavement refers to the phenomenon
whereby consumers feel both liberated and constrained by
their technology. Smartphones, for example, allow indivi-
duals to stay connected on the go, but overuse of this tech-
nology can lead to addictive or compulsive behaviors.
Gamers immersed in modern RPGs such as Mass Effect,
Fallout, and Dragon Age are subject to their own variation
of freedom/enslavement—video games grant immense
agency over narrative in a virtual world, but the
immersiveness of new technologies encourages a level of
transformation beyond mere role play. Consequently, players
like Roger, Carly, and Gabby find themselves captive to their
own identities, unable to shape the narrative in ways that
contradict their own values. Despite a multitude of possible
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 A framework for the evolution of video game consumption
narrative outcomes (Mass Effect 3 has eight discrete
endings), players “enslaved” by the process of transforma-
tion experience little of the agency promised by the medium.
The intersection of player and gameplay
Just as modern video games have increasingly integrated
player and narrative, game mechanics have developed in their
complexity, giving players access to new modes of play.
Whereas early games restricted players to a limited set of ac-
tions, modern games offer a plethora of options with respect
to player controls. In the original Super Mario Bros., for ex-
ample, players are limited to the mechanics of running and
jumping within a two-dimensional virtual space. In contrast,
modern games such as Skyrim require lengthy in-game tuto-
rials to teach players the various intricacies of the gameplay.
With a greatly expanded set of game mechanics, players can
translate their every physical impulse into a corresponding
in-game behavior. As such, players have tremendous agency
within the virtual world to engage in activities such as
exploration (e.g., horseback riding), combat (e.g., intricate
swordplay), and the crafting of supplies (e.g., brewing
potions). Brady describes the increasing complexity of
gameplay mechanics over his long history with gaming:
Brady: Part of gameplay is not just what’s on the screen,
but what’s in your hand, and what that can do. When
we started playing video games, we had some little knob
that we would turn to move the paddle up and down to
hit the ball. And over time, that has evolved into a joystick
that had one button on it, and you could move in all direc-
tions. And now, we have these things that have a whole
bunch of buttons on them. Triggers and things, and we’ve
had to learn to push the right buttons, in the right circum-
stances, to make things happen
For Brady, the integration between player and game
mechanics manifests as greater control over his avatar’s in-
teractivity within the virtual world. From the bi-directional
paddle of Home Pong to the intricate move sets of Destiny,
video games have steadily increased the complexity of
gameplay over the last 40 years. Even within the span of a
single series, however, the relationship between player and
game mechanics can change drastically. Having played
through most installments of the Final Fantasy series, Carly
describes the ways in which game mechanics have evolved:
Interviewer: How has the gameplay in Final Fantasy
changed over time?
Carly: I think we’re more into real-time combat now.
Before, Final Fantasy was turn-based—everything would
pause before a fight and you would give each of your
party members a command, like fight or defend. Now, I
think we’re more geared toward, Everything’s live!
You’ve got to do it right now, or you’re going to mess it
up! I think that’s a major thing because [the game] wants
to be more realistic, so of course they’re going to get rid
of the turn-based type games.
The transition from turn-based to real-time combat repre-
sents a major shift in the development of RPGs. Originally
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111
modeled after table-top RPGs such as Dungeons & Dragons,
combat was a slow and methodical affair. With the introduc-
tion of real-time mechanics, in-game combat has become in-
creasingly dynamic and interactive. This integration between
player and gameplay, however, extends beyond the tradi-
tional mechanics that have defined gaming. Beyond fighting
and world exploration, video games have attempted to
increase immersion by introducing mechanics that mirror ac-
tivities in the real world (e.g., sleeping, eating, and bathing).
As Carly points out however, such mechanics can have the
paradoxical effect of reducing immersion:
Interviewer: Do all these new mechanics make games
more realistic?
Carly: For the most part they do, but I think some games
take it too far. I don’t like games like Elder Scrolls be-
cause you end up spending all of your time doing random
stuff instead of actually playing the game. It’s kind of like
The Sims—who would actually want to do, like, daily
things? You have to take a shower, you eat, and you go
to work, and clean up. Why would you do that kind of
stuff in a game?
Carly’s comments highlight one of the fundamental ten-
sions between modern video game mechanics and the desire
for greater realism. To increase player immersion, developers
have purposely designed gameplay systems that reflect be-
havior in the real world. Yet these additions come to violate
the basic tenets of play—that it should be intrinsically moti-
vating, affectively stimulating, and performance oriented
(Holbrook et al., 1984). Mundane tasks (e.g., eating,
sleeping, and bathing) may increase the perceived realism
of interactions within the virtual world, but such mechanics
can be tedious, affectively disengaging, and without mean-
ingful challenge. For Carly, these game mechanics become
a hindrance to immersion by distracting from the core
gameplay. When discussing the evolution of video games,
Carly points to another game mechanic that adds unneces-
sary realism to the virtual world:
Interviewer: What are some of the biggest changes to
videogames that you’ve experienced?
