Four Panels

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FourPanels

That image has the complete rules, but you can also read them in this more convenient PDF format.

An example of a session I played on Saturday with my nephew Jonathan, my niece Anya, and my sister-in-law Jill:

Webcomic 7: A Perfect Solution

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When the only tool you have is a hard head, every problem still looks like a nail.

Webcomic 6: Expert Diagnosis

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This might be a metaphor for something...

Webcomic 5: Don’t Be Negative

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We've always been at war with Negativity.

RPG Theory Concept: Posture

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A few weeks ago I was trying to teach my niece and nephew how to play ping pong. For anyone unfamiliar with the game, you use little rubber-covered wooden paddles, a bouncy ball, and a table with a net in the middle, and you get a point if you successfully hit the ball over the net with the appropriate number of bounces (once on each side for the first hit in the round, only one time on your opponent’s side thereafter) and your opponent is unable to do the same back to you. As is natural while learning a new game they were very interested in figuring out how well they were doing, which they attempted to ascertain by asking “did I get a point for that?” a lot. I told them not to worry so much about whether they were getting points, but to just focus on their technique and getting the ball over the net with the appropriate number of bounces. I did this because I couldn’t remember at the time whether there was some interaction between winning points and who served in a round, but more importantly because the “and your opponent can’t return it” part is such a huge factor in whether you score that it takes the focus of what you are doing, which is only realistic to focus on once you have solid enough fundamentals that you have a decent amount of control. If they wanted to be truly competitive they’d eventually need to learn how to take their opponent’s capabilities into account (e.g. I have decent accuracy with my backhand but my forehand is terrible, so trying to get the ball to a place where I have to use my forehand to hit the ball is a good way to get a point against me), but for casual play and practicing basic skills they should focus on what they were doing and how that was interacting with the ball and the table. This casual interaction was enjoyable for all of us, especially since I’m not that great a player myself, but if I was more skilled and was looking at the game very competitively their capabilities would have loomed large: either I’d be getting hollow victories by beating opponents who couldn’t play or I’d be patronizingly letting them win. It occurred to me that how much attention we’re paying to our assessments of other participants has a big impact on the feel of a game, and I think it relates to an important concept for RPG design.

PingPongExample

The term I’m picking to talk about this is Posture. Posture is about where and how participants stand with respect to a game (where I’m using “stand” metaphorically). The thing that most strongly controls this posture is what we’re paying attention to or what we care about on a moment-to-moment basis. If I have a competitive posture in ping pong I care about winning and I need to pay attention to the capabilities of my opponent in addition to the bouncy-ball-physics element of the game. RPG mechanics can lead us to focus on things in ways that affect our Posture. For example, both Fate and Mouse Guard have a mechanic where the GM sets a “target number” that players must “roll against” to see if they succeed or fail at a task, but there are big differences between them. In Fate, the GMing instructions tell you to set the target numbers relative to a character’s skill so that you can orchestrate the experience of play: if you want the player to have a chance to “showcase their character’s awesomeness” you give them a low difficulty number, if you think that have “too many” points of a spendable resource you give them a high difficulty number so they’re likely to spend them to succeed. By contrast, in Mouse Guard the GM compares the fictional situation as-described against a series of factors in the rules for each skill: finding water in the wilderness is always the same difficulty, no matter whether the game been tense or leisurely, or whether the player is excited or reluctant. Fate wants the GM to focus on their moment-by-moment assessment of the player: what target number should I give them to provide the psychological jolt I think they need to get the best experience? Mouse Guard wants the GM to focus on filtering the fictional situation through the game procedures, presuming that faithfully engaging the process will produce the desired fun. Since the games put you in different postures for making this superficially-similar decision there is a difference in the subjective experience of play. And, since the people are a vital component of an RPG-in-operation, giving them different subjective experiences also impacts their behavior, which makes the games different in play.

