I pride myself on being able to game on a budget and have never been ashamed of being a digital-only gamer. I got my Xbox Series S on sale for $200 in 2023. It weighs less than the clunky gaming laptop it's tucked behind. The newest member of my desktop crew is a PC monitor for a PC tower I do not own, hooked up instead to my Series S. It, too, cost far more than the console, despite having purchased it as a cheaper alternative to a 4k TV. Above my glorious setup, action figures from all walks of video game life – from Cyberpunk 2077's Johnny Silverhand (accompanied by a tiny Hot Wheels Porsche), Sheva from Resident Evil 5, and two different Zelda amiibos – stand sentry on a shelf; watching all, seeing nothing.
There's nary a disk drive in sight. It's never bothered me, but it does mean that the only gaming collectibles I keep track of these days are statues or figurines. I find ways of indulging myself without breaking the bank. That is, until February 2026's Nintendo Direct showcase revealed a new amiibo line that made me question myself.
Cough it up
Gazing upon the smooth, near featureless amiibo likeness of my beloved Leon Kennedy, a Resident Evil Requiem co-star in Capcom's upcoming horror game, a sense of relief washed over me. Amiibos? Cool! I can afford those without remortgaging the house I do not own, I remember thinking.
It sounds like a strange purchase for someone who doesn't own a Switch 2. Hell, I barely touch my Switch 1, purchased off my friend for $150 when he picked up an OLED model last year. And yet I am overcome with a deep, clawing yearning whenever I think about the Requiem amiibos. I need those hideous lumps of painted plastic like I thought I needed the official Resi 9 statues of Leon and Grace – before the $300 / £299 apiece price tag was revealed on JustGeek.
It got me reflecting on the sad fact that I really do rely on things like statuettes, figurines, and stickers as totems of sorts. These physical reminders stand in for the reams of CD-ROMs I’d collected for our desktop computer as a child, arranged alphabetically beside the wheezing 1990s beast in a way I'd hoped was impressive.
Collectible figures are to modern digital console owners what CDs were to '90s kids: proof. Badges of honor. Tangible reminders I can save up for, hold in my hands, and display to proudly proclaim that, hey, I play video games! to anyone who somehow finds themselves in my house without knowing what I do for a living.
The PS2 sitting in the other room beside a stack of disc books speaks to a different time. Every now and then I still add to the collection – a copy of Resident Evil: Code Veronica, for example, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Chaos Bleeds in its original packaging, insert included. But alas, I cannot do the same with many modern games, since my platforms-of-course render me diskless. The only exception to that is how I still try and pick up physical copies of the best Switch games, if I'm going to bother getting them at all. But it's by far my least-used console with the slimmest library of all… which is why I have yet to cave to the Switch 2 FOMO.
Don't hate the player
Everything is better in smaller, thinner packages, we're told, but also that dedication to niche interests means taking up space...
Digital-only gaming does have its perks. Steam games tend to cost $10 / £10 less than their Xbox or PS5 counterparts, which, in an age where GTA 6 might cost $80, feels all the more valuable. It also means I don't need to worry about where to put all those boxes, or about getting them scratched, or losing them full stop. But it's also taken something important from me: the freedom to reliably take part in comforting rituals.
I don't need to wait for a pre-ordered disk copy of Resident Evil Requiem, but I also miss out on the anticipation and joy of holding the game in-hand. I have extra space on my desk thanks to the Series S' slightness, but would a Series X really take up that much more? Have I become so mired in the boring minutiae of adulthood – money, taxes, rejecting overconsumption in the name of practical utility – that I'm part of the reason physical media is becoming somewhat elitist?
It's hard not to see it that way. Physical media, be it disks or $600-dollar hunks of plastic, takes space and money to acquire. More of each than it would to opt for digital-only consoles or twee, poorly executed amiibos instead, anyway. Gaming has become an incredibly expensive hobby, and a small, hateful part of me understands why some might judge my commitment to it by how much I’m willing to spend on the gear itself.
Except that understanding doesn’t actually come from me. Rather, it echoes a foundational belief of the modern age. Consumerism is baked into every part of our existence in 2026 — and with it, warring dichotomies and mixed messaging.
Everything is better in smaller, thinner packages, we're told, from human bodies to smartphones, but real dedication to niche, cool interests means taking up space and investing in your image. The proof is in which bits of tech are seen as superior versus those deemed the lesser choice. When did it become a bad thing to want to save space and money? And why do I feel guilty or less-than when I'm reminded just how many cost-cutting corners I've taken to get here without bankrupting myself?
Leon Kennedy in his statue versus amiibo forms is that internal argument made manifest. Whether I want them to say I have a little piece of Resident Evil 9 or I want them for the sake of materialism, I still want those damn amiibos. They might be the budget option, but it's still a small luxury I can permit. I will gaslight myself into thinking they're just as cool as a full size statue, and anticipate the immediate download that'll kick in on February 27 as soon as I boot up my Xbox while everyone else sits by the door, awaiting the deliveryman. But I also won't be thinking about those people at all. We're all playing the same game in a way we feel comfortable playing it, and nobody should feel lesser in doing so.
My PS2 disks are a reminder that it's all about perspective. After all: someday, when console contact lenses or something equally dystopian are the new normal, I might look back at how owning a physical console at all was a massive luxury. What's a CD-ROM again?
Building a new Nintendo collection? Here are all the Switch 2 amiibos we know of so far!
