Understanding video game developers as an occupational community

Abstract

The video game industry has rapidly expanded over the last four decades; yet there is limited research about the workers who make video games. In examining these workers, this article responds to calls for renewed attention to the role of the occupation in understanding project-based workers in boundaryless careers. Specifically, this article uses secondary analysis of online sources to demonstrate that video game developers can be understood as a unique social group called an occupational community (OC). Once this classification has been made, the concept of OC can be used in future research to understand video game workers in terms of identity formation, competency development, career advancement and support, collective action, as well as adherence to and deviance from organizational and industry norms.

Full text

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Understanding Video Game Developers as an Occupational Community
Johanna Weststar, Western University
A fully edited, peer-reviewed version of this article was first published by Information,
Communication and Society and should be cited as follows:
Weststar, J. (2015, online). Understanding video game developers as an occupational
community. Information, Communication and Society. DOI:
10.1080/1369118X.2015.1036094
The video game industry has rapidly expanded over the last four decades, yet there is
limited research about the workers who make video games. In examining these workers,
this article responds to calls for renewed attention to the role of the occupation in
understanding project-based workers in boundaryless careers. Specifically, this article
uses secondary analysis of online sources to demonstrate that video game developers can
be understood as a unique social group called an occupational community. Once this
classification has been made, the concept of occupational community can be used in
future research to understand workers in terms of identity formation, competency
development, career advancement and support, collective action, as well as adherence to
and deviance from organizational and industry norms.
Keywords: occupational community, video game industry, technical labor, cultural labor,
creative labor
Word count: 7750
Workers in project-based environments often experience boundaryless careers (Arthur &
Rousseau, 1996). Such environments are typical in the creative/cultural industries such as film,
theatre and television where the project (i.e., the movie) has a defined start and end and workers
are hired to perform specific roles during specified periods of the project life-cycle. These
environments are also common in information and communications technology (ICT) fields. In
these occupations the ability to move from project to project and employer to employer is key to
career advancement and sustainability. In this way the career is ‘a series of mutually negotiated
transactions between organizations and individuals rather than a long-term relationship between
employer and employee’ (McLeod, O’Donohoe & Townley, 2011, p. 114).
Within this context, the organization is less important in shaping the sensibilities and experiences
of workers. Rather, as DeFillippi and Arthur (1994) argued, we must return to the occupation as
the nexus of competency and identity development. Barley and Kunda (2006) also make the case
for the importance of occupational organizing. For many workers with boundaryless careers, it is
most often the occupational group and not the firm that sustains and invigorates career identity
and motivation, the attainment and maintenance of transferable skills, and the development of
fruitful social networks. The collective concepts of occupational careers (Slocum, 1966),

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industry communities (DeFillippi & Arthur, 1994), communities of practice (Lave & Wenger,
1991), and occupational communities (Salaman, 1974) point to ties that connect workers across
organizational boundaries.
In this vein, there is a growing literature that seeks to describe groups of workers as occupational
collectives. A number of these focus specifically on technical workers such as technical
contractors, internet technologists, and computer support technicians (Kunda, 1992; Orr, 1996;
Zabusky, 1997; Bechky, 2003; Benner, 2003; Damarin, 2006; Marschall, 2012), and on
cultural/creative workers such as musicians and advertising creatives (McLeod et al., 2011;
Coulson, 2012). Taken together, video game developers blur this technical and creative boundary
because they sit at the nexus of the entertainment and ICT industries. The project teams for video
games are made up of both technical, artistic, and design specialists. These teams are closely
interdependent and in smaller teams single individuals often hold multiple roles.
Video game developers (VGDs) therefore present a unique case in the application of
occupational community to a group with diverse occupational specialties. They are also an
understudied group. Though game market revenue is larger than the film and music industries
(Reuters, 2011) and significant research focuses on the cultural and communicative aspects of
video games, the research on VGDs as workers has emerged more slowly (i.e., Dyer-Witheford
& de Peuter, 2003; Cohendet & Simon, 2007; O’Donnell, 2009; Weststar & Legault, 2012;
Prescott & Bogg, 2014).
This paper adds to the body of work on occupational community by providing preliminary
evidence showing that VGDs constitute an occupational community. It begins by situating video
game development within the literature on technical and creative occupations and describing
occupational community. Following a discussion of the data and methods, the paper presents
evidence to show that VGDs exemplify the four elements of an occupational community. The
conclusion discusses implications, limitations and future research directions.
Overview of the video game industry
VGDs are the people who contribute to the making of video games. The complexity of modern
video games requires workers with varied skill sets such as computer engineers and
programmers, visual artists, audio engineers, animators, game designers, writers, and quality
assurance testers. Each project team also has a producer and studios have a range of upper
managers and administrative personnel. The industry also increasingly employs models and
voice actors. The industry has also attracted a host of game critics, journalists, and a robust fan
culture. This study will focus on those engaged in the core work of video game development.
According to a survey by the International Game Developers Association (IGDA) (Edwards,
Weststar, Meloni, Pearce & Legault, 2014), 70% of VGDs are full- or part-time employees of
game studios, 15% work freelance or on contract and 15% are self-employed. This statistic might
indicate stability in the employment relationship; however, it belies the churn that takes place
within the industry and hides its project-based structure. This project-based work arrangement is
paramount for other creative/cultural and technical occupations and video game development
shares many of their labour process characteristics. The making of each video game is a project

