What went wrong with E3? And can it come back?

As word spread about E3 2023’s cancellation on Thursday, Games Twitter went straight into obituary mode. Developers, journalists, industry peers and fans shared their memories of the show; were among them former E3 presenter Geoff Keighley, who moved from a nostalgic photo on the show floor to crowing promotion for its rival Summer Game Fest event in one tweet. Despite assurances from the organizers, the Entertainment Software Association, and event company ReedPop that they would “continue working together on future E3 events,” the common assumption seems to be that nothing will come of this. “RIP E3” is trending. E3 seems dead for good.

The telling detail is that so many memories of great E3 moments hinge on events that technically weren’t part of the show at all. For any story about a connection made on the huge, noisy trading floor of the Los Angeles Convention Center (such as thisfrom former Polygon editor Arthur Gies), there were 10 more about the grand showmanship and hilarious busts of the publisher’s press conferences that followed: Sony owns Microsoft because of the games ownership debacle, or Shigeru Miyamoto appears with sword and shield to announce The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess.

There’s no question that these indelible moments, and others like them, were born out of the crowds, fan enthusiasm, and competitive energy of the E3 show itself. But they weren’t actually part of it. They happened off the trading floor, at private events organized by publishers and platform holders. E3 was the reason these events came about. But now those companies have realized that they don’t need it to continue.

So what went wrong? And is this really it for E3, or could it come back?

E3 2023 would be a comeback for an event that hadn’t happened since 2019. The COVID-19 pandemic had wiped out in-person shows and attempting a digital event in 2021 would have been a waste of time. The ESA recruited ReedPop, organizer of PAX, New York Comic Con and Star Wars Celebration (and my former employer), to create a new hybrid public and trade event in consultation with exhibitors. It would still take place at the Los Angeles Convention Center, but it would also have an online component.

It became clear earlier this year that neither Nintendo nor Microsoft would be participating in E3 2023. (Neither did Sony, but that wasn’t a surprise; it wasn’t present in 2019 either.) The show historically relied heavily on the presence of the console platform holders , and this was a serious blow, even though Microsoft said it would still hold a showcase event for the show.

This Tuesday, after Ubisoft also withdrew its support, reported IGN that other publishers refused to participate, and that the entire future of the event was at stake. IGN’s detailed reporting suggested that exhibitors had grown frustrated with ReedPop’s slow communication of plans for the redesigned show, while ReedPop felt blindsided and even “betrayed” by customers who initially seemed engaged and had strong encouraging feedback to begin with datum.

Organizing the rebirth and transformation of such a high-profile and massive event would never be easy, even for an outfit with ReedPop’s experience. It seems that things did not go smoothly and that relationships fell apart. But this is probably more symptom than cause. There are several factors that contributed to the utter collapse of industry support for its most famous showcase.

In a interview with GamesIndustry.biz (a site owned by ReedPop), ESA President Stanley Pierre-Louis explained in a diplomatic but fairly candid style what he believed were the reasons why publishers were leaving E3. In short: the pandemic had wreaked havoc on production schedules, meaning major games weren’t ready to be shown or announced, or their release dates were hard to pin down. Also, “economic headwinds” made it difficult to commit to the huge budgets required to exhibit at a show like E3 (not to mention the need for a company like Microsoft to be seen as frugal after firing thousands of employees).

Finally, publishers were still experimenting with how to “balance” in-person events with the digital marketing streams that dominated during the pandemic but gained traction long before. (The first Nintendo Direct took place in 2011, and Nintendo held its last in-person E3 press conference the following year.)

There is no arguing with these points, as optimistic as Pierre-Louis tried to make them. To put it bluntly, as GamesIndustry.biz’s Chris Dring did in a accompanying opinion piece that doubles as a semi-insider’s account of E3’s collapse from ReedPop’s perspective: “At the end of the day, the industry just didn’t want this E3.”

There are a few other angles to consider, and unsurprisingly, Pierre-Louis didn’t want to get involved. The first is that the E3 brand, as powerful as it remains with the gaming community, has been tarnished. The ESA had made itself very unpopular in the pre-pandemic years with ill-conceived efforts to make the show a public event, and with a disastrous data breach that exposed many press and attendees to potential harassment. Sony had already had enough, and Microsoft was about to hold its own parallel event in a separate location, as EA had done a few years earlier.

The second is that E3 just started looking old fashioned and wasteful. Video game PR was changing fast and E3 couldn’t keep up. Even before the pandemic, a series of terrible controversies, culminating in GamerGate, had caused both press and publicists to retreat somewhat from their close association, while editors and influencers began to value interaction with the public more after games became mainstream. wild, rather than during the pre-release hype cycle. There’s also the consideration of the carbon footprint of half the industry flying to California during an escalating climate crisis. As editor-in-chief at Eurogamer, I was familiar with the staggering cost of sending editorial and sales representatives for a handful of sites and YouTube channels to E3. Imagine what that would look like for a major publisher. Was it Real worth the effort?

That existential question has been lingering in the minds of the industry for at least a decade, and it seems much bigger than a more temporary consideration of the economic situation, production schedules, or marketing plans. If E3 ever returns – and the odds seem slim – the industry will have to keep a brutally honest accounting of the true value of the event.

I covered E3 for years, and while it was an ugly and transactional show in many ways, I still loved the experience. It had an exciting scale that stretched beyond the usual gaming constituency, it was an exciting focal point for fans, and it brought the global industry together in one place like no other – not even Gamescom or the Game Developers Conference. The access was unparalleled and the energy generated by all those big revelations and face-to-face meetings was an annual shot in the arm for the entire industry. But were we all – attendees and fans alike – just addicted to the rush?

We’ve been here before, although it wasn’t that dramatic. In 2007 and 2008, in response to concerns about cost and audience composition, E3 was downsized to a much smaller, less noisy corporate conference. It was chill and easy to get work done, but no one really liked it. In 2009, the industry was ready to hit the big time again: In the space of one day, I saw Steven Spielberg, James Cameron, Pete Sampras, Pele, Jay Z, Eminem, and the two surviving Beatles promote video games. Showbiz was back.

If E3 is going to make a comeback in these more austere and serious times, it’s going to need a much better reason than “Isn’t it just pleasure?” E3 was an outsized event for a bullish young industry with impostor syndrome. Now the gaming industry – and the gaming audience – must decide if they’ve outgrown it.