Carly: Everything is so realistic now. The 3D world is
coming out so much that everything has to be from your
first person angle. I think that’s the biggest change, and
of course, the graphics are getting more and more realistic
to the point where it’s unnecessarily realistic.
Interviewer: The graphics can be too realistic?
Carly: Well, I guess it’s not graphics, but games like El-
der Scrolls—it gets to a point where the game lets you
pick up every single thing, right? You can pick up stuff
that’s not even usable. Why did you put that in there to
confuse me? You can go into any house available, with ta-
bles, forks, spoons, and knives, and you can pick anything
up. I would start opening drawers because in [older
games], you usually open a drawer to find useful stuff…
But in Oblivion, you just end up picking up useless trash.
Then I have to throw it all away because you can’t carry
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everything. I couldn’t really get into that because it was
too realistic.
In an attempt to heighten realism, developers often give
players the ability to interact with nearly every modeled ob-
ject in the virtual world. Just as individuals are capable of
rummaging through a real-world kitchen to find an
assortment of items, both useful and useless, players can
thoroughly ransack the virtual kitchens of modern video
games. But, as Carly indicates, older games followed a very
different design philosophy—within a game world, the mere
presence of an interactive object implied utility. When given
the capacity to pick up every visible object, however, Carly
spends an inordinate amount of time sorting through items
to determine their value. Consequently, this further escalates
into a cumbersome inventory management system that
disrupts Carly’s experience of immersion:
Carly: I think some people enjoy having the freedom to
pick up anything. I don’t like it because then you have
to sell stuff to make sure you’re not carrying too much
and that it all fits in your inventory. I get what they’re try-
ing to do—no one can walk around with five hundred
pounds on their back, right? You want [the game] to get
more realistic, but then it can’t be too realistic.
From the player’s point of view, game mechanics function
as the formal rules that regulate players’ actions within the
virtual world. Essentially, the mechanics described by Carly
are codified systems that determine the permissibility (e.g.,
which objects can be picked up by the player) and necessity
(e.g., how much food the player must eat to survive) of in-
game behaviors. To that end, the morality meter in Mass Ef-
fect 3 can be viewed as a game mechanic insomuch as it de-
fines the finite set of possible actions and outcomes for any
given scenario. In the portion of gameplay recounted by
Gabby, for example, a binary choice of either saving or
destroying the Geth was presented. Strictly from the perspec-
tive of game design, this choice is significant not because it
reveals the character of the player but because it determines
the eventual allegiance of the Geth’s adversaries—to save
the Geth is to relinquish Quarian support. In a game deter-
mined in part by alliances formed, the morality meter is no
less a game mechanic than other systems governing the vir-
tual world. When a morally complex choice is transparent
in its purpose, that decision becomes a calculation designed
to manipulate in-game variables for the player’s benefit.
Nate, in the context of the post-apocalyptic RPG Fallout 3,
explains how such decisions can limit, rather than expand,
the gameplay experience:
Interviewer: In Fallout, you’re sometimes given the
choice of helping the people you meet or hurting them.
How do you make those decisions?
Nate: I almost always end up playing moderately good,
just because I know if you play an evil character, you’ll
get run out of town. You can’t go buy items, and now,
everyone’s trying to kill you all the time. It makes for a
harder game experience.
Interviewer: So you’re driven mostly by how your choices
affect the gameplay?
Copyright © 2016 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
Nate: Yeah, I’ve found that being bad in those kind of
games—it limits your options. I accidentally killed some
townspeople once, and after that, people are trying to
chase you off, and the police want to kill you. You might
not be able to get any quests from that entire town…Pick-
ing good or bad always limits your choices. By having to
pick one, it always limits the choices, but I want to be able
to make all the choices.
Interviewer: How do you know which choice to make
beforehand?
Nate: Either guides or reading ahead. I actually hate doing
that because it takes you out of the game. The last thing I
want to do is pause the game and look something up on
the internet, but that’s the only way to make sure I make
the right choices.
In Fallout 3, the choice between good and evil is, osten-
sibly, a means of increasing realism, agency, and
immersiveness—just as crimes committed in the real world
are met with punishment, so too are those committed in the
game. Nate, however, views the issue of morality as one me-
chanic within a larger system of gameplay defining the
boundaries of a virtual world; choices in Fallout 3 are only
right and wrong to the extent that the outcomes work in his
favor. To achieve the best results, Nate must temporarily re-
move himself from the virtual world to determine the best
way forward in any given circumstance. Although the
developer’s intent was to create realistic immersion for the
player, the gameplay quickly becomes an exercise in
carefully measured actions designed to manipulate a
predetermined set of virtual laws.