TargetNumberExample

Getting participants into the proper posture can have a big impact on RPG play. The GMing rules in Apocalypse World, for example, are largely about getting the GM into a posture so that they can comfortably make the decisions they need to make in that game. (There’s also a rule about player posture: “play your character like they’re a real person”, but it’s less conspicuous and frequently ignored). A game like Primetime Adventures that’s built around character-conflict tends to need players to lean in aggressively and can flounder if players adopt a more passive don’t-rock-the-boat posture. In a sandbox-y “dynamic world” game the GM might be flummoxed if the players adopt an accommodating “we’ll do what we think you want us to do, because we want to experience the story you planned” posture. Players bringing goals and ideas from other games can often give them an incompatible posture for a game: if a game expects you to be a self-directed goal-seeker but you’re playing with a performative improv-actor “I’m trying to entertain everyone else” posture the game may break down.

While I’m saying that I think Posture is an important concept, I don’t want to give the impression that I think it’s simple or one-dimensional. In general, the posture players take has a huge impact on which directions they can experience tension or pressure without suffering excessive strain, which means that properly orienting the players’ posture is an important part of game design. It seems to me that in the RPG design space we’re just beginning to learn how to do this effectively, so I believe it’s a fruitful area for further thought and exploration.

Forests, Trees, and RPGs

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CLT-RPG

I recently read a psychology paper and was deeply struck by the implications it might have for a wide variety of tabletop roleplaying game and RPG design issues. If I’m right, it speaks to issues of immersion, a difference between RPGs and so-called “storytelling games”, the social power dynamics between players and GMs, the reason that many of the techniques used in Apocalypse World work well for many people, and more. The paper is Construal-Level Theory of Psychological Distance by Trope and Liberman, and it summarizes and consolidates findings from many individual experiments into a unified theoretical framework. I’m going to give a brief overview of the theory, and then talk about some of the lower-level details and experimental findings, and then talk about some of the links to RPGs that I find so exciting.

Summarizing the Theory

The basic idea of Construal-Level Theory (CLT) is that we humans are generally capable of interpreting the same thing through different “construals”, either at a low, concrete level which includes lots of contextual and peripheral details, or at a high, abstract level, which will be schematic, decontextualized, and focused on central, prototypical features. For example, we might think of a baseball bat at a concrete level as “a Louisville Slugger”, while we might think of it as “sports equipment” at a high level. Naturally, the same thing can be abstracted in different ways based on which features are considered central for the way the brain is trying to use it, so another abstract construal of a baseball bat might be “a bludgeoning weapon”. Generally speaking you can nearly always get even more abstract (weapon, hand-held object, thing) or more concrete (an autographed Louisville Slugger, the bat used to hit the game-winning run at the World Series last year). CLT suggests that operating at a high or low level of construal is a mindset, vaguely analogous to shifting gears in a car: the way we process one thing tends to be sticky and influence the way we process the next thing.

It’s important to note that CLT doesn’t frame this in terms of laziness or quality of representation, since high- and low-level construals are better suited to different kinds of cognition, neither one is “better” than the other. For example, high-level construals lose the peripheral details but they add meaning and the ability to put things into systems: no amount of zooming-in on the bat’s woodgrain will give you insight into how it’s used in a baseball game. It’s beneficial to be able to see both forests and trees, but often hard to do both at once.

CLT further proposes that human brains have an association where we tend to use high-level construals for things that are far away and low-level construals for things that are close. If you think about this in terms of visual perception and physical distance you can see why this association makes intuitive sense: When something is far away we may not be able to make out all of the details, and the contextual ones may change if and when we actually interact with it, so in general it makes sense to use high-level construals for distant objects. And when something is close we have access to all of the details and may not have strong reasons for abstracting it in a particular way so we tend to use a low-level construal. But since this association is somewhat automatic we do it even when those justifying factors aren’t true: even if we could access all of the contextual details of a distant target we still tend to use a high-level construal, and even if it might be beneficial to think of something close in an abstract way we’ll tend toward the more concrete construal. So, for example, we’re likely to think of a distant car in an abstract way even if we’re familiar with the minute details of that particular make and model.