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with defined pre-production, production and post-production phases that require different
resources (Callele, Neufeld & Schneider, 2005). Therefore, VGDs face churn at each stage of the
project life-cycle. This creates intra- and inter-organizational mobility as developers can be
reallocated to new teams within the same studio for a game at a different production stage, or
laid off to seek new work. Therefore, unlike the film industry, for example, which no longer has
fixed ‘employers’ (Faulkner & Anderson, 1987) or the completely flexible work settings of
freelance web producers (Damarin, 2006), most VGDs experience a career in which they are
hired as permanent employees, but temporarily. Survey data shows that the average job tenure is
3.5 years (Edwards et al., 2014). This employer requirement for numerical flexibility (Kalleberg,
2003) and resulting worker mobility is enabled by the clustering of firms and the spin-offs of
new ventures. The clustering of studios in one geographical location creates a large local talent
pool that can cycle among the employers.
Despite this mobility there is not a culture of information sharing among firms in the game
industry. Akin to both the competitive creative environment of the entertainment industries and
the ICT field, intellectual property is closely guarded through non-disclosure and non-compete
agreements. It is rare that firms will formally collaborate on initiatives outside of specific
contract agreements that often indebt smaller studios to larger developers/publishers (Whitson,
2013). Unlike the ICT fields, but similar to the cultural industries, the game industry has porous
entry where perceived ability or demonstrated talent is a more salient signal than a formal
credential or certification. Like theatre work, there are limited institutionalized systems for
employee development and individuals are solely responsible for their employability
(Haunschild, 2004). Training and credential systems are underdeveloped and are often imperfect
signalling devices for good talent. The peer group ultimately validates true ability and so
reputation in the peer group and a strong portfolio are the drivers for success (McLeod et al.,
2011)
Under the project-based model, the outputs of each new game are unique, the environment is
complex and uncertain, and coordination among project members is rooted in diffuse and
informal power relationships among those who direct the work and those who perform it
(Faulkner & Anderson, 1987). The average top-tier (‘AAA’) console game costs $8.7 million to
produce (ESA, 2011), yet only 4% of video games that go into production break even (Whitson,
2013). To achieve project success, the iron triangle of constraints, are paramount drivers in the
lives of project team members. Each game must be completed on time, within budget, and have
sufficient attributes to be popular among consumers, because pre-release marketing and the date
of product release are decisive factors of success (Kline, Dyer-Witheford & de Peuter, 2003).
Like other star systems, those who succeed are well rewarded. However, the glamour and
economic pay-off of success is a powerful veil over the inherently secretive, competitive, and
largely risk-averse nature of the mainstream core of most creative industries. VGDs experience a
host of challenges that are similar at least in kind to other project-based workers: sustained long
working hours (‘crunch’), unlimited and unpaid overtime, poor work-life balance,
musculoskeletal disorders, burnout, unacknowledged intellectual property rights, limited
crediting standards, non-compete and non-disclosure agreements, and limited or unsupported
training opportunities (see Legault & Ouellet, 2012; Legault & Weststar, 2012).

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Concept of Occupational Community
The term occupational community (OC) denotes a group of workers who, through their
identification with their occupation, share a common set of norms and values (Salaman, 1971).
This shared culture of an OC is different from organizational culture. The study of OCs explicitly
takes the work and the worker as a point of reference (Van Maanen & Barley, 1984). As such,
OCs can exist beyond the boundaries of workplaces or geographical locations. The analysis is
approached from the perspective of the members of the occupation and the community is shaped
by, but is separate from, organizational goals.
Riley, Lockwood, Powell-Perry and Baker (1998) outline this distinction in their study of UK
pub workers. These workers display a strong commitment to the industry rather than to any
particular pub. When faced with a challenging job that garners low wages and high employment
insecurity, ‘what holds everything together [for a pub worker] is an appreciation of “pub life” as
a cultural norm.’ (Riley et al., 1998, p. 167) This sharing of norms contributes to the
development of an OC of pub workers across organizational boundaries.
Van Maanen and Barley’s (1984) definition of OC has four elements: 1) boundaries, 2) social
identity, 3) reference group, and 4) social relations. These four elements will be used as the
primary theoretical basis for this article, although supporting reference will also be made to an
expanded list developed by Trice and Beyer (1993, p. 26-39) and articulated in Marschall (2012).
These four elements are presented as distinct factors, but they are mutually reinforcing.
First, boundaries are the metaphorical wall that separates members of the community from non-
members. These boundaries can be observed in the social dimensions that community members
use to recognize each other. They are the parameters of inclusion. Boundaries are created through
internally constructed connotative notions of belonging that are socially meaningful to the
insiders of that group. Though they may not be readily seen or understood by casual observers or
outsiders, the boundaries of an OC communicate and reinforce the appropriate, required and/or
expected actions and interactions of group members. In this way members are deemed ‘to be’
part of the community through demonstrated behavioural enactment rather than through
denotative labeling due to geographical proximity, shared employer, or shared occupational title
or skill-set (Van Maanen & Barley, 1984, p. 295). Three of the seven characteristics listed by
Trice and Beyer (1993) map to the boundaries element: 1) members have esoteric knowledge and
expertise; 2) work involves danger, extreme situations, or unusual demands; 3) members are
conscious of insiders and outsiders.
Second, members of an OC share a social identity that is drawn from their occupational role.
This identity is highly valued and defines the presentation of the self to others. This is most
commonly evidenced through particular accoutrements, jargon, or dress. Identity codes can also
take the form of inside jokes, conversational reference points, and consistent cultural forms
understood by insiders (Trice & Beyer, 1993; Marschall, 2012). In his exploration of funeral
directors, Barley (1983) noted that OCs with particularly arcane and prevalent codes derive a
heightened sense of identity from their use and display. Social identity is also seen through an
absorption in the work that goes beyond traditional notions of job satisfaction. OC members have
such high involvement with the symbolic nature of the work itself that those who do not do that

