Your Role Has Been Made Redundant (But You Might Still Make Great Games)

Your seat at the table may be gone, but the kitchen’s still open.

Deep Dive by NotebookLM.

• Ryan Rigney’s post on “deprofessionalisation” hit a nerve, exposing how the games industry is shedding roles once seen as essential, triggering both fear and fierce debate.

• As studios downsize and bloated teams are cut, smaller teams and indie developers are stepping up, thriving on creative freedom and leaner production.

• The shift is messy but energising, forcing the industry to re-examine what truly matters: craft, care, and collaboration over titles and process.

So, Ryan K. Rigney Lit a Fire

It started with a tweet. Or maybe a Substack post. Either way, Rigney kicked off a conversation the games industry wasn’t quite ready for.

He used the word deprofessionalisation, and boom, off it went. Some people nodded along. Others rolled their eyes so hard they nearly sprained something. The takes came in hot.

His post painted a messy, uncomfortable picture. Fewer jobs. Leaner teams. A shrinking definition of what counts as "essential". It wasn't doomposting, but it wasn’t exactly cheerful either.

What made it land and sting was that it felt true. Not entirely. Not for everyone. But true enough to get under your skin. Especially if you’ve ever had to explain why your job matters right before it gets cut.

The response? Mixed. Angry. Hopeful. Exhausted. Some saw it as a warning. Others saw an opportunity. A few saw both and couldn’t decide whether to panic or start prototyping.

This post isn’t here to settle the debate. It’s here to dig into it. To poke at the fear, the frustration, and the weird bit of optimism hiding underneath.

Whether you love the word or hate it, the shift is happening. And we’re all trying to figure out what to do with it.

Professionalism: A Blessing and a Bloat?

Once upon a time, making games was chaotic. A few mates in a room, no titles, no pipelines, just vibes and ambition. Then the industry grew up.

With growth came structure. Studios scaled. Roles multiplied. Suddenly, there was someone for everything: producers, technical artists, brand managers, UX designers, build and release engineers, and suddenly, every problem had a specialist and a Slack channel.

On paper, this was a win. Specialisation meant expertise. Dedicated QA caught more bugs. Marketing knew how to package a game for launch. Writers get to write full-time. It started to feel like a proper profession.

But with professionalism came the bloat. More layers, more process, more people who weren’t making the game but had strong opinions about it. Some necessary, some… less so.

The big studios became machines. Polished, yes. Efficient, sometimes. But also slow, top-heavy, and increasingly risk-averse.

And then, quietly, things started breaking. Layoffs hit roles seen as non-essential. Not always fairly. The axe often landed on those who held things together behind the scenes.

Rigney warned that jobs “that seem replaceable to management (even if they’re not)” would be first to go. He wasn’t wrong. Marketing teams, community managers, writers, artists, producers... all trimmed, all called overhead.

That’s the hard bit. Professionalism gave people careers. It brought legitimacy. And now, it’s starting to look like a luxury some studios think they can’t afford.

Or worse, don’t value.

Enter the Panic: Are We Just Watching It All Fall Apart?

Here’s where things get uncomfortable.

The term deprofessionalisation freaks people out. And honestly, fair enough. It sounds like a slow-motion collapse. Like the rug’s being pulled out from under thousands of careers.

For some, it already has been. Roles that once felt safe are now marked as optional. Entire teams cut loose. Specialists replaced with generalists. Or worse, with “we’ll figure it out later”.

Writers, audio folks, and artists are especially vulnerable. Not because they aren’t vital, but because they’re often misunderstood. They get lumped in as asset creators and stuff factories. Tick the box, move on.

The nuance of their work gets lost. And when polish is treated as a nice-to-have rather than part of the craft, quality takes a hit. One commenter put it bluntly: “Polish barely fucking matters anymore.”

Another described it as “an acceleration into shit”. Cheap beats good. Fast beats thoughtful. And no one’s got the time or budget to argue otherwise.

Outside of games, the same trend plays out. In medicine, law, academia, deprofessionalisation usually means less autonomy, more oversight, and a hollowing out of purpose. You still do the work, but you don’t own it anymore.

Some say we’re heading there too. Fewer decisions are made by people who know games. More driven by finance, metrics, and fear. That’s what’s chilling.

It’s not just about losing jobs. It’s about losing what made those jobs meaningful in the first place.

But Also… Isn’t This Kinda What Some People Wanted?

Here’s the twist.

While some mourn the loss of structure, others crack open a beer and say, “Finally.”

The rise of small teams and solo developers isn’t just a response to layoffs. It’s a reaction to years of corporate sludge. Endless meetings. Bloated teams. Projects that drag on for years and still miss the mark.

Indie devs aren’t just surviving. They’re thriving. Steam’s full of weird, scrappy, brilliant games made by two or three people who just wanted to make something fun. And players are buying them.

Unlike other creative industries, games still have a commercially viable indie scene. You can go small and still make a living, if you’re good, lucky, or both.

Some call this whole shift long overdue. A market correction. Less money is wasted on middle management, and more is in the hands of actual creators.

The big studios? Seen by many as bloated and visionless. Too cautious. Too corporate. People are tired of “prestige” games that feel more like tech demos than entertainment.

In contrast, indies are scrappy, fast, and unapologetically weird. They take risks. They ship. They remind people what making games used to feel like.

So yes, the traditional structures are shaking. But not everyone sees that as a bad thing. For some, it’s the first time the industry feels exciting again in ages.