CLT notes that this phenomenon seems to be consistent across multiple dimensions of psychological distance. So, for example, we tend to abstract to the same degree when thinking about something that happened long ago as we do when we think about things that are far away. In addition to temporal and spatial distance, CLT also says that hypotheticality (e.g. a near certainty vs. a remote possibility) and social distance (a close friend vs. a distant stranger) work the same way.

The final piece of the CLT puzzle is that the association is bidirectional: we use psychological distance as a guide for what construals to use, and we use the construal mindset we’re using as a guide to what sort of distance something has. Something construed more abstractly will tend to feel more distant, something construed more concretely will tend to feel closer. This struck me as highly relevant to roleplaying games, where we often seek to feel close identification with characters and want a sense of here-and-now experiencing of fictional events unfolding rather than merely knowing that they happened. The research tends to be much coarser-grained than this, such as comparing next week to next year or this city to a city on the other side of the country, so extending the ideas to the fine-grained world of RPG experience requires some speculation, but I think that speculation is warranted. As I’ll explain below, I think there are several successful RPG design features and common RPG breakdown modes that map to predictions from CLT, which make me think this could be a very useful tool for understanding RPGs.

Differences Between High- and Low-Level Construals

The experiments have noted several differences between operating with high- and low-level construals. Since the relationship between construal level and distance is bidirectional, sometimes the high- or low-level construal condition is used as the input to the experiment and sometimes it’s used as the measured output. Here are some of the things that the research associates with the different levels of construal:

Seeing forests or trees: In several experiments, working with big-picture “gestalts” tends to be associated with distance, and nearness lends itself to working with constituent details. For example, in images where there’s an overall gestalt effect made up of smaller individual elements (such as title image for this blog post, where there’s a big RPG made up of little CLTs), people in the distant condition tend to more quickly and reliably detect the large gestalt image, while people in the near condition tend to more quickly and reliably notice constituent details.

Broad or narrow categories: High-level construals tend to be associated with fewer, broader categories while low-level construals tend to be associated with more, narrower categories. In experiments where subjects were asked to categorize a list of items into as many groups as they felt appropriate, subjects in distant (high-level) conditions tended to create fewer groups with more members in each while subjects in near (low-level) conditions tended to create more groups with fewer elements in each group. For example, when asked to break a video sequence into “meaningful actions”, subjects that believed the video was shot nearby tended to break it up into more, shorter snippets than those in the distant condition.

How vs. Why: When examining actions, focusing on “why” or the consequences of the actions tends to be associated with high-level construal while a focus on “how” or the feasibility of the action tends to be associated with low-level construal.

Situation vs. Traits: Low-level construals tend to include consideration of situational factors while high-level construals tend to be associated with things that look like stable properties, e.g. your friend didn’t respond to your e-mail because she has many demands on her time, a stranger didn’t respond to your e-mail because she is inconsiderate.

Weighting of attributes: When operating at a high level of construal people tend to put much more weight on some attributes of choice than others, while operating at a lower level tends to lead to attributes being more evenly weighted.

Alignable vs. Nonalignable attributes: When people are comparing things in low-level conditions, traits that are easily compared between items tend to heavily influence preferences (e.g. this meal has less calories than that one) while high-level construals more easily allow preference formation between nonalignable attributes (e.g. this meal is from Italian cuisine, that one is from Vietnamese cuisine).

Generating exemplars of a category vs. naming a category for an example: In a very direct manipulation, having subjects generate subordinate members of a category (e.g. “A type of soda is ________”) tends to put them in low-level construal mindset and finding superordinate categories for objects (e.g. “Soda is a type of ____________”) tends to put them in a high-level construal mindset.

Values: Things like values and morals tend to be abstract ideas, and seem to show the same associations with distance, e.g. people tend to make harsher moral evaluations in distant conditions than in near conditions.

Types of Near and Far

Spatial Distance: Different experiments have manipulated distance in physical space in multiple ways, both by linking events to real geographical distance by telling people where events are taking place, or even by getting them to plot two points on a Cartesian plane that were close together or far away from each other.

Temporal Distance: Remembering the past and predicting the future seem to be roughly equivalent in terms of greater distance being associated with greater abstraction, i.e. next week and last week are about the same, and they’re closer than the distant past or far future.

