The Real Game of the Year? Your Backlog

Every year, the internet argues over what the Game of the Year really is. And every year, the true winner gets ignored: your backlog.

Yes, that sprawling, guilt-soaked list of games you own but have never played—or started, then quietly abandoned. It’s not just a collection of digital shame. It’s the most honest reflection of what gaming is today: overwhelming, compulsive, and deeply personal.

The Digital Pile of Shame

We all have one. Whether it’s 173 titles sitting untouched in your Steam library, three JRPGs paused mid-chapter on your Switch, or five open-world sandboxes bookmarked on your PlayStation dashboard—you know the feeling.

Your backlog is a museum of hype cycles, mood swings, Steam sales, and good intentions. It’s where you’ll find the game you bought at launch because Twitter said it was “essential,” only to realize you weren’t in the mood for 90 hours of sadness. It’s where the soulslike you rage-quit lives next to the cozy sim you swore would “reset your burnout.”

“It’s not a backlog. It’s a retirement plan for my spare time.” — literally every gamer in denial

Why the Backlog Feels So Eternal

Modern gaming has turned into a firehose. Between endless Game Pass drops, Epic Store giveaways, Humble Bundles, and early access betas, you’re basically rewarded for never finishing anything. And let’s be honest: finishing games is hard.

The way games are designed now—open-world, systems-driven, grindy, live-service-infused—they aren’t built to end. They’re built to occupy. To loop. To hover in your consciousness like a side quest you’ll “get back to…later.”

Pair that with the social pressure to stay “caught up,” and you’ve got a recipe for paralysis. You scroll your library, get overwhelmed, and end up doomscrolling Reddit about which game you should be playing instead of, you know, playing one.

Finishing Games is Punk Rock Now

Here’s the thing: in 2025, finishing a game might be the most rebellious thing a player can do. It’s not about speedrunning or flexing 100% achievements. It’s about reclaiming your time from the churn.

Replay an old favorite. Uninstall the bloated live service you’re no longer enjoying. Say no to FOMO-fueled preorders. Boot up the game you abandoned at the 30% mark and just… finish it. There’s power in that.

Because your backlog isn’t shameful—it’s yours.

The Backlog is Culture

It’s memes. It’s mood. It’s universal. Everyone’s backlog is different, but the emotional landscape is shared: guilt, nostalgia, excitement, apathy, and rediscovery. You don’t just remember what games you played. You remember how you felt about not playing them.

In a way, your backlog is a kind of gamer autobiography. Not the curated one you post online, but the messy, honest version. It knows what you dropped when life got stressful. It knows what you bought during a depressive episode. It knows what made you feel something—even if you never got to the credits.

Backlog Bloat is a Symptom—Not the Problem

It’s easy to blame yourself. To think, “I’m lazy,” or “I should finish what I start.” But the industry built this. It incentivized overconsumption. It gamified ownership. It turned libraries into status symbols and release calendars into feeding frenzies.

Now, everyone’s drowning in options and pretending they’re not. So maybe the answer isn’t to feel bad about your backlog. Maybe it’s to embrace it. To curate it. To treat it like a garden, not a burden.

“Your backlog isn’t a failure. It’s proof that you still care.” — Press X to Skip

Game of the Year: You Decide

While publishers fight over awards and critics craft glowing takes about Metacritic darlings, the truth is: Game of the Year doesn’t matter. Not like it used to. The game that you finally play and love this year—no matter when it launched—that’s your Game of the Year.

So here’s to your backlog: an ever-expanding monument to curiosity, chaos, and unskippable potential. May it grow. May it wait. And may you one day finish Hollow Knight.