In theory, realism in video game mechanics should foster
greater agency and immersion for the player. Creating ava-
tars with the need to eat, drink, and sleep better replicates
the experience of everyday life, but paradoxically, the real-
ism of such mechanics breaks immersion by detracting from
the core gameplay. Likewise, the ability to interact freely
with objects or individuals in a detailed virtual world may
seemingly increase telepresence, but gamers like Carly and
Nate find the enhanced interactivity both superfluous and
overwhelming. Although gamers today have an unprece-
dented degree of control over the actions of their avatars,
the inclusion of such game mechanics turns video games into
life simulators, thereby contradicting the notion that “the im-
portance and meaning of play … would appear to be in its af-
fective functions; in a word, play is fun” (Lewis, 1982). As
frustration with a system of gameplay grows, players eventu-
ally reject hyperrealism as a mechanic that undermines their
enjoyment of the overall experience. Again, this conflict be-
tween realism and immersion can be framed as an extension
of Mick and Fournier’s (1998) work on technological para-
doxes—as technology becomes more focused on simulating
everyday life (e.g., virtual reality, artificial intelligence, and
robotics), modeling certain aspects of reality can inadver-
tently detract from consumers’ willingness to accept the
virtual as real.
Despite thematic similarities, it is also important to distin-
guish the game mechanics described by Carly and Nate from
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 A framework for the evolution of video game consumption
the notion of work in video games. As described in the extant
gaming literature, work typically refers to the repetition of
certain in-game activities to (1) increase the level of an avatar
or (2) acquire better gear (McGonigal, 2011). In many RPGs,
for example, players can obtain the most powerful endgame
weapons or armor only by defeating specified enemies or
bosses. However, the probability of obtaining such gear upon
victory (i.e., the drop rate) is often miniscule, well below 1%.
Consequently, players may spend days, if not weeks, “grind-
ing” the same enemy or dungeon in hopes of acquiring the
desired item. Although tedious, grinding is an entirely op-
tional activity in most video games; content can generally
be experienced in its entirety without maximizing an avatar’s
level or gear. In contrast with this self-imposed work, game
mechanics are the inescapable laws that govern interactions
within the virtual world. As experienced by players, these
laws can be both oppressive and ubiquitous, demanding con-
formity to the idiosyncratic rules prescribed by developers.
The intersection between narrative and game mechanics
With the development and maturation of video game narra-
tive and game mechanics, finding methods of meaningful in-
tegration has been an area of recent innovation. Although
video games have offered interactive stories for many gener-
ations of consoles, the elements of narrative and gameplay
are often presented as discrete components to be experienced
separately by the player. A typical formula, for example, is to
alternate sections of expositional narrative (e.g., cinematic
cutscenes) with sections of play. As such, the gameplay itself
is rarely tasked with the function of advancing the broader
narrative. Nate explains this phenomenon as being “on rails”:
Interviewer: Video games are one part story and one part
gameplay—do games ever have problems balancing the
two?
Nate: You can run into this issue where it’s like a game on
rails, where you just go through a hallway, you do a
couple things, and a cutscene happens. Final Fantasy X
kind of felt like one big hallway, and you ran straight
down the hallway, and things happened to you. The story
better be over-the-top great if it’s going to be ninety-
percent watching cutscenes. You pay sixty bucks for a
game, and you’re expecting to play a game, and you get
mostly movie.
The alternating sections of narrative and gameplay de-
scribed by Nate resulted, in part, from the limitations of con-
sole technology. While cinematic cutscenes can be pre-
rendered and compressed as a video (thereby bypassing the
graphics engine), the visuals presented during player-
controlled segments are generated dynamically during play.
Due to hardware restrictions, graphics during gameplay
could not match the quality of pre-rendered cutscenes, often
leading to very different visual styles. Carly explains this
disparity:
Carly: [In Final Fantasy VII], you could only get the nice
graphics through your cutscenes, and you couldn’t get
that through the actual gameplay. The cutscenes were re-
ally realistic. When you’re playing the game, [your
Copyright © 2016 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
113
characters] look short and blocky, but once you get to a
cutscene, they suddenly look like a normal human be-
ing…At that time, it wasn’t a big deal for me, because it
was something to look forward to.
As the graphical capabilities of gaming engines improved,
developers could rely less on pre-rendered video cutscenes to
advance narrative. Rather, cutscenes today increasingly are
rendered using the in-game graphics engine, allowing for
seamless transition between narrative and gameplay. Conse-
quently, abrupt shifts between narrative and gameplay occur
less frequently, allowing for greater immersion during the
experience. Nate describes the integration of narrative and
gameplay in the context of Max Payne 3:
Nate: There’s a scene in Max Payne 3 where these young
punks come into a bar, and they’re the sons of some crime
boss guy. They’re physically accosting a woman—and
Max says, Hey, leave her alone, and they start giving
him hell. As the cutscene is happening, it seamlessly turns
into a video game, and you have a shootout, and it esca-
lates from there…It’s a camera change from [the
cutscene] being a movie, to people shooting at you, and
now you are in control.
As gaming technology steadily improved, developers
eventually introduced a new mechanic to further integrate
narrative and gameplay—the quick time event. First made
widely popular in sixth generation console games like
Resident Evil 4 and God of War, quick time events are
interactive cutscenes that allow players to maintain their
sense of agency during narrative events. In earlier games,
cinematic cutscenes were, for all intents and purposes, video
clips presented between segments of gameplay that required
no input from the player. In a quick time event, however, the
cutscenes themselves remain interactive by displaying button
prompts at specific moments during the narrative exposition
(e.g., press the X button). While quick time events are often
used at the end of major fights to execute a finishing blow,
they are also used for mundane tasks such as opening doors
or picking up objects during a cutscene. Whereas previous
games would simply animate the character opening a door,
a quick time event may pause the exposition until players
enter the correct sequence of buttons to complete the action.