Hypotheticality: Several experiments have shown similar construal-level effects to other distance dimensions by interpreting low probabilities as far (a remote chance) and high probabilities as close (a near certainty).

Social Distance: The amount of “social distance” seems to have similar effects, e.g. self vs. others, people in similar organizations compared to different ones, etc. Social power seems to have an effect as well, since priming people to think about high levels of social power tends to be associated with abstract construal and priming people to think about having low social power tends to be associated with concrete construal.

Putting it Together with Some RPG Examples

In Dogs in the Vineyard, when players are engrossed in a blow-by-blow conflict they’ll tend to escalate violence or use weapons because the rules make those options seem like “easy” ways to get extra dice. After the conflict ends and players are encouraged to look back at what happened in order to add new traits to their characters they often become uncomfortable when they realize how their in-character actions diverge from their contemporary morals. The short action snippets encouraged by the mechanics and the need to produce examples of “how” you are using your traits tends to lead toward a low-level mindset, so the feasibility of using violent escalation matters more than the desirability of using violence (and in the heat of the moment the “why” of what’s at stake in the conflict overall becomes less and less relevant). By contrast, in the post-conflict Fallout procedure, looking backwards at the gestalt entirety of the conflict makes it easier to process the events thematically, morally, or in terms of overall character, often leading people to morally disapprove of actions they themselves decided the character should take.

Sometimes players choose to play Dogs in the Vineyard in a way that focuses on stable traits of personality, such as violent tendencies, religious zealotry, etc., instead of engaging in-the-moment with the situations before them and the psychological pushes and pulls cooked into the design of the game. These two approaches seem to hew closely to different levels of construal, and people tend to report different subjective experiences of play from the two approaches (the people in the second group are sometimes described as playing caricatures rather than characters in order to keep their emotional distance).

Apocalypse World seems to have multiple techniques the lead people to operate largely with concrete construals. Rather than tying actions solely to a few global attributes, AW gives each play an abundance of “moves” through which they can affect the world (more, narrower categories). Focusing on “how” a character is making a particular move, or what particular thing they’re doing that’s in the category of the move, also tends to push toward a low-level construal. The GM is encouraged to dynamically scale the pace of resolution, breaking things up into a zoomed-in action-by-action level when they want especially strong connection with the fiction or characters. The relatively high probability of succeeding with any given move may also lead to low-level construals. Like DITV, AW also has several mechanics that sometimes ask players to step outside of their concrete interactions and interpret things in a more abstract way, such as with the Read a Person questions like “what does your character wish I’d do?”. While this is good for gaining insight into characters, it can sometimes be difficult for players to get back into a flowing interaction after answering them, perhaps due to different mindsets being conducive to the different types of processing.

Choosing Continuous Coverage Instead of Scene Framing: Some games give players the choice to set up their own scenes, but many people use this power to simply continue what was happening in the previous scene, sometimes seemingly getting bogged down in “logistical details” like how characters get from one place to another rather than jumping forward to get to “important” scenes. A focus on “how” is what CLT predicts for people operating in a concrete mindset, while figuring out what the most thematically appropriate or interesting-for-the-story next scene should be is something that involves relationships between abstract ideas and is therefore the kind of thing that’s easier to do in a high-level mindset. If people are having a very here-and-now experience with a scene and feeling very low distance between themselves and their characters then they’re probably going to see things through the concrete mindset and probably have a harder time shifting gears to do good “scene framing”.

“Storyboarding”: An experience that people sometimes report in games with explicit-stake-setting conflict-resolution mechanics is that they’ll elaborately negotiate out the possible consequences of a conflict, roll to determine which outcome happens, and then move forward with the game knowing which outcome occurred without ever having the here-and-now feeling of experiencing the scene. CLT suggests that focusing on the “why” of conflict stakes will shift people toward abstract construals and therefore increase their associated sense of temporal distance, i.e. move them away from “now”.

