Abstract
Problem: How has UX design evolved in the games industry, and is it taken seriously or treated as an afterthought?
Approach: Tim Cain traces the evolution of user experience design across his 40+ year career — from the 1980s when there was no concept of UI/UX, through the 1990s when "UI" emerged as a term, to the late 2000s when dedicated UX teams became standard.
Findings: UX has gone from a non-concept (just "part of making a game") to a specialized discipline with dedicated cross-functional teams. Good UX is invisible — nobody praises it, but bad UX tops every reviewer's complaint list. Focus groups are particularly valuable for testing interfaces.
Key insight: UX is a thankless job — when you do it well, nobody notices; when you do it poorly, it's the first thing everyone complains about. This makes proactive recognition of UX teams especially important.
The 1980s: No UI, No UX, No Name
In the early days of the game industry, there was no concept of UI or UX. There was just "making a game," and the interface was part of that. Everyone was a generalist — often you were the only programmer, so you built everything, including whatever input layer and screens the game needed. Nobody identified as a "UI programmer." You were just a programmer.
The 1990s: UI Emerges as a Concept
By the 90s, the term "UI" started being used, referring specifically to the screens players interact with — hotbars, inventory screens, popup menus. But there were still no dedicated UI people. Tim describes how on Rags to Riches, the producer would sketch interfaces on napkins at lunch or on realtor notepads left on his porch in Irvine. The approach was purely functional: "I guess we need an interface here — put a portrait, some text, and a done button. Center it." No thought was given to how it would feel to use.
Ad-Hoc Interface Design
Interface design happened organically. The programmer who'd code it would sit down with the designer who designed it, they'd talk for a while, eventually grab an artist ("hey, what's this going to look like?"), and if they were really thorough, a producer for time estimates. There was no upfront planning — you figured it out as you went.
The Late 2000s: Dedicated UX Teams
Around 2007–2008, Tim started hearing the term "UX" and pushed for dedicated UX teams. As design director at Carbine Studios (WildStar), he created a team of three — a programmer, an artist, and a designer — sitting together in the same room, working exclusively on UX.
Cross-Functional Seating Was Controversial
This was a concession from Carbine's standard practice where everyone sat with "their own kind" (designers with designers, programmers with programmers). But the results were transformative. The designer could turn to the programmer and ask "would this be hard?" — the programmer might suggest a small tweak that made implementation far easier. The artist was right there to discuss whether icons should be 2D textures or 3D objects. The iteration speed was dramatically faster than Tim expected.
UX Is More Than Interfaces
The UX team's scope went beyond screens and inputs. They considered sound effects, how long elements stayed on screen, color choices, and the overall experience. The key questions: Do these interface elements make sense? Are they easy to use? Are they easy to recognize and remember?
The Curse of Knowledge
Tim highlights a fundamental challenge: the team that builds an interface is in the worst position to evaluate it. When you've read the design doc and built the thing, you can't unsee your own knowledge. Something that seems obvious to the creator may baffle a new player.
The Power Attack Problem
A common example: the game teaches you a mechanic early on ("double-tap to power attack" or "hold both bumpers"). Fifteen minutes later, mid-combat, players forget. This is why modern games use contextual button prompts that appear at the right moment and gradually fade away as players learn. These solutions emerge when you recognize that your "obvious" design isn't obvious to everyone.
Focus Groups and UX
Tim has a love-hate relationship with focus groups, but considers them genuinely valuable for UX testing. You can recruit experienced gamers — even genre-specific ones — and watch how they interact with your interfaces. If general gamers struggle but RPG veterans don't, you have to ask: who is this game for? That answer shapes how you respond to the feedback.
The Thankless Nature of UX Work
Tim's most pointed observation: good UX is invisible. If you design a great interface, nobody mentions it. Players talk about combat, crafting, story — the game itself. But a bad interface? It tops every review, every complaint list. Players will enumerate exactly what's wrong: "the crafting screen doesn't highlight what I need," "the world doesn't show me what I'm looking for."
This makes UX a demanding job with very few vocal rewards. You rarely hear "great job" and frequently hear "this isn't good enough."
Recognizing Your UX Team
On The Outer Worlds, Tim made a point of regularly visiting the UX team to share feedback — both positive and negative — because he knew they rarely received recognition. When the game shipped and reviews didn't mention the interface, that silence was actually the highest compliment. But someone needed to say it out loud.
References
- Tim Cain. YouTube video. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=woOxKMxYoyI