In playing two online games, Blackjack (on the Washington Post’s platform) and Hay Day (a mobile farming simulator by Supercell), I explored how randomness and reward mechanisms can encourage compulsive play behaviors, and how different audiences and designs influence the risk of addiction.
Blackjack is a fast-paced card game that requires minimal skill to begin playing, unlike other complex strategy poker games, like Texas Hold’em. This low barrier to entry makes it very accessible, and potentially risky, as a gateway into gambling. On the surface, the Washington Post version of the game felt harmless. There was no real money involved, which allowed my partner and me to play casually and take more risks than we would in a real in-person game. The lack of financial stakes definitely dulled the psychological structures that mirror real gambling behavior.
However, even without real money involved, my friend I was playing alongside quickly fell into a loss-recovery mindset: after losing a big bet, he began betting conservatively in an attempt to “win back” what he had lost. This emotional response is definitely a widespread response that contributes to reinforcing gambling behavior. On the other hand, I was more focused on beating the dealer than managing bets, revealing how even without real rewards, the game’s competitive frame can drive compulsive patterns. In both cases, we witnessed that wins that occur unpredictably are particularly effective at fostering the repeat behavior, a game mechanic that is used in slot machines and online gambling apps.
While HayDay presents as a charming and harmless farming game, its mechanics manipulate time, scarcity, and reward probability in ways that mimic gambling. The early levels are generous; I received everything I needed for free, making my farming progress very quick. In order to “onboard” me and my farm, I was taught not how to play the game but how to spend money to play the game. Then, by the third level, the game introduces delays and asks players to spend premium currency (gems and coins) to speed things up. This creates the perfect transformation point designed to convert player patience, or lack thereof, into profit for the developer. When this randomness intersects with having to wait hours to complete tasks unless you pay, it creates a loop: players either accept the delay, log in compulsively to check progress, or spend money to speed it up. This design primes players, especially younger ones, for habitual play and microtransactions that add up in ways they don’t track.
The use of chance in games is not inherently unethical. When used transparently and in service of fun, it can create tension, surprise, and replayability. However, it becomes morally impermissible when chance is tied to real-world loss of time, money, or emotional well-being, especially when this loss is obscured or misrepresented. In comparing Blackjack and Hay Day, we see two ends of a spectrum. Blackjack offers a nearly pure chance-based experience, historically linked to real-money gambling, while Hay Day obscures its monetization strategy, embedding chance inside cute aesthetics. Both show how the mechanics of chance can create powerful feedback loops that encourage repetitive and compulsive behavior. The danger is not in the use of chance itself, but in how that chance is framed, monetized, and hidden from view.