GM/Player Social Dynamics: Some games or playstyles explicitly vest the GM with special social authority (e.g. the ability/responsibility to determine who is “playing well”), sometimes this happens as a byproduct even in games that desire egalitarianism despite the asymmetry in roles. If being “a player” in a game involves mostly being in the concrete-construal mindset and being “a GM” involves more abstract interpretation and categorization then the perception that a GM has more social power than a player may reinforce that (or be a byproduct of it).

Some Questions That Arise

Since several of the experiments show distance-related effects merely from telling the subjects that they’re dealing with near or distant places I think it raises some interesting questions for RPG settings, since we often set our games in times or places that aren’t here-and-now. Do “modern” games tend to feel more immersive? Do games set in exotic locales make it harder to feel a strong sense of here-and-now? Although I don’t have much personal experience, it may not be a coincidence that players of urban fantasy games like White Wolf’s Vampire seem to prioritize immersion and strong character connection and also tend to pretend that the fictional events of the game are secretly happening in their own city right now. What about the fantastical element? Most RPGs have some “genre” element of fantasy or science fiction, and most “medieval fantasy” games are set in other universes rather than historical earth. Is that conducive to low-level construals, or a distraction? In the paper, Trope and Liberman say:

We argued that because high-level construals are broad, they bring to mind more distant instantiations of objects, and because low-level construals are narrow, they bring to mind more proximal instantiations of objects. It is also possible for construal level to affect the psychological distance of objects through metacognitive inferences (N. Schwartz & Clore, 1996). People may interpret their low-level construal of an object as indicating that the object is close and their high-level construal of an object as indicating that the object is distant. This metacognitive inference of distance from construal level might involve a more complex attributional calculus when one or more other distances are known. Specifically, the construal-based inference that an object is distant on any given dimension will be discounted when the object is known to be distant on another dimension. Correspondingly, the construal-based inference that an object is distant on any given dimension will be augmented when the object is known to be proximal on another dimension. For example, one would attribute a detailed construal of a meeting with a friend to a relatively close relationship with that friend when the meeting is known to take place in the distant future rather than the near future. Thus, direct implicit associations among different distance dimensions generally result in positive relationships among those dimensions. However, when inferring distance from construal, adjusting the inference of distance on one dimension for distance on other dimensions may result in a negative relationship among those distances.

Could fantastical elements create a plausible place for players to shunt unwanted perceptions of psychological distance, thus facilitating feelings of closer distance on other dimensions?

Also, it seems like the experiments that used Cartesian coordinate-plotting to prime distance might have implications for games that make extensive use of physical maps, from the maps-and-minis tactical combat games like D&D 3.5 and Pathfinder, to map-focused games like The Quiet Year or Chronicles of Skin, to games that use relationship maps to represent character relationships. The physical distance priming involved in working with these maps could be having an interesting and perhaps previously-unrealized impact on play.

Some Areas For Further Exploration

Several of the distinctions and manipulations associated with the different construal levels seem like useful guides for some common design decisions. For example, the differences between few/broad categories and many/narrow categories in these experiments might help a designer choose between a large skill list or a short pool of attributes to achieve different effects. The research might also suggest different effects for different types of player-authored traits, e.g. broad dispositional traits like “clever” or “rigid” would be expected to guide players toward abstract construals while traits that are more likely to interface with the situation like “well-armed” or “quick” might guide players toward more concrete construals.

There are also intriguing structural possibilities to explore. For example, Apocalypse World, like many other RPGs, uses character attributes to modify the probability that moves will succeed or fail, with the results of those actions generally fixed on a per-move. However, it could be interesting to create an AW hack in which we switch things around so that different moves (i.e. different types of character action) have identical high likelihoods of success but different levels of impact based on character stats. This change might make a player’s choice of move more revelatory-of-character by making that decision more intuitive and in-the-moment if the effect of different stats is “hidden” in the consequences (which people are more prone to discount when they’re operating with a concrete mindset) rather than putting a thumb on the scales of feasibility.