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kind of work are perceived as being fundamentally different. The work tasks come to have social
value in the group and favourable ideologies are built around group self-image (Trice & Beyer,
1993).
Third, the reference group element means that members of an OC take each other as their
primary point of comparison when engaged in self-reflection. This referencing is reinforced
when the OC is marginalized, if the occupation penetrates multiple aspects of life, and if there is
a rigorous socialization process as part of being inducted into the occupation. The notion of a
reference group links the concept of OC to other manifestations of occupational organizing such
as communities of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991) and the active social networking that is
important for the support and development of those with boundaryless careers. Regarding the
community of musicians, Coulson (2012, p. 256) wrote, ‘musicians’ networks can then be
thought of as overlapping circles of contacts contained within, and coloured by, the wider music
community whose members they identify with and whose existence they work to support.’ For
musicians, the collaborative reference group of other musicians is critical not only to financial
stability through successful contacts, but perhaps more importantly as a non-competitive source
of camaraderie, shared passion, and freely given support. Through the interaction of a reference
group, occupational members also come to codify shared standards for the quality of the work
(Trice & Beyer, 1993) and directly and indirectly push each other to grow the craft.
Fourth, an OC shares social relations. This refers to a blurring of work and leisure whereby
members are close friends with other members of their occupation and/or the work of the OC
permeates non-work life (Trice & Beyer, 1993). This conjunction of work and leisure does not
necessarily imply work-like hobbies, though that is common. Salaman (1974) described
railroaders who built model trains and displayed them to each other, while Braverman (1974)
described loomweavers who engaged together in botany and entomology. As exemplified by
Lee-Ross’ (2004) accounts of seasonal hotel workers, the social relations of an OC are reinforced
by proximity and work characteristics that constrain the times and modes of recreation. With
respect to cruise ship employees, workers can only socialize with other workers on-board the
ship (Lee-Ross, 2008). Marschall (2012) also noted that the long hours worked by internet
technologists often dictated their leisure choices because they were out of sync with the 9-5
routine of the world around them.
Data and Methodology
This paper employs a thematic and hermeneutic analysis of secondary source online material
(Phillips & Brown, 1993; Prasad & Mir, 2002; Bowen Martin & Deuze, 2009). VGDs have a
strong online presence and this shared social space can act as a research site (Kollock & Smith,
1999). In this space, VGDs showcase their opinions, values, and preferences about the goings-on
of the industry by posting blogs, and commenting on forums, news stories and opinion pieces.
The online data can be grouped into four general source types. The first type of source is the
electronic magazine. An example of this is the website Gamasutra (www.gamasutra.com) which
employs paid staff and freelance writers and also solicits and publishes feature articles and
opinion blogs from non-paid contributors from the video game community. This site reports
recent developments, provides game previews and reviews, interviews key industry players, and

