The Oversaturation of the Board Game Market: How Lowering Barriers to Entry Flooded the Industry
Hey everyone, let's talk about what's happened to the board game world. What used to be a cozy corner of the hobby scene has turned into a packed, noisy marketplace where new games arrive faster than anyone can possibly play them. The main reason? The barriers that used to keep the category somewhat exclusive have almost completely disappeared. I'll walk through how we got to this point, why it's created such a flood, and what that means for players, designers, and the people trying to make a living in this space.
Not too long ago, getting a board game made and into people's hands was a serious undertaking. If you had an idea, your realistic options were limited. You could try to pitch it to one of the established publishers, which usually meant months (or years) of waiting, multiple rejections, and very little control over the final product. Or you could self-publish, but that required finding a manufacturer willing to do a small run, fronting thousands of dollars for printing and components, figuring out shipping logistics, and somehow getting the word out without much of a marketing budget. Those hurdles kept the number of new releases manageable and ensured that only the most determined (or well-connected) people made it through.
Then crowdfunding platforms, especially Kickstarter, changed everything. Starting around 2010–2012, designers realized they could skip the middleman entirely. Show a prototype, make a nice video, write an engaging campaign page, and ask the public to fund production. If enough people pledged, the game got made—and the backers essentially pre-purchased copies. No need to convince a publisher gatekeeper. No need to risk your entire savings on a giant print run that might sit unsold in a garage. The platform handled a lot of the financial risk and gave instant feedback on whether people actually wanted the game. That single shift opened the floodgates.
Several other developments made it even easier. Digital playtesting tools let designers run hundreds of games online with strangers before spending a dime on prototypes. Affordable graphic design software and freelance artists (often found on sites like Fiverr or DeviantArt) meant you no longer needed a big studio budget for artwork. Overseas factories dropped minimum order quantities for many components, and print-on-demand options popped up for smaller runs. Social media gave every creator a free megaphone—Instagram reels, TikTok unboxings, and Twitter threads could build hype overnight without spending on ads.
The result was predictable: an absolute explosion of new games. Every year brings thousands more titles, many of them re-skinning the same handful of mechanics with a fresh theme—another medieval worker-placement game, another zombie deck-builder, another asymmetric sci-fi area-control title. The sheer volume is staggering. BoardGameGeek's database keeps growing by the day, and scrolling through the "New Releases" section feels like drinking from a firehose.
This flood has created real oversaturation. Most gamers have more unplayed games on their shelves than they'll ever get to. When a new hotness drops, it has to compete against hundreds of other recent releases, not to mention the classics people keep returning to. Many players reach a point of decision fatigue and simply stop buying new games altogether. They stick with what they already own or only grab the occasional lightweight party title that won't take up much space or brainpower.
For publishers and designers, the pressure is intense. To stand out in the crowd you either need to go big (lavish production values, tons of miniatures, huge boxes) or go extremely niche. But big productions are expensive and risky, and niche games appeal to smaller audiences. A lot of projects end up somewhere in the awkward middle—decent but forgettable—and struggle to recoup costs. Crowdfunding backers have grown more cautious after seeing too many delayed deliveries, broken promises, or games that simply weren't as fun as the campaign video suggested. Trust has taken a hit.
The industry has also seen a noticeable shift toward shorter, simpler, cheaper games. Quick-play titles that fit on a small table and teach in ten minutes are gaining traction because they're easier to get to the table and less intimidating for casual players. Those big, sprawling experiences with twenty different token types and three rulebooks are starting to feel like a harder sell.
It's not all bad news. The lowered barriers have brought incredible variety and let voices that never would have been heard under the old system get their games made. Creative, weird, personal projects now exist that big publishers would never have touched. But the sheer quantity has diluted attention. Good games get buried under mediocre ones. New designers have a harder time breaking through because the noise level is so high.
We're probably heading toward some kind of correction. The easiest-to-make, lowest-effort games may start to fade as players become pickier and wallets tighten. The designers and publishers who focus on polish, originality, replayability, and actually delivering what they promise will likely come out stronger. The rest… well, the market may quietly forget about them.
Have you hit the wall yet? Do you still back every interesting-looking Kickstarter, or have you started being way more selective? How has the flood changed your game nights? I'd love to hear your take in the comments. Until next time, happy gaming.