As such, players maintain a sense of agency, even in cine-
matic cutscenes designed for the sole purpose of advancing
narrative. Carly recounts her first experiences with quick
time event:
Carly: I remember the first time a quick time event
happened in a game. I was like, I see what they’re doing
there—they’re making it so it’s interactive, and you’re
not just watching a movie. I wasn’t expecting to do any-
thing. And all of a sudden, Oh crap, I have to press
something!
Likewise, Nate explains how quick time events sustain
immersion during narrative sequences in a video game:
Nate: The first time a quick time event happened, I was
dead. I was like, This is a thing now? I want to say it
was God of War—the first special non-little skeleton
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114 A. Kuo et al.
baddie had some super death effect. It was like, X-circle-
square to stab it a million times, and then triangle to rip
Medusa’s head off and feed it to the Minotaur.
In the quick time events described by Nate, failure to enter
the correct sequence of buttons can lead to immediate death,
thus requiring a player to restart the entire encounter. Thus,
quick time events integrate narrative and gameplay by effec-
tively turning narrative cutscenes into gameplay. As noted by
Grodal (2003), players intuitively understand that gameplay
is an iterative process of cyclical death and resurrection—to
overcome challenging segments of gameplay, an individual
must fail multiple times to gradually master the skills neces-
sary for success. When narrative becomes part of this itera-
tive process, however, the cyclical nature of gameplay
forces players to watch the same expositional sequence re-
peatedly when a quick time event is failed:
Interviewer: Do quick time events aid in immersion
during gameplay?
Nate: I think it’s fun for a while, but once you see it one
time, and you go through it once, it then becomes
repetitious…I think it was Bayonetta where I kept dying
because it was too many buttons all at once. I probably
played the same scene twenty times, and it was horrible
because you’re just watching yourself die over and over
again. I think I stopped playing Bayonetta after that, and
I never bothered to finish it.
Interviewer: That sounds really frustrating. How is that
different from dying in other parts of the game though?
Nate: Well, it usually makes sense when you die, like,
maybe I shouldn’t have run into that room with ten guys
with machine guns…In [a quick time event], you die be-
cause you press a wrong button or you miss it by a sec-
ond. If you pressed X instead of triangle, now your head
is separated from your body! Then you have to start the
whole thing from the beginning.
Nate’s experience with a difficult quick time event illus-
trates how certain aspects of narrative are fundamentally in-
compatible with gameplay. Even when a story branches as
a function of player interaction, the overall narrative is expe-
rienced as linear from the player’s perspective (Grodal,
2003). Whereas players expect to repeat challenging portions
of gameplay, endless repetition of a quick time event creates
cyclical narrative, analogous to rereading a single passage of
prose ad infinitum. For Nate, challenging portions of
gameplay encourage repetition as a means of developing
new strategies, but the monotony of watching one exposi-
tional—albeit, interactive—sequence play out repeatedly
led him to quit Bayonetta before finishing the game.
When narrative and game mechanics properly align, how-
ever, video games become extraordinarily immersive,
allowing players to simultaneously experience transporta-
tion, telepresence, and transformation. Ironically, when this
occurs, it is the long-standing game mechanics prevalent in
various genres that eventually detract from believable im-
mersion. The process of upgrading a character’s skills,
weapons, or vehicles, for example, is a game mechanic found
Copyright © 2016 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
in first-person shooters, RPGs, and even sports simulators
(e.g., Madden NFL 15). An integral component of many
games, the process of upgrading an avatar fulfills the player’s
need for meaningful growth and progression over the course
of gameplay. In the context of modern games, however, such
mechanics may seem out of place when they exist alongside
recent innovations.
The most recent Tomb Raider game, for example, is a
franchise reboot serving as the definitive origin story for
the famed protagonist, Lara Croft. Lauded for its rich story-
telling and fine-tuned game mechanics, the game follows
Lara in her radical transformation from an archeology
student to fearless explorer after she is marooned on an un-
charted island. By the end of a 12–15-h campaign, Lara has
become an Olympic-level gymnast, expert markswoman,
and world-class hand-to-hand combatant. Yet to undergo
such drastic change in a compressed time period seems
implausible, particularly when situated within an otherwise
believable narrative:
Interviewer: Are there any recent games that stand out to
you in the way they combine story and gameplay?
Nate: I think the new Tomb Raider game. Everything felt
natural through the progression, through the storytelling,
and just the exploration of the game. I think everything
about that game works well. I think the upgrading
system—it’s not bad, it just feels a little tacked on.
Interviewer: Tacked on? How so?
Nate: They picked up from RPGs that everyone likes to
improve and develop and build their character, but now
they’re just slapping [experience] bars and skill trees on
anything and everything. Lara Croft has a “survivor” skill
tree—it lets you recover arrows or be able to see animals
at night.