General Caveats

Hopefully I’ve done a good job of summarizing the research, but obviously that involves employing some editorial judgment in my choice of what to say and how to say it, so wherever possible I’ve provided links to the source material (with citations in the alt-tags). As I said earlier, my linkage of some of these RPG design issues to this theoretical framework involves some speculation, so we shouldn’t necessarily assume that the inferences I draw are rock solid. Furthermore, much of the social psychology research that feeds into this theory involves somewhat coarse-grained between-subjects statistical effects, and the effects measured in the experiments are not always strong night-and-day differences, and not all of the experiments have been widely and reliably replicated. And, like any scientific theory, it’s a model that attempts to account for the observed data, not necessarily anything that can be directly confirmed. Additionally, the experiments rarely speak at all to issues of individual variation (e.g. even assuming the theory is roughly correct, are some people able to switch back and forth more easily than others?). And, since most of the experiments are about merely establishing a difference between near and far, abstract and concrete, the research doesn’t give us anything like nicely parametrized curves which we can plug directly into some kind of game design formula.

Those caveats aside, though, I think it is intriguing research that suggests relationships and general patterns of human thought and behavior that we may be able to leverage to make better games.

 

A framework for humor in RPG design?

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I recently learned about the “Benign Violation” theory of humor which some researchers are using as a framework for studying the psychology of humor. The basic idea is that we find something funny when it’s both 1) a violation and 2) benign. So tickling is funny because it’s an attack (a violation) but harmless (benign). Puns are funny because they violate expected usage but in a way that carries no negative consequences. Self-deprecation is funny because it is saying something negative (a violation) but in a way that we can tell isn’t sincere (benign).

It’s an interesting theory because it predicts both what is and what isn’t funny. Tickling by a stranger, for example, isn’t funny because we don’t know if it will be harmless. And self-deprecation isn’t funny if we suspect the person saying it is serious. It suggests that to be funny something needs competing interpretations, one where it’s OK and one where it’s not OK, and they need to be relatively matched in intensity: something that’s a trivial violation in an entirely benign situation isn’t funny, nor is a major violation with a figleaf, at least according to this theory. Intuitively it sounds like a pretty compelling argument to me, and it may be a useful framework for exploring the design of comedic RPGs, a famously fraught endeavor where plenty of games are maligned as “funny to read, not funny to play”, or for keeping unwanted comedy out of dramatic or gritty games.

It seems to me that many classic funny RPG situations map to this theory: The dragon opens its jaws and lunges forward to [rolls to hit] bite you for [rolls damage]… 1 point of damage [laughter ensues]. In the hit/miss framework it’s a violation, but in the damage framework it is benign, so we are amused. One of the most reliable design techniques for comedy RPGs is to have players describe their own character’s failure: since they failed it’s a violation, but since they have control over the situation it’s benign. If a player makes an out-of-character joke it can be funny, and a pretty reliable technique for eliminating that humor is to make it consequential in the fiction by acting as if the character rather than the player said it (i.e. it’s no longer benign). The gold-standard of funny RPGs, InSpectres, seems to fit the pattern, too: it instructs you to play “normal” characters rather than outlandish ones, which would seem to help with interpreting the supernatural events of the scenario as “violations” but the relatively low stakes of the situation make them benign (these supernatural situations are so commonplace in the in-game world that resolving them is a viable franchise business model, and a session is about whether players satisfactorily complete the job to bring in money to keep their business afloat).

While this framework seems appealing at first glance, a deeper analysis is probably warranted. It would be beneficial to go beyond cherry-picking examples that seem consistent with the theory and look at a spectrum of games and see how well the funny/not-funny predictions hold up (analyzing Cthulhu games could be a particularly fruitful way to approach this, given the diversity of approaches in that genre and the fact that they’re sometimes played seriously and sometimes for laughs). Additionally, to be useful as a design tool we’d need to see if we can translate the concepts into game design elements: What counts as a violation? What makes things benign? How do we evaluate the relative intensities? How does wanting games to be “fun” interact with the “funny” that we’d include or exclude when employing this framework? Attempting to use this theory as a prospective guide to designing a new funny (or reliably unfunny) game could also be a fruitful avenue of exploration.

RPG Social Footprint: Can you have too little of a bad thing?

