There’s a growing trend in game design involving the micro-management of players. It’s a trend that’s rooted in the fear that if people get lost, confused or bored even for a moment, they’ll stop playing. They won’t recommend the game to their friends, reviewers will say mean things, and the $150 million that went into the game won’t be returned, resulting in an acute case of Unhappy Investor Syndrome, the symptoms of which include corporate bankruptcy and sudden unemployment. I can empathize with developers who play it safe. But what’s the cost?

Jonathan Blow has talked about responsibility in game design in the past, touching on the idea that when media is consumed in significant amounts it has an effect on the mind of the audience. We are the sum of our experiences, and if we’re going to spend a few, a dozen, or a hundred hours on a task, it’s going to have some sort of impact on our thinking. The way the big games are designed changes our beliefs around what games ought to be like. Precedents are set, and standards emerge.

The concern that players might not be at Maximum Engagement Levels at all times results in some troubling behavior from developers. Vigilant checking-in, hand-holding, and nagging that is annoying at best, and can ruin an otherwise interesting and fulfilling moment. It’s hard to have a meaningful experience when you’ve got a sweaty executive looking over your shoulder screaming "are you still having FUN?"

You don’t have to cast a wide net to find examples of this. I’ve killed all of my real-life cousins to help me overcome the telephonophobia inflicted on me by GTAIV. An example that stings a little more is Far Cry 3. It’s a beautiful game. There are dozens of species of animal, a bunch of neato caves to check out, bamboo forests, and the best grass shader I’ve ever seen. And there are compelling missions that feel exciting and have some decent narrative hooks to encourage me to do them.

So why does the game insist on using a Times-Square worth of signage to keep me doing what it wants me to do, repeatedly intruding on my joyous, self-directed exploration with popup notifications?