Interviewer: That’s not realistic to you?
Nate: Well, the gameplay and the story seem so great and
polished, like a realistic experience. Those things—
they’re not bad. It just seems a little out of place…The
game has kind of a simple, lazy solution. Like, if you kill
a certain number of animals, now you can see animals in
the dark. How does that make sense?
Interviewer: Would you say it hurts immersion when
things like that happen?
Nate: Yeah, it seems pretty separate. In a movie, you’d
probably see some kind of training montage. Instead, I
play the game, go through the story, but when I’m about
to quit, let me stop at a campfire, put my points in stuff.
The specific upgrading mechanic that Nate references in-
volves reaching a designated save spot in the virtual world
of Tomb Raider. In this safe zone, players can start a camp-
fire, which grants access to an upgrade menu. The experience
points accumulated by completing specified activities (e.g.,
hunting a certain number of deer) can then be spent
upgrading a variety of in-game skills. As Nate points out, this
system is a conventional mechanic found in many games, yet
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 A framework for the evolution of video game consumption
it feels contrived when juxtaposed with the overall realism of
Tomb Raider. Likewise, the process of upgrading Lara’s
weapons leads to a similarly disjointed experience:
Interviewer: Are there other parts of Tomb Raider that feel
out of place?
Nate: Well, you find scraps whenever you’re out and
about, and then you just take this scrap pile and turn it into
a gun silencer. I found a potato, let me turn it into a rocket
launcher! I don’t know what you would do instead. It’s
like the game is too game-y, which is funny.
Nate’s last comment alludes to the inherent absurdity of
his critique—that a video game can be undermined by its
very nature as a game. The standard mechanics that have de-
fined generations of past games have come to feel archaic,
yet they are essential to the medium. In Tomb Raider, what
is the alternative? To leave Lara Croft on the island for a de-
cade as she develops her trademark skills? Just as other forms
of media are subject to their own limitations, storytelling in
video games necessitates a compromise between the ele-
ments of narrative and gameplay. Players want to feel in-
creasingly powerful over the course of a game, but
character growth of such magnitude is rarely plausible in
the context of an otherwise realistic narrative. As character-
ized by Nate, modern games like Tomb Raider have yet to
strike a perfect balance capable of sustaining player immer-
sion throughout the entire experience. Although the appeal
of gaming lies partly in the fantastic process of gaining do-
minion over a virtual world, escape nonetheless functions
as catharsis (Russell et al., 2004)—there must be some
grounding in realism lest the experience becomes pure
whimsy, so divorced from reality that a genuine emotional
connection cannot be forged. Yet the very mechanics de-
signed to empower players (e.g., upgrading at the campfire
in Tomb Raider) violate plausibility, thereby disrupting the
player’s experience of immersion within the virtual world.
THEORETICAL IMPLICATIONS
The various conflicts arising from the synthesis of player,
narrative, and gameplay suggest that the consumptive
Table 2. Evolution of immersion, agency, and transformation framework
Dimension Early video games
Immersion ▪ Balance between challenge and skill
(psychological flow)
Agency ▪ Limited control over an avatar’s actions
(e.g., running and jumping in Super
Mario Bros.)
▪ Limited interaction with the virtual world
▪ Experience of linear, non-branching narrative
Transformation ▪ Identification in the form of role play
(i.e., player and avatar remain distinct entities)
Copyright © 2016 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
115
experience of gaming has evolved beyond the previously
established IAT framework (Murray, 1997). Although the
framework remains valid as a broad representation of modern
gaming, it is clear that the individual constructs of IAT have
become increasingly complex over successive generations of
consoles. The gradual evolution of these core constructs has
been simultaneously quantitative and qualitative in nature—
modern video games elevate the degree to which IAT can be
sustained, but more importantly, the phenomenological
experience of IAT has undergone significant change from
the perspective of consumers (Table 2). As such, the
following section presents a critical reevaluation of the IAT
framework for the purpose of exploring the theoretical impli-
cations of this research.
Immersion
Since the introduction of the first home consoles, the phenom-
enon of psychological flow has been an integral component of
the gaming experience (Delwiche, 2007). Even in the most
rudimentary games (e.g., Home Pong), gameplay is opti-
mized to satisfy the preconditions of flow (Csikszentmihalyi,
1991): (1) a balance between challenge and skill; (2) clear
criteria for success (i.e., well-defined goals); and (3) regular
feedback to monitor progress. In particular, the adaptive
capacity of some video games to dynamically adjust difficulty
in response to player performance ensures a constant balance
between challenge and skill. Thus, even in the absence of nar-
rative content and realistic graphics, video games sustain
player immersion through flow outcomes such as the
distortion of time, the focusing of attention, and the loss of
self-awareness (Douglas and Hargadon, 2000).