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hosts a job board. A second source type is game studio websites. These sites report the goings on
of the studio, their ‘about us’ statements and philosophies, and often host open discussion boards
and forums. A third source is the website of the IGDA. This posts news, contains special interest
group newsletters and meeting reports, and publishes advocacy and research reports. A fourth
source type is the individual blogs/websites of game developers.
anyone to retrieve
monologue/dialogue contributes to its
public natu re.
As a whole, this online content is a corpus of naturally occurring, publically accessible, linguistic
sources that showcases the work and workers of the video game industry without interference,
prompting, or direct observation. It produces a rich self-reflective and completely member-
generated account of the industry’s norms, behaviours, challenges, successes, and expectations.
The act of writing is socially purposeful; therefore, hermeneutic analysis applied to these online
texts is a means to understand the values and social practices that underlie the group (Phillips &
Brown, 1993).
The data cover a four year time span (2008-2013) and also include the extensive comments that
were written in response to a particularly influential 2004 blog that remains a key industry
referencei. To obtain the sample, key word searches were conducted on topics that seemed
fruitful for evidence of OC in that they represented meaning arenas (Westenholz, 2003). Meaning
creation takes place in a meaning arena that is ‘formed around issues or fractures emerging in
work practices. These issues give rise to “actors” with different and sometimes opposing
identities and interpretation to the issues’ (Westenholz, 2003, p.5-6). As an OC is a social
construction process (Weick, 1995), meaning arenas were sought where the accepted and
contested norms of the community would be on display. These topics included discussions about
working conditions, industry changes, industry crisis points such as studio closures, employment
practices of specific studios, and debates about negative perceptions of video games (i.e., sexism,
violence, obesity).
This resulted in 246 main articles and their associated reader comments. For the thematic
analysis, complete sources and individual components of articles or discussions were coded
according to the four characteristics of OC. Following this, a hermeneutic analysis was
conducted (Phillips & Brown, 1993; Prasad & Mir, 2002). This approach sees texts as
representing a ‘socially constructed system of meaning’ (Phillips & Brown, 1993, p. 1548) and
that marrying an analysis of the specific content of the text to consideration of the text’s unique
social, cultural and historical context at the time of conception gives rise to a creative
‘interpretation-reinterpretation’ (p. 1554) moment on the part of the researcher. Hermeneutic
analysis is appropriate for this research because it ‘involves understanding not only how
contextual events determined the contexts of the texts, but also how the texts in turn contributed
to re-actualizing or maintaining the dynamics of cultural narratives or forms of sensemaking
extant within the larger context.’ (Prasad & Mir, 2002, 97) I use the concept and themes of
occupational community as the frame for this larger context. Regarding presentation of the data,
the large sample allowed for collocation and saturation of various perspectives to help ensure the
validity of the specific examples put forward below.
Regarding pseudonyms in the presentation of the data, online articles, blogs and comments are
“firmly located in the public domain” (Hookway, 2008, p.105) and therefore all names have been
kept in the format as they appear(ed) online. Inherent in blogging is the paradox that people are

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able to write for an audience but remain as anonymous as they desire (Hookway, 2008). Bloggers
often use their own pseudonyms when they desire anonymity or privacy in their work or wish to
present an alternative public identity (Eastham, 2011). Furthermore, and following Eastham
(2011, p. 359, Fig. 1) in making decisions about the need for anonymity, consideration was given
to the intent of the blog and the accessibility of the blog. There were no indications (such as
non-indexation, registration, sign-in or closed comments) that signaled an increased desire for
privacy.
anyone to retrieve
monologue/dialogue contributes to its
public natu re.
Findings and Discussion
Are video game developers an occupational community?
Boundaries: Game jargon and extreme work
A cursory glance at any article or discussion about video game development shows the boundary
element of esoteric knowledge and specialized language. The following excerpts are taken from
game critiques and post-mortemsii that were written by members of the community to members
of the community. Their denotative purpose is to promote sharing and learning about the craft of
the field. However, what this text also signifies is that belonging to this group requires deep
understanding of the terminology of game production, game play mechanics, and the game
canon. These texts adopt a casual tone and assume reader knowledge in a way that implies
joviality and camaraderie (noted specifically in the “stoneskin, anyone?” comment). Through an
analysis of these features they can then be interpreted less as a teaching text for anyone interested
in the field and more as a discussion among friends who share an insider level of experience and
expertise. It can therefore be interpreted than an underlying message of these texts is one of not
belonging for those who cannot follow along.
The gameplay of Xenoblade in many ways feels like the next step up from Final
Fantasy 12’s design...Xenoblade’s combat leans more towards the MMO side of
things compared to JRPG design and this could rub fans of the genre the wrong
way... (Josh Bycer – personal blog posted on May 16, 2012)
The sprite is then color-mapped using a 256-color palette swap to enable player
colors. Following the remapping, any number of further palette-manipulation code
(stoneskin, anyone?) can step in and further change the actual data. Then the sprite is
rendered against whatever potentially covering elements are nearby (Trent Oster –
Game Developer article from May 1, 2013).
To jump momentarily to the element of reference group, these technical and intimate exchanges
can also be interpreted as a means to validate and elevate the art-form of game-making. Though
games are becoming increasingly ‘mainstream’, game developers can still feel marginalized or
trivialized by such things as the negative social stereotypes of male adolescent game players, the
violent and sexist content of some games, and the notion of being paid to play games. Given this
context, the specialized language and internal referencing to other games or technical and
creative processes connotes expertise and legitimacy and supports a socially constructed

