The $70 Question That Keeps Coming Back
Every few months the same quiet argument happens in my head. A new game launches at full price. The trailers look sharp. Early reviews are positive. Friends are already posting screenshots. And I stand there holding the digital equivalent of a $70 bill, asking the only question that actually matters to me anymore:
Is this worth paying full price for right now, or am I better off waiting—or skipping it altogether?
I used to buy on launch day more often than I care to admit. The excitement felt worth the cost. Then life got fuller, free evenings got shorter, and the regret of a half-finished $70 game started to feel heavier than the FOMO of waiting. So I built a simple personal rule. It is not perfect. It is not scientific. It is just honest about how adult time and money actually work.
This post is that rule, written down so I (and maybe you) stop reinventing it every launch week.
The Three Buckets I Use Now
I sort almost every new release into one of three buckets before I spend a dollar:
Buy now.
The game is likely to deliver clear value inside the limited hours I actually have. The opening hours respect my attention. The core loop feels good early. The price matches the expected return on my time.
Wait for a sale.
The game looks solid, but it either asks for more patience than I can give right now, or the full price feels out of proportion to how much I will realistically play it in the first three months.
Skip.
Even on sale, this title is a poor fit for my schedule, energy level, or taste at this stage of life. No amount of “but the reviews are great” changes that.
The hard part is deciding which bucket is correct before I have sunk twenty hours into the wrong answer. That is where the rule comes in.
My Actual Rule for Full Price
I will pay full price only when at least three of the following five statements feel true:
The game is designed to feel good in short sessions (or I already know I can protect longer blocks for it).
Early hours are not pure friction. I can reach something genuinely enjoyable inside the first 3–4 hours.
The core fantasy matches what I actually want after a long workday—not what I wanted at 22.
I have a realistic window in the next 4–6 weeks to play it before the next big distraction arrives.
The alternative (waiting 3–6 months for a 30–40% discount) would cost me more in lingering curiosity than the extra money is worth.
If three or more of those land, I buy. If only one or two land, I put it on a wish list and move on. If zero land, I skip without guilt.
Notice what is missing from the list: Metacritic score, online discourse volume, “game of the year” chatter, or whether my friends are already deep into it. Those things can be interesting. They are not decision criteria for me anymore.
Why Full Price Feels Different Now
When I had fewer responsibilities, $70 was mostly about the game itself. Now $70 is also about opportunity cost. That money could go toward something the family needs, or toward a game I already know fits my actual life. More importantly, the time required to justify a full-price purchase is time I no longer have in surplus.
A game that needs twelve hours before it “gets good” is asking for a bigger commitment than many of us can give on a weeknight schedule. A game that punishes short sessions or demands constant attention is asking for a mental state I often do not have at 9 p.m. after the kids are down.
This is not a complaint about game design. Some of my favorite games of the last decade demanded long sessions and patience. I simply no longer pretend I can meet every demand. The rule exists so I stop lying to myself about it.
Real Examples from My Own Wallet
A few recent cases, stripped of hype:
I paid full price for a focused single-player action game that opens strong, runs well in 45-minute blocks, and does not bury its best parts behind a long tutorial slog. Three of the five points were clear yeses. No regret.
I waited on a sprawling open-world title that everyone called a masterpiece. The early hours looked like work. I bought it six months later at 40% off and still only finished about 60% before my interest moved on. Waiting was the correct call.
I skipped a highly praised multiplayer-focused release even though friends loved it. My schedule cannot support the social coordination it needs. Zero of the five points applied. Skipping felt clean.
None of these decisions required me to declare the games “good” or “bad.” They only required me to be honest about fit.
How to Run the Rule Without Overthinking
You do not need a spreadsheet. You need five quiet minutes and a willingness to answer yourself truthfully.
Look at the store page, the first hour of a trusted Let’s Play, or a review that actually talks about pacing and session length instead of just mechanics. Then ask the five questions. If you catch yourself negotiating hard to force a “buy now,” that is usually a signal to wait or skip.
One extra filter I use: if the only reason I want to buy today is “I don’t want to miss the conversation,” I wait. Conversations move on. My free time does not regenerate.
What This Rule Is Not
This is not a universal law. Some people have more disposable income or more free evenings. Some people genuinely enjoy long grind openings. Some people treat launch day as part of the fun. All of that is fine.
This rule is for players who look at a $70 price tag and feel the weight of limited evenings behind it. It is for people who would rather own fewer games they actually finish (or at least deeply enjoy) than a growing pile of expensive maybes.
It is also not a purity test. I still impulse-buy occasionally. When I do, I try to notice why the rule failed and adjust next time. The point is not perfection. The point is fewer quiet regrets at 11 p.m. when the console finally goes dark.
The Only Question That Matters
At the end of the day the rule collapses into the same question this whole site keeps asking:
Worth your time, or not?
Full price is simply the loudest version of that question. Answer it honestly, and the buy/wait/skip decision gets a lot quieter.
Next time a big release hits and the noise starts, try the five points. See how many feel true. Then decide like an adult who already knows his evenings are limited—and valuable.
I’ll be doing the same.
—Grant
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