Transportation
As video games evolved in their narrative complexity and
graphical realism, new modes of immersion have been intro-
duced to the consumptive experience of gaming. The cine-
matic storytelling found in modern games, for example,
allows for greater degrees of transportation—“a convergent
process, where all mental systems and capacities become fo-
cused on events occurring in the narrative” (Green and
Brock, 2000). As noted in the interviews, however, attempts
at synthesizing the various forms of immersion have not been
Modern video games
▪ Balance between challenge and skill (psychological flow)
▪ Sophisticated storytelling (narrative transportation)
▪ Hyperrealistic three-dimensional visuals (telepresence)
▪ Access to complex move sets for avatars
▪ Engagement with highly interactive virtual worlds
(e.g., interactive objects, non-player characters, and
environments)
▪ Ability to make choices that meaningfully impact narrative
outcomes
▪ Customizable appearance and thought-provoking decisions
encourage stronger forms of identification (i.e., development
of in-game persona by merging player and avatar).
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116 A. Kuo et al.
uniformly successful; the challenge required to sustain psy-
chological flow, for example, often necessitates a cycle of
repetition that allows for players to develop their skills
(Grodal, 2003). To the detriment of the overall experience,
overly challenging sections of gameplay in story-driven
games can negatively impact the player’s experience of nar-
rative. Segments of the plot may require multiple viewings as
the player works to overcome a particular challenge, or, in
extreme cases, the narrative may cease to progress entirely
when a challenge becomes impassable. In response, video
games gradually have become easier over time (e.g., remov-
ing permanent death in favor of checkpoints), so as to avoid
such immersion-breaking frustrations (Camper, 2009). Re-
moving the consequences of death or failure, however, de-
tracts from the tension between challenge and skill (Juul,
2011), and thus, improving the experience of narrative trans-
portation may unintentionally decrease the likelihood of psy-
chological flow.
Telepresence
Just as narrative complexity permits narrative transportation
to occur within the context of video games, advancements
in graphical realism have increased the degree to which
players can experience telepresence, defined as believable
immersion within a mediated environment (Li et al., 2002).
The prerequisites for telepresence—vivid sensory engage-
ment and interactivity (Steuer, 1992)—are areas in which
video games have improved markedly with each new gener-
ation of consoles. In particular, the shift toward 3D graphics
and first-person perspectives allows for greater degrees of
immersion through the “creation of a stronger experiential
homology between the fictional world of the game and the
real world” (Lahti, 2003). The extraordinary realism of such
virtual worlds, however, creates the conditions by which
common mechanics (e.g., upgrading the skills of an avatar,
crafting weapons, and healing from injuries) begin to feel
contrived despite a long history of acceptance in previous
generations of video games. Thus, the inherent absurdity of
certain mechanics—like healing from critical gunshot
wounds by using painkillers in Max Payne 3—can detract
from the experience of telepresence by undermining the sus-
pension of disbelief that allows for believable immersion to
occur. As the evolution of video games has expanded the ex-
perience of immersion to include both narrative transporta-
tion and telepresence (i.e., in addition to psychological
flow), the willingness of players to overlook such incongrui-
ties may wear thin if the advancement of graphical realism
continues to outpace the development of gameplay
innovations.
Agency
One of the primary issues raised by the interview data con-
cerns the relationship between interactivity and agency. Al-
though the extant literature often conflates the terms
(Kaneva, 2007), it appears that greater interactivity can para-
doxically reduce the degree to which a player experiences
agency within the virtual world of a video game. Modern
RPGs such as Dragon Age and Skyrim, for example, give
players an unprecedented amount of freedom in interacting
Copyright © 2016 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
with the virtual objects, non-player characters, and environ-
ments that populate their respective worlds. Although this
enhanced degree of interactivity better simulates certain as-
pects of reality (i.e., the ability to freely interact with sur-
rounding objects), this feature inadvertently violates the
metaphysical “laws” that players have come to expect over
generations of RPGs. As Call et al. (2012) argue, there exist
certain conventions that have become standard practice as the
genre developed. In the first console RPGs, for example, in-
teractivity generally implied utility—the very fact that an ob-
ject could be picked up or examined signified its usefulness
at some later point in the game. This expectation may not
be realistic (i.e., interactivity does not imply utility in the real
world), but it nonetheless creates an internal logic that
players rely upon to navigate the virtual world.
Ultimately, this observation implies that agency in video
games is more a function of perceived control than freedom.
Although bolstering all forms of interactivity (e.g., with ob-
jects, non-player characters, and the environment) lessens
the artificial restrictions traditionally imposed on players, it
subverts their “cause-and-effect” understanding of the com-
mon game mechanics that govern play in a virtual world.
In contrast with the carefully structured virtual worlds of
early RPGs, the sheer interactivity of modern games creates
a degree of ambiguity for the player: What should I pick
up, when I can pick up anything? Who should I talk to, when
I can talk to anyone? Where should I go, when I can go any-
where? The experience of agency is fundamentally an issue
of perceived control—it requires both unambiguous objec-
tives (e.g., heal an injured character) and a clearly defined
path for achieving success (e.g., speak to a cleric or find a
salve). Although the freedom to act without restriction can
initially feel empowering to players, unfettered interactivity
eventually erodes the experience of agency by introducing
the uncertainties of reality to the virtual world.