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narrative of importance. This gives the members of the community an interpretative frame of
status and legitimacy that they can then hold against outsiders that can be critical of their work.
OCs form more readily when group norms coalesce around dangerous job tasks. While video
game development cannot be considered dangerous in the same way as police work, for example,
it can be extreme in terms of the pace of the work and extended periods of overtime or ‘crunch’
(Peticca-Harris, Weststar & McKenna, forthcoming). The act of experiencing the extreme
scenarios of crunch is a shared bond that reinforces the boundary between insiders and outsiders.
When presented with online stories about challenging working conditions, outsiders most often
respond with surprise and shock while VGDs are more likely to respond, either in a supportive or
unsupportive tone, with a lack of surprise and the telling of their own story. A deeper analysis
reveals that there is a historical legacy of long hours in the industry, a pervasive view that crunch
is necessary to game development, and, therefore, a relatively low expectation that this will
change. In this context, commiserating survival stories can be read as an offer of support in the
face of an inexorable force, and critical comments can be read as a call to toughen up to survive.
Surviving crunch is valorized and can be born as a badge of honour and a signal of being a true
developer. In the expressions of solidarity that are made through shared stories, the underlying
message is one of gained experience and credibility and the sense that to truly belong is to have
such a story to share.
VGDs also show fulfillment of the social identity criteria for occupational community, discussed
more below, when talking about long hours:
It wasn’t fear of losing my job that motivated me to work these insane hours.
More than anything, it was loyalty. I felt loyalty to all of the other programmers
on my team who were working longer hours than me…and I felt loyalty to the
team as a whole. I depended on these people to help me get my job done every
day, and they depended on me (posted by wasdisgruntled on EA Spouse blog
Nov.11, 2004).
Online comments are replete with statements about commitment to the work, to the
game, to the fans and to the team that fit with Van Maanen & Barley’s (1984) notions of
commitment to the craft and responsibility to other members of the OC.
Reference group and social identity: Socialization and work absorption
The themes of early socialization to the industry and absorption in the work are key components
of the reference group and social identity elements, respectively. The majority of VGDs were and
are avid game players; they have a self-professed passion for games and wish to make this their
life work. A key to employment is showcasing that you have made and can make fun games.
Though team members have specific skill sets, the shared motivation is to find the fun, the
novelty, and the wow-factor. Therefore, the heart of being a good game developer remains rooted
in the idea of being self-taught, continually improving, and following one’s grounded instincts.
There is a recurring question posted on discussion boards by aspiring game developers: ‘What
should I do to get into the game industry?’ This question is not answered with a list of
educational programs. Would-be game developers are more often counseled to make games and

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practice their craft at all times. On the denotative level, these are suggestions to help a person
along, but on a deeper level, in the context of a reputation-based labour market and mobile
industry, these can be interpreted as communications from the in-group about the professional
norms required for inclusion. The expectation for belonging is complete devotion to the work:
As to when you should be working, the answer is simple: all the time. The game
industry is a meritocracy that’s known for its twelve-plus hour work days. If the limit
of what you’re doing to prepare for your chosen field is classwork, then you’re
already failing to live up to that standard – even if you’re getting straight A’s…
Character modelers will often crank out a Zbrush sculpture of a character or creature
each day…These practice sculptures have exactly nothing to do with their day job.
They do them because they like doing it and for practice… (Michael Prinke – article
on gamecareerguide.com on May 13, 2010, emphasis in original)
In addition, developer hopefuls come to the industry early as volunteer beta game testers or
interns. As such, individuals are exposed to the OC of game development well before their first
job in the industry. Indeed, most job advertisements show the requirement to be fully
indoctrinated in game culture in order to land a job. A sampling read: ‘Must love to play games’;
‘Must be an avid gamer, of course’; ‘…a passion for games, Halo, and trying new things…Rabid
Halo fan - be prepared to demonstrate that you've played and thought a lot about the game.’
Advertisements in Game Developer Magazine included the following: ‘actively hiring a new age
of visionaries’; ‘Heroes Wanted’; ‘Prepare for the adventure of a lifetime’; ‘Are you awesome
enough? Prove it’. Collectively these ads communicate the absorption in the work that is a key
feature of the social identity of occupational communities and seemingly present in game
development. This is not to say that video game developers are different from other ‘new
economy’ workers in their self-professed passion for their industry and work and that is what
designated their community. Rather, the legacy and commitment to games and game making is a
special attribute that is not shared with other ostensibly similar workers. With respect to the
boundaries element discussed above, this language also sets the tone of reference for insiders and
outsiders about who belongs in this industry. A game developer writing in the midst of an exposé
of overwork and poor treatment at his studio still had this to say:
I believe many of us at the studio are putting a massive amount of love into the
game we are creating…When it’s all said and done, I love my studio, I love my
game, and I love my team, and I wouldn’t give this up for the world (comment
posted by Code Monkey to Rockstar Wives blog on Gamasutra, Jan 9, 2010).
An analysis of how these positive statements come to exist in the context of documented
hardship at work leads to the interpretation that virtually anything is worth the sacrifice to make
games. Among community members this then creates and maintains a narrative of value in the
craft, of struggle and survival, and of dedication and commitment to the community and its
ideals.
Social relations