The Trouble with ‘Deprofessionalisation’

Right, let’s talk about the word itself. Deprofessionalisation. Bit of a mouthful. Bit of a mood killer.

It sounds more polite than “You’re not needed anymore.” And it rubs people the wrong way, especially indie devs who work ridiculous hours, wear ten hats, and still get called “not professionals”.

It also creates a false divide. Big studio: professional. Solo dev: hobbyist. That’s nonsense. Plenty of solo devs run tighter, more disciplined projects than teams ten times their size. I have witnessed huge teams burning millions a month running like a complete shit-show.

Worse, the term can erase the grey area. What about the folks at mid-sized studios? Or freelancers? Or people who left AAA because it broke them, but still take their craft seriously?

This isn’t a neat split between heroes and villains. It’s messier than that. There are brilliant people in big studios and absolute chaos merchants in small ones.

Then there’s the sneaky subtext. Deprofessionalisation often comes with decisions about who’s “essential”. Coders? Sure. Designers? Maybe. But community? QA? Narrative? Suddenly they’re “nice to have”.

That kind of thinking is dangerous. It chips away at collaboration. It narrows the definition of what it means to make a game. It turns a creative process into a production line.

And let’s be honest. It’s usually not the creatives making those calls. It’s finance. It’s ops. It’s someone with a spreadsheet who’s never shipped a game.

So yes, things are changing. But calling it deprofessionalisation might be missing the point. It’s not that we’re becoming less professional.

Some have decided that only a few roles are “real” work.

Opportunity in the Wreckage

Now, deep breath. It’s not all doom.

Yes, jobs are vanishing. Yes, the safety nets are wearing thin. But in the cracks, something new is growing. And it’s not nothing.

Plenty of folks see this shift as a reset. A painful one, sure, but maybe a necessary one. Less about burning everything down, more about clearing out the junk that stopped games from getting made.

Rigney calls it damage, but also says there’s “light shining through the cracks”. You can feel that in how people talk about their projects now. Small, weird, risky, and full of heart.

Indies aren’t just filling the space left behind. They’re changing the shape of the industry. They show that games don’t need massive teams or triple-A gloss to connect with players.

That’s exciting. That’s power shifting back to the people making the actual stuff. Not consultants. Not investors. Actual devs.

And maybe that’s the point. It’s not about losing professionalism. It’s about losing the bits that got in the way, the bloat, the box-ticking, the meetings that killed momentum.

People are making games again because they want to, not because a planning document said they had to.

That kind of creative freedom? It’s not a perk. It’s the point.

What Now? Embrace the Mess (But Stay Awake)

So, where does that leave us?

Somewhere in the middle, most likely. Half-panicked, half-hopeful. Watching things fall apart while trying to build something better simultaneously.

This shift isn’t tidy. It’s not fair, either. People are being squeezed out of careers they’ve worked hard to build. Whole disciplines are getting sidelined. That deserves more than a shrug.

At the same time, there’s real energy coming from the margins. Smaller teams. Faster cycles. Less fluff. More room for weird ideas and voices that don’t fit the corporate mould.

But if we’re not careful, we could lose something valuable. Not just jobs, but standards, mentorship, and quality. Structure isn’t always the enemy. Sometimes it’s the thing that helps people grow.

The trick is to take what worked, the craft, the care, the collaboration, and bin what didn’t. The bloat. The burnout. The culture of meetings over making.

This isn’t about picking sides. It’s about keeping your eyes open. Supporting each other. Calling out rubbish when you see it. And not letting a trendy term justify bad decisions.

There’s no neat fix. Just a messy, ongoing shift. And if we’re lucky or stubborn, we might build something better out of it.

A Bit of a Shambles, but It’s Our Shambles

Let’s not pretend this is a clean break. It’s a bit of a mess. Roles disappearing, teams scrambling, whole studios rethinking what “essential” even means.

But that’s the industry right now. A slow-motion shake-up with no clear winner. And maybe that’s fine.

Because out of the rubble, there’s something real. Not perfect. Not polished. But real. People making games with whatever tools and energy they’ve got left. People carving their own path, outside the usual ladders and titles.

It’s scary, yes. But also kind of thrilling.

Maybe this is what growing up (again) looks like. Letting go of the old rules. Building new ones that actually serve the people doing the work. Fighting for roles that matter, not just the ones with the loudest defenders.

The term deprofessionalisation might stick. Or it might fade like every other awkward buzzword. Either way, the shift is happening.

And if this is the new normal, half-chaos, half-opportunity, we might as well own it.

A bit of a shambles, sure.

But it’s our shambles. And we’re still making games.

Final Thoughts: Keep Making, Keep Pushing

If there’s one thing the past few years have proved, it’s this: the people who care about games care.

Even as the structures wobble, the passion doesn’t. People are still showing up. Still building. Still finding ways to ship things that matter.

The industry might feel like it’s in flux, because it is. Titles mean less. Studios aren’t forever. And the old rules don’t guarantee much anymore.

But that doesn’t mean we throw in the towel.

It means we fight smarter. Support indies. Back specialists. Share knowledge. Push for environments where creativity isn’t crushed under process or profit.

Perhaps we should reconsider the notion that “professionalism” is what has made this industry great. It wasn’t the org charts or the shareholder decks. It was the people who gave a damn.

So, whether you’re running a studio or building something in your spare time, keep going.

Keep making. Keep pushing.

The future’s messy. But it’s still up for grabs.