Transformation
The current academic discourse on the topic of transforma-
tion in video games is often focused on the distinction be-
tween primary and secondary identification (Filiciak, 2003).
In taking on the role of protagonist, players allow for their
identities to emerge through the in-game avatars they control
(i.e., primary identification). In contrast, other forms of me-
dia can only encourage consumers to empathize from a
third-person perspective (i.e., secondary identification). Most
often, the metaphor of “avatar-as-mask” is employed to de-
scribe the process of transformation in video games (Belk,
2013)—through sophisticated character creation engines,
players are given tremendous freedom in crafting the perfect
avatar to “wear” within the virtual world. Yet the language of
this metaphor is self-circumscribing; if an avatar functions
primarily as a mask, physical appearance becomes the focal
point of subsequent analyses. Indeed, discussions of transfor-
mation within the extant literature frequently emphasize the
role of physical appearance in facilitating the transfer of iden-
tity from player to avatar (Kozinets and Kedzior, 2009). Con-
sequently, the avatar-as-mask metaphor presumes that
modeling an avatar to represent some facet of the self—
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 A framework for the evolution of video game consumption
whether grounded in reality or fantasy—provides the mecha-
nism by which transformation can occur.
In contrast with this characterization of transformation,
however, our interview data suggest that an avatar’s physical
appearance is but one variable contributing to the process of
identification. For example, both Roger and Gabby chose to
ignore the robust character creation engine in Mass Effect
3, opting for the stock avatar without customizing any fea-
tures beyond gender. It is clear from their interviews, how-
ever, that Roger and Gabby both experienced a substantial
degree of transformation during play—the extent to which
they wrestle with the moral implications of their in-game de-
cisions indicates a level of identification far exceeding role
play. Despite a complete lack of attachment to the physical
appearance of their avatars, their transformation into the
main protagonist—Commander Shepard—occurred none-
theless without hindrance. For Roger and Gabby, the physi-
cal appearance of their avatars is tangential to the broader
gameplay experience.
As video game narrative has matured alongside its core
demographic of consumers, the phenomenon of transforma-
tion appears to have shifted emphasis from physical appear-
ance to personality-centric modes of identification. In Mass
Effect 3, for example, the reputation meter allows for players
to shape the personality of their character, from subtle varia-
tions in conversational dialog to in-game decisions that irrev-
ocably change narrative outcomes (e.g., Gabby’s choice to
shoot the Geth leader). In contrast, previous research has
generally examined transformation in the context of
MMORPGs, which most often resemble the single-player
campaigns of earlier video games with respect to storytelling
(i.e., linear plotting without meaningful agency over the pro-
gression of narrative). As every player in an MMORPG must
coexist within the narrative of a single universe, there are few
opportunities for any one individual to freely deviate from a
predetermined script, lest the shared experience becomes
needlessly fragmented. Consequently, there are few circum-
stances in which the personality of an individual holds any
real significance, and thus, physical appearance becomes
the principal means by which identification occurs. On the
contrary, modern single-player games (e.g., the Mass Effect
and Fallout series) present an alternate model for achieving
transformation—one that emphasizes the role of personal
choice over esthetics. When an individual possesses the ca-
pacity to meaningfully dictate the character arc of his or her
avatar, physical appearance is ancillary to the unique person-
ality emerging from the cumulative choices made throughout
the course of play.
GENERAL DISCUSSION
Profound changes in the consumptive experience of gaming
reflect the radical evolution of video game technology and
design, a phenomenon that prior research has not adequately
recognized and explored. Throughout the course of inter-
views conducted for this research, the most prominent areas
of evolution—narrative complexity and graphical realism—
were generally met with a positive response from informants.
Copyright © 2016 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
117
The maturation of video game narrative has allowed an aging
demographic of gamers to explore themes of greater personal
relevance. Likewise, vast improvements to video game
graphics have yielded virtual worlds that are increasingly re-
alistic and immersive. As evidenced by our data, the progres-
sive integration of player, narrative, and gameplay has
gradually increased the degree to which consumers experi-
ence IAT through video game consumption (Figure 2). This
evolution, however, has not been without conflict—as the
domains of player, narrative, and gameplay continue to inte-
grate, opportunities for tensions arise as gamers adjust to the
new experience.
Through the integration of player and narrative, gamers
are given more agency in their role as main protagonist.
While older games were linear in their approach to storytell-
ing, modern games like Mass Effect 3 present branching
storylines that hinge on decisions made by the player. Thus,
two individuals playing the same video game may have
vastly different experiences (Grodal, 2003). With the prolif-
eration of interactive storytelling, gamers have come to ex-
pect freedom in exercising control over video game
narratives, and many cite this form of agency as a factor mo-
tivating their play. Yet in the context of the actual game,
players often experience a profound lack of freedom—video
games have become so immersive that, through the process
of transformation, players cannot help but invest their own
identities into the avatars they control. Consequently, an in-
dividual’s conscience, past experiences, or spiritual beliefs
become self-imposed constraints on in-game behavior. Even
when there is a strong desire to explore an alternate persona
(e.g., the renegade in Mass Effect 3), players find themselves
beholden to their own identities.