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The boundary of the OC, and the corresponding sense of belongingness, is reinforced by the
social relations of the group. In a developer survey, 61% of respondents agreed or strongly
agreed that their interests and hobbies are work-related and 57% agreed or strongly agreed that
they tend to socialize with the people with whom they work (Legault & Weststar, 2012). There
are also many events that bring game developers together to socialize. These can be localized in
cities or regions, such as those hosted by local chapters of the IGDA, or groups like Full Indie
(Vancouver), the Hand Eye Society (Toronto), or the Mont Royal Game Society (Montreal).
Game developers also interact at large events such as the Game Developers Conference (GDC)
and E3 (Electronic Entertainment Expo). These conferences are more than an academic exchange
of information or the chance to build a network. They circle around intense socialization and
many of the sessions directly engage with the visioning process for the industry and the
developers embedded within it. For example, recent GDC conferences have devoted a number of
sessions to the topical issue of the underrepresentation of women. Panels of veteran female game
developers speak to packed rooms about the history and future of the industry vis à vis gender
equity.
Specific extra-curricular activities such as ‘game jams’ are also organized either within studios or
across a particular geographical area. The following is a blog excerpt describing one such event:
Championed by our lead engineer…, the 24hr Game Jam was created as a way for
us to do something quick, dirty, and fun ... and maybe let out a little steam in the
process. The goal is always to make a game, from start to finish…in 24hrs. We go
from 10am Saturday to 10am Sunday, and then whatever we have, we lock it up.
…we just wanted to see how much fun we could make in a day. Oh, and our game
designer…wanted something that was multiplayer that we could enjoy in the
office (Kellee Santiago on Playstation blog, March 10, 2008).
These game jams show an inclination to invest non-work time in work-related activities with
other members of the occupation. As a public text, this blog can also be interpreted as a signal
and reinforcement of these social norms across the community. When this blog was written the
author was the President and co-founder of a highly regarded game studio called
Thatgamecompany (TGC) that had released a number of critically acclaimed avant-garde games.
The text was posted on a blog representing one of the top game consoles (Sony Playstation).
This text could simply be read as a self-serving indulgence in TGC’s success and their particular
ways of being. However, due to the context of its presentation, the deeper interpretation of this
text is that off-hours socialization and side-bar game making is essential to team and studio
success and should be a basis for developer stress-relief and happiness. This blog shows what a
successful studio does and it therefore implies what good game developers want to do and
communicates what others should do.
VGDs can also be externally constrained into socializing with each other due to their long work
hours. This is similar to the experiences of internet technologists (Marschall, 2012) where
socialization with members outside of the particular project team or outside of online contact is
inhibited. For VGDs this is exacerbated by the confidentiality and secrecy of studios, the rigid
deadlines, and the interdependencies of the work that do not allow them to work from home. In
some studios crunch time is followed by extended compensatory time off which, since it is

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shared by other developers on the team, also encourages team members to spend that time
together.
An emblematic example
The OC elements of the VGD community are particularly salient when seen through a
hermeneutic analysis of an online exchange sparked by a blog written by a person named John
Hahn. On the face, an analysis of the text indicates that John is someone who is thinking about a
career in the industry, but has concerns about whether a lifelong career is possible. He mentions
some of the challenges that are often expressed in relation to game development: long hours,
limited crediting for individual contributions to a game, and, in his view, relatively low pay
compared to other opportunities for programmers or to the entertainment industry. John’s tone is
friendly and of one seeking advice, but his blog can also be interpreted as a criticism of or
challenge to current members of the VGD OC because it implies that they should not settle for
these conditions, or that the industry is ‘bad’ for allowing them. The purpose of the text that blog
readers submit back to John can then be interpreted as a response to an outsider who doesn’t
‘understand’ their community and as a tool for educating him about the values of game
development. Their words then represent an act to justify and validate their own choice to work
in games. The following is a selection of the reader comments to the original post (John Hahn’s
blog on Gamasutra, April 21, 2009):
Mac Senour: …I just can’t imagine doing anything else! And I think there in [sic]
lies the difference, games are my life and have been since I was 19.
Jason Weesner: …Everybody I work with loves what they do and that’s precisely
why they do it! …If you’re looking for a return on your personal investment that
is substantially more than just the opportunity to make games, this industry is not
for you.
Ted Brown: …Paid overtime is virtually unheard of…So why am I still here? It’s
because I can’t imagine a career doing anything else. I work with smart people.
We tackle interesting problems. I’m paid enough to support a family. And I could
work almost anywhere in the world. It is hard? Sure. Is there crunch?
Sometimes… Is it worth it? Definitely
The actual language and themes of these comments denote individual accounts of a love of game
development and an inability to see any other career as a possibility. Given the context in which
these texts were produced – that of John’s skepticism of the value of working in the industry and
a rise in general criticism about the work practices of the industry – these comments become
more than individual statements. They can be interpreted more deeply as a moment of re-
actualization where the writers identify and embrace the values of people who make games and
use them, shield-like to exclude those outsiders (in this case John) who don’t share those values
or who are looking for something else beyond the ‘opportunity’ to make games. This defines the
boundary of their OC. The social identity element, where people who do not do the work are
fundamentally different and favourable ideologies are built around group self-image, is also

