Games were nowhere and everywhere in an exhibition about the war against rest

During the recent holiday season, I inadvertently stepped away from Pokémon Go, a decision that was not intentional but rather a gradual decline in engagement. It began with missing a community day due to prior commitments, leading to a complete disconnection from the game. Surprisingly, this unplanned break filled me with a sense of pride. My affection for Pokémon and the joy of Pokémon Go, which promotes outdoor activity, social interaction, and offers a refreshing change from typical mobile gaming, contrasts sharply with the game’s demanding nature. Despite its charms, I find relief in no longer feeling tethered to a game that has monopolized my time and attention.

To maintain a competitive edge in Pokémon Go, players are expected to log in daily and complete a minimum of three tasks. This is just the tip of the iceberg; the game features rotating legendary Pokémon, research rewards, raids, special events, and an array of cosmetic items, including whimsical Pokémon wearing hats. While this constant influx of activities is impressive and keeps the game lively, it can also be overwhelming for players like me who cannot dedicate every waking moment to it. The pressure to keep up can feel suffocating, especially when gaming is meant to be a leisure activity rather than a chore.

This dilemma reflects a broader issue in the gaming world, where many players, especially those who grew up with franchises like Pokémon, find themselves disillusioned by the relentless demands of modern games. This was particularly evident during my visit to the exhibition titled 24/7, held at Somerset House in London. The exhibition serves as a striking critique of our current trajectory regarding gaming and societal pressures, showcasing works that challenge the boundaries of leisure and productivity.

The central theme of 24/7 revolves around the erosion of personal time traditionally reserved for rest and recreation. The ideal work-life balance, often summarized by the concept of three eights—eight hours of work, eight hours of recreation, and eight hours of rest—has been compromised by technological advancements and the relentless pace of modern life. Certain pieces stood out, such as the painting Arkwright’s Cotton Mills by Night, which highlights the encroachment of work into the hours meant for rest, symbolizing the historical shift toward an always-on culture.

Other installations in the exhibition, while provocative, sometimes felt forced. For instance, the juxtaposition of mechanical birds in metaphorical skinner boxes and a video game-based installation simulating drone strikes hinted at a deeper commentary on how leisure is being commodified and exploited. These artworks collectively suggest that, somewhere along the way, gaming began demanding players to reshape their lives to accommodate its incessant pull—turning what should be an escape into another obligation.

This trend extends beyond Pokémon Go, as it reflects a wider phenomenon prevalent in many current games. The rise of the game-as-a-service model has transformed the industry, where developers are incentivized to keep players engaged indefinitely. This shift, while aimed at reducing the crunch culture associated with traditional game development, has resulted in games that require ongoing investment of time and attention, often at the expense of the player’s personal life.

As companies strive to replicate the success of perpetual franchises, the focus has shifted from creating standalone experiences to establishing a continuous cycle of engagement and revenue generation. This strategy echoes the efficiency-driven mindset of the early industrial age, where productivity took precedence over personal well-being. Reports of grueling work hours in the gaming industry highlight the unsustainable nature of such practices, raising concerns about the long-term impact on both developers and players.

Moreover, the implications of this shift resonate with players who are now increasingly confronted with the reality that their attention is the currency in this landscape. In an era where free-to-play models dominate, the underlying message is clear: if you’re not paying with money, you’re paying with your time. The result is a competitive environment where players feel compelled to invest hundreds of hours into a single title, sacrificing time that could be spent on other hobbies, relationships, or even necessary downtime.

As the exhibition points out, the invasion of technology and social media into our personal lives often undermines the essential balance needed for mental and emotional health. The notion that our leisure time is filled with games that sometimes resemble work is disheartening. The exhibition left me pondering a troubling question: in a world where our playtime is increasingly dictated by game mechanics and monetization strategies, when do we reclaim the right to simply rest?