Whereas the integration of player and narrative gives indi-
viduals greater control over plot development, the integration
of player and gameplay broadens the possibilities of
gameplay itself. Functioning as the rules that govern a virtual
world, game mechanics reflect the ludic aspects of gaming;
they define what actions a player can take, how the player
is to survive, and ultimately, how the player can win. Over
time, game mechanics have become more complex to better
simulate reality—eating, drinking, and sleeping, for exam-
ple, are common mechanics found in games today. These ad-
ditions, however, paradoxically reduce immersion for some
individuals when such mechanics become overly mundane,
defying even the broadest definitions of play. When
gameplay becomes monopolized by seemingly trivial me-
chanics (e.g., the need to constantly manage inventory), the
hyperrealism begins to undermine immersion with its over-
whelming tedium.
In the last area of intersection, the integration of narrative
and gameplay represents the seamless blend of story and
play. Prior to the development of modern graphics engines,
narrative exposition in video games occurred via pre-
rendered cutscenes interspersed throughout segments of
gameplay. As graphics engines improved, however, mechan-
ics such as the quick time event were introduced, allowing
for player engagement during interactive cutscenes. Yet as
the integration of narrative and gameplay improves, the very
mechanics that have long characterized the medium become
J. Consumer Behav., 16: 101–120 (2017)
DOI: 10.1002/cb
118 A. Kuo et al.
increasingly disruptive to player immersion. For example,
the process of distributing experience points to upgrade an
avatar’s skills is a conventional system that players expect
to find in most games. In the context of a realistic character
arc, however, it becomes a conspicuously implausible me-
chanic for representing player growth.
Despite the many conflicts that exist between each pair of
domains, videogames nonetheless engender greater degrees
of IAT with each generation of consoles. Arguably, it is the
very immersiveness of modern gaming that spurs conflict
when juxtaposed with incongruous video game mechanics.
When asked to speculate on the future of gaming, informants
uniformly responded with a generalized description of virtual
reality—fully immersive gaming environments with head-
sets, treadmills, and body sensors that create an unparalleled
experience of realism. Peripherals such as the Oculus Rift
and upcoming PlayStation VR are bringing that vision closer
to reality, and motion-sensing technology (e.g., Nintendo’s
Wiimote, PlayStation’s Move, and Microsoft’s Kinect) has
been available for several generations of consoles. With var-
ious technologies working in tandem, virtual reality may
soon resolve the underlying conflicts that players currently
experience. The imminent arrival of virtual reality technol-
ogy, however, has greater implications for the consumption
of video games in general.
With respect to our framework, the development of virtual
reality serves to further integrate the domains of player, nar-
rative, and gameplay; taken to its logical extreme, the do-
mains may come to overlap entirely (Figure 2). In its
current state, gaming cannot fully integrate the three domains
because it remains a fundamentally mediated experience—
interactions within the most realistic of virtual worlds still
must be filtered through two-dimensional screens and me-
chanical game controllers. In contrast, virtual reality headsets
allow players to “see” in three dimensions, and in combina-
tion with a variety of motion-sensing controls, the mediated
aspects of gaming may eventually become undetectable by
the player. Conceivably, gaming technology may continue
to evolve until a video game “singularity” occurs, whereby
the virtual becomes indistinguishable from the real. To en-
tirely remove the mediated aspects of gaming, however, fun-
damentally alters the dynamic between player and game—
shooting an arrow to slay a virtual zombie may soon require
the same skill and athleticism that archery requires in the real
world. At what point does a video game cease being a game?
This is a question that developers and players alike must con-
tend with as technological innovation inevitably redefines the
experience of gaming.
The widespread acceptance of video games over the past
few decades has transformed the former niche hobby into a
multi-billion dollar industry. While the vast majority of
video games may be content to maintain the status quo,
many of the titles discussed in this research have become
cultural milestones by pushing the medium forward. As
video games will undoubtedly continue to evolve, new con-
flicts are bound to emerge as the domains of player, narra-
tive, and gameplay are further integrated. The framework
presented in this research represents one means by which
future evolution can be organized and understood. Just as
Copyright © 2016 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
the original Super Mario Bros. appears primitive by the
standards of our current generation, consumers may one
day consider games like Skyrim to be mere preludes to vir-
tual reality—precursors to a truly integrated experience of
gaming in a virtual world.
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES
Andrew Kuo (PhD, University of Florida) is an assistant professor of
marketing at the E. J. Ourso College of Business, Louisiana State
University. His research interests include branding, corporate social
responsibility, and new media.
Jacob L. Hiler (PhD, Louisiana State University) is an assistant pro-
fessor of marketing at the Ohio University College of Business. His
research interests include retailing, consumer culture, and relation-
ship marketing.
Richard J. Lutz (PhD, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign)
is the JCPenney professor of marketing at the Warrington College
of Business, University of Florida. His research interests include
consumer behavior, advertising response, and services marketing.
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