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One of the memes floating around in the tabletop RPG design-o-sphere is that it’s desirable to reduce the “social footprint” of games. The thinking goes that busy people have a hard time fitting gaming into their lives, so when games require things like learning rules, regular attendance at scheduled sessions, outside-the-session prep-work, etc., it makes it less likely for the game to happen. While this argument is compelling, we shouldn’t assume that reducing barriers to play is a purely beneficial strategy that has no tradeoffs. In addition to affecting which tools are available from the game designer’s toolbox, the “inconvenience” of getting a game to happen can itself have an impact on play. I recently read a psychology research paper that illustrates an interesting phenomenon.

In the experiment I want to highlight, the subjects were asked to participate in a short test to measure performance on some mental tasks. Different subjects were scheduled to take the test at three different times (selected to be mildly, moderately, or extremely inconvenient). After the students were told about the test and when they’d be taking it (without knowing the scheduled time was a variable) they filled out a survey indicating how important or interesting taking the test would be, and how satisfied they expected to be once they completed it:

ImportanceOfTestAs you can see in the chart, subjects in the late-but-not-too-late condition rated taking the test as slightly more important and meaningful to them. The paper puts forward the theory that when we are exposed to short-term costs between us and our goals, our brains use techniques like magnifying the significance of the long-term goal to make sure we get past the bump in the road, but we only do this within the realm of the possible and don’t bother if the short-term cost seems too high. Since the subjects subconsciously anticipated difficulty staying motivated to perform at the moderately inconvenient time, their brains helped them out by deciding the overall task was comparatively more important than their less-inconvenient-time or it’s-so-late-it’s-a-lost-cause peers who were evaluating the exact same task. And here’s the even more interesting result:

PerformanceOnTestYou’d probably expect average performance on the test to decline based on the later times (presumably people are more tired later), but the average performance by the moderately-inconvenient-time group was actually slightly higher than for the earlier group. Using some statistical analysis, the experimenters say that there was a negative effect on performance relative to time as you’d expect, but there was also a positive effect on performance relative to how important and significant the subject considered the test (presumably they try harder). Since the moderately-inconvenient subjects thought the task was more important their increased motivation compensated, or more than compensated, for the lateness of the task. Obviously low-inconvenience is better than high-inconvenience, but comparing low and moderate inconvenience may not be so straightforward.

Naturally all the standard caveats apply about the risks of generalizing from an experiment like this and applying it to a different field like RPG design, but I think it’s worthwhile to consider whether trying to minimize the “social footprint” might risk throwing the baby out with the bathwater. When there’s a little resistance to making a game happen the players are probably playing the game with a slightly different mindset compared to players who face no inconvenience, and that can easily have an impact on what techniques, systems, procedures, etc., will work well for those players. This isn’t to say that designers shouldn’t consider the importance of right-sizing the “social footprint” of their games, just to caution that a simplistic “less is better” strategy may not be optimal.

Incentives to attract playtesters: “Just Asking” still the best?

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Most aspiring tabletop game designers face a challenge in finding external playtesters for their games. While external playtesting is essential for confirming that that the game works as desired when the designer isn’t there to facilitate play, groups willing to playtest an unknown designer’s game are few and far between. Naturally this leads to pondering whether there are incentives that could convince people to playtest. In our society the “go to” incentive is usually money, but most aspiring designers intuitively grasp that they can’t realistically pay a playtester what they’re worth without taking their project deeply into the red.

Putting a decision in the “money” domain often changes the way people look at it. Consider this hypothetical: My car gets a flat tire and I say “Hey, will you help me change my tire?”. Most people, as long as they’re capable of doing so, would instinctively say yes. Now consider what would happen if I said “Hey, will you help me change my tire for fifty cents?”. Most people would instinctively say no, because their time and energy is worth far more than fifty cents. Offering a small financial inducement usually doesn’t stack on top of people’s natural altruism, it shifts the domain of consideration from a social context to a monetary one.