12
showcased here when Ted Brown says he could work almost anywhere in the world. The
interpretation is that he chooses game development not because of the fit with his skill set, but
because of a deeper connection to the work that makes him different from others perhaps with
his same skill set. Within the context of these texts we can surmise that this is the same
connection that Mac Senor invokes when he says that games are his life. John posts his own
comments and asks why VGDs don’t become rich and famous like in other entertainment
industries:
Ted Brown: When people play a game they are the focus. They are the actor. Does
that make sense? There is no “artist” that people associate with a game…Shigeru
Miyamoto will never be as famous as Mario. Or Link. Or any of his myriad
creations. But among his peers, there are few equals.
Alan Jack: …game developers are never going to be famous, and that – in my
opinion – makes this the most honest medium out there…. Games are the most
honest medium because there’s no hiding the fact that everyone in a team, be it 10
or 1000 people, contributed to the finished product. Even then, the experience of
play is shared between the games [sic] ‘authors’ and the player. If you want to be
famous, be a rock star… If you don’t care about that, but want to work at the
cutting edge of current thinking on entertainment, work in games…knowing I
helped contribute to something that entertained thousands is an incredible
rush….stop comparing games to other media. We’re not like them, we’re our own
thing…. We don’t need film-school drop-outs clogging up our industry, we need
people who are in this industry because they want to entertain, move and share
experiences with people.
In these comments Ted Brown and Alan Jack juxtapose game development against other
entertainment industries that share many occupational characteristics in terms of specific job
tasks and required knowledge, skills and abilities. But they imbue the workers in those other
fields with motivations that are not shared by game developers and those motivations are
presented negatively. The interpretation is that despite the fact that many workers in the game
industry could work in other jobs – more typical IT roles, new media, or artistic and technical
roles in film and television - they work in games because games are different and they are
different. That consciousness of outsiders and insiders demonstrates a boundary that causes an
OC to form.
Within that boundary and to maintain that boundary the in-group builds a narrative of shared
social identity and reinforces that identify through a closed circle of self-reference. In the text
above, the values around fame and fortune are downplayed in favour of other values: the honesty
of making a good game, the rush in entertaining others, the joy of being on the team, the
stimulation of the creative process (see also O’Donnell, 2009). Like McLeod et al.’s (2011)
advertising creatives, developer Ted Brown’s remark about Mario Bros. designer Shigeru
Miyamoto illustrates that the industry is highly self-referential and that status is earned through
exemplary work according to the peer group. Given the public nature of game successes and
failures, it fits that these signal expected standards to the community and push all members
toward the shared sense of better or more innovative work.

13
Returning to the example of John’s blog provides additional examples of boundary and social
identity. The last person to comment on this forum, Alan Jack, says that ‘technically, games are
the oldest and most primal of communicative media’; he references ancient Mayan and Egyptian
games and links video games to this legacy. This can be interpreted as an example of Van
Maanen and Barley’s (1984) notion of responsibility to others insofar as VGDs hold a
commitment to the symbolic nature of games as central to human civilization. This also ties to
Trice & Beyer’s (1993) requirement of the shared ideology of the social value of the work tasks
performed by the community. In the context of a continuing struggle to gain legitimacy with
society, these comments can be interpreted as an attempt by VGDs to promote their craft as a
unique and valuable art form. This in-group ‘boosterism’ solidifies common positive identity and
further builds the boundary wall.
To this point, the paper argues that VGDs show sufficient characteristics of occupational
boundaries, social identity, reference group, and social relations to be considered an OC. Yet, it
might be necessary to further problematize this classification. There are themes in the data that
suggest that the community may be multi-faceted or have a changing face.
Layering and evolution of an occupational community
In addition to providing a definitional framework, Van Maanen and Barley (1984) introduce the
connection between occupational self-control and the formation of occupational communities.
OCs can represent the tension and competition between rational and administrative control (i.e.
from employers) and forms of communal control that is exerted through the social relations of
the occupational group. Despite their boundaryless careers, VGDs still enter into employment
relationships that can either mesh or collide with the values of their OC (see Campbell, 2014).
Indeed, in the video game industry – as partially evidenced by the job advertisements presented
above – many of the norms of the OC are at various times reinforced, colonized, and perhaps
even created by the organizational/industry cultures and by game culture itself. As well, the voice
of the OC need not be consistently unified; members engage in individual and collective
sensemaking activities (Weick, 1995) as they define who they are within the communal and
administrative control structures of their own studios, within the game industry, and within the
broader societal context of their work.
This shifting ground and the contestation of traditional norms held by the OC is apparent in
online spaces as the VGD community openly discusses occupational self-control, issues of poor
working conditions, the necessity of crunch in game development, and the possibility of
unionization. It is also apparent as VGDs grapple with societal critiques of video games – that
they are violent and hypersexualized, and aggravate conditions such as childhood obesity,
aggression, and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. There is also online debate about the
hierarchy of game genres, the derision often afforded to casual games versus big budget ‘AAA’
titles, and the artistic merit of mainstream versus independent games (see Bowen Martin &
Deuze, 2009). From the analysis conducted for this paper it can be concluded that some game
developers make work choices that reflect their own personal values. For instance, some choose
to be self-employed to have more control over the content of their work; some work in
educational games where the hours seem more stable; some choose not to work at studios that

