For a decade I collected original hardware. Boxed consoles, complete-in-box games, the works. The shelves looked incredible. Then I did the unthinkable for someone in this hobby: I sold most of it, and I’ve never been happier.
What collecting actually became
At some point the collecting stopped being about playing and started being about having. I was curating a museum I rarely visited, paying climbing prices for boxes I’d never open, and spending more time managing the collection than enjoying it. The hobby had quietly inverted.
The breaking realisation
I added up how often I actually played my pristine originals versus how often I admired them. The ratio was embarrassing. Meanwhile, the games themselves — the part that mattered — were available, instantly, on a handheld that fit in my pocket.
I was preserving the packaging and neglecting the point.
What I kept
A few sentimental pieces. The console I had as a kid, a couple of games that mean something. Not as an investment, just as objects with memories attached. Everything else went to people who’ll display it lovingly.
What replaced it
An R38S and a curated card. I play more now — the friction is gone, the library is right there, and I’m not afraid of devaluing a sealed box by enjoying it. The games returned to being games.
The honest caveat
Collecting is a legitimate, joyful hobby for plenty of people, and I’m not here to shame it. But if your shelves have started to feel like an obligation, ask the uncomfortable question I did: when did you last actually play any of it? For me, the answer set me free.