Of course, money isn’t the only possible inducement. Sometimes people reciprocate in the social domain by exchanging gifts such as bottles of wine, restaurant meals, or (perhaps more realistically for aspiring game designers) PDFs of games or game supplements. Although it’s common to offer the retail-version PDF of the final game to playtesters I’ve always had a philosophical hangup with that: since playtesting may reveal that the game has fundamental flaws that prevent it from ever being productized, and since playtesting may reveal that a particular group doesn’t enjoy playing the game, you can’t guarantee that you’ll have a final retail-version of the PDF that will be valuable to the playtesters, so does it make sense to use that as an incentive? I’ve long hypothesized that it might be easier for a designer to attract playtesters to a second game, since you could use free versions of the first as an inducement. But I just read a behavioral economics research paper that casts some doubt on that idea.

In the experiments they asked subjects to do a task in exchange for various incentives and measured how much effort they put in. In addition to testing with small and medium monetary rewards they also measured how people responded when they were offered small or medium gifts of candy, and additionally measured how they responded when the gifts were described with a clear monetary value, e.g. a “fifty-cent chocolate bar” or a “five-dollar box of chocolates”:

MonetizedCandy

As you can see in the charts, low payment produced lower effort than no payment (the control condition) or nonmonetary gifts. But the same gifts had nearly the same effect as the equivalent amount of cash when their monetary value was clearly understood by the person doing the task. This leads me to suspect that giving people a free PDF which has an easily-ascertained retail price could be just as demotivating as offering a small amount of cash in exchange for playtesting.

It does suggest that offering other things that don’t have an obvious price, such as tchotchkes or perhaps game content that isn’t available in any other way, can be effective. An idea I’ve pondered is generating supplemental content for a popular game, such as a limited-edition playbook for Apocalypse World or a character class for Dungeon World, that could be used as an inducement to playtest a new standalone game. I haven’t pursued that myself since I don’t feel I have enough play experience with those games to create quality content for them, and the new content itself would need playtesting. Also, I suspect that if I tried to engage with those games with a mercenary “means to an end” mindset I wouldn’t enjoy playing them as much, and enjoying games isn’t something I’ve been willing to risk.

If I did have a valuable inducement to offer to playtesters I think it might also help bridge another of my hangups, which is that the “beggars can’t be choosers” effect makes me reluctant to push for playtesters to playtest well since I have trouble getting people to playtest at all. While I’m not usually a fan of purely transactional interactions, it does make it less socially demanding to set expectations when both parties are clearly and concretely benefiting from the interaction.

 

Game Satisfaction and the Supplement Model

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I recently read a short psychology paper that illustrates a point that tabletop game designers may want to consider. The experiment had two premises: First, that when we have a greater number of choices we’re more likely to find one that’s a good match to our preferences, so having more choices should make an individual more satisfied. Second, that when we have a lot of choices it has also several negative effects, such as requiring a lot of cognitive work to do the comparisons, highlighting the downsides of comparative choices by giving a basis for comparison, etc., so having more choices can make an individual less satisfied. The experimenters ran a trial asking people to evaluate a set of pens to identify the best one and then offered to let the person buy the pen they liked best. Here is a graph of their results:

ParametricPens

 

As hypothesized, the two forces seemed to combine to create a “sweet spot” at which more people were satisfied enough to actually pay for a pen when they found one they liked in a some-choices-but-not-too-many situation.

Obviously not everything is a pen, different people may respond more or less strongly to competing psychological forces, and we should always be cautious about generalizing too much from a psychology experiment, but it doesn’t seem unreasonable to me that the inverted-U-shaped curve in this experiment may be a common phenomenon. If so, it points to a danger of an RPG supplement model that causes a game to include a monotonically increasing set of mechanical options like character classes, feats, powers, etc., because that might move the game out of a sweet spot as the number of choices accumulate. For example, issuing a series of “limited edition playbooks” for an Apocalypse World-style game might increase the odds that an individual player will find the perfect one for them, but it might also result in players agonizing over their choice of playbooks when play begins and make them less satisfied during play as they lament what might have been if they had gone with one of their rejected choices. I’m not trying to criticize the game design or marketing choices of any particular game here, merely pointing out that there may be easily overlooked downsides to embracing only a “more choices is better” strategy.

 

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