14
create violent games. As well, some developers are vocal about particular issues, such as the
characterization of women in games. The values behind these choices and sentiments are
potential areas of contestation within the OC of VGDs as they challenge the existing norms and
attitudes about what it means and what it takes to make great games.
There was further evidence of sub-grouping within the OC vis a vis occupational specialty. For
instance, some sources highlighted the particular language and ideological divides between
programmers and artists and also between those in ‘core development’ and those who do the
quality assurance testing. As argued by Cohendet and Simon (2007), the workers who contribute
to a video game project represent individual “communities of specialists” (i.e., programmers,
artists) and despite the project-based orientation of the work, they tend to draw more from their
sub-group. It is beyond the scope of this paper to further disentangle this layering; indeed, it may
be that the communities of specialists identified by Cohendet and Simon are communities of
practice nestled within an OC. This does not preclude all members from then belonging to the
greater OC of game development, but it warrants further attention to understand the multiple and
perhaps nested collectives to which individual game developers may belong. Indeed, these
internal debates and delineations need not detract from the argument of the OC for VGDs, rather
they act to illustrate the boundaries of the community and the factors that reaffirm belonging or
signal otherness. As with other socially constructed groupings, the boundaries of this OC are
permeable and members can be transient. They are organic living entities that cannot be forced
(Thompson, 2005) and can be continuously reconfigured (Marschall, 2012: 31).
Conclusions
Workers with a project-based labour process have a lesser sense of organizational identity than
those in long-term relationships with a single employer. Workers in cultural and technical
industries experience boundaryless careers where their identity and supports are drawn from
places external to their employers. To better understand the working experiences of these
individuals, there has been a call to return to the occupation as the nexus for worker collectivity
(Barley & Kunda, 2006). As in pre-industrial times, it may now be the trade or the craft which
forms the defining environment for workers. It is within their occupational community that
workers find networking and career support, communities of practice and learning, shared
identity and meaning.
This paper adds to the literature that seeks to define specific occupational groups as occupational
communities. In particular, it focuses on the work of video game development. As workers,
VGDs are an understudied group. They present an interesting case because they sit at the
intersection between ICT and cultural entertainment. A secondary analysis of online sources
concludes that VGDs meet the characteristics of an OC (Van Maanen & Barley, 1984; Trice &
Beyer, 1993). They have a clear set of social boundaries which define insider status, they take
their identities from and are highly involved in the work of making games, they internally self-
reference, and their work and leisure time is blurred through their hobbies of video gaming and
the constraints of their working hours.
This research is valuable in a number of respects. It strengthens the theory of OC by extending it
to an under-studied group. It provides a rare example of an OC that extends beyond geographical

15
boundaries; most studies of OC have been geographically bound to one workplace or region.
Though full treatment was out of scope for this paper, this research also begins to showcase a
quest for self-control and a continual redefinition of community norms through examples of
contested ground and sub-groups within the OC. Understanding video game developers as an OC
is also important to future study of this group because it situates meaning within the workers and
can be used to understand both alignment with and deviations from supposed organizational,
industry, and societal norms. An occupational lens could help to frame the understanding of
issues such as: career trajectory, learning and information sharing, industry maturation and the
development of managerial capacity, the under-representation of women, citizenship at work,
and response to the labour process.
The method employed in this research was unique and well-suited to the research question, but it
has limitations. While an analysis of online secondary material allows for an unadulterated view
into the community, it remains subjective. The data may suffer from self-selection bias where
only those with extreme viewpoints take the time to speak out. However, the degree of this bias
would be similar to that found in non-random survey or interview research. Indeed it could be
argued that the relative or absolute anonymity of the internet empowers minority voices as much
as it amplifies dominant ones. Further research is needed in this area to: 1) corroborate the
findings using different methodological tools; 2) examine the sub-groups that may exist within
the OC of VGDs; 3) examine the intersection and impact of the VGD OC with the extended
industry community (i.e. industry critics, reporters, fans)iii; and 4) apply the lens of the OC to an
understanding of the collective responses of this occupational group to workplace challenges.
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Notes

i This blog is The Human Story posted under the tagline EA_Spouse: http://ea-spouse.livejournal.com/274.html (see also
Peticca-Harris, et al., forthcoming)
ii Post-mortems are behind the scenes deconstructions of the making of a particular game. Many studios conduct these
informally following the release of a game, but for popular titles they are often formally written and published.
iii This could be particularly interesting given the recent #GamerGate social media movement