«Momentum» — is an original column from my Telegram channel. What you’re reading is an English translation of the piece I first published in Russian, so some turns of phrase may feel a little rough. Btw, it is just a way of structuring my own thoughts aloud, putting them in order and searching for a live dialogue. Enjoy the read! ;)
“What-How-Why” or “Why-How-What”?
Anyone who has ever tried to design a game knows the sacred trio of questions: “What?”, “How?”, and “Why?”. In theory, it’s simple: first, define the goal (Why?), then work out the mechanics (How?), and finally wrap them in content (What?). That’s in a perfect world. In reality, on the battlefield, our poor question “Why?” is the most cowardly soldier. It’s the first to flee under the siren call of a “cool idea,” hypnotized by the final image in the team’s imagination, or crushed by that inner dreamer who drowns out the voice of reason. Add deadlines, team dynamics, or, conversely, the echo chamber of solo development — and there it is, our fundamental question, collecting dust on the farthest shelf, right next to those first napkin sketches.
I’ve always known this. But knowing it is one thing — running head-first into it is another. Recently, while working on a game with my team, our stack of interconnected mechanics finally brought us to the card system — a core part of the gameplay. And I was, to put it mildly… Surprised!
Not because I had imagined it “wrong.” Far from it. The surprise came when I went looking for references, trying to understand: “How do people even build card systems?” And then I drowned in a swamp of “what” and “how.” Dozens of articles dissected individual card balance. Hundreds of videos showed how to make flashy effects. But nowhere (well, almost nowhere) did I find a clear answer to the main question:
«How do you design a card system for your own game? What questions should i ask myself?»
Left alone with a pantheon of industry icons — from Hearthstone and Slay the Spire to good old poker and Durak — I realized something. The complexity of these brilliant systems doesn’t rest on hundreds of rules but on a single question, the one that takes us back to the beginning. It’s both a framework and an answer, and the harshest filter of all.
So no, I’m not about to reinvent the wheel. I’m just here to remind you why the question “Why?” should hang in the most visible spot on your desk. Because it became my mantra. I started asking it of myself, my team, and every little detail in the project — and for good reason! I’d catch myself pacing the room, muttering something like:
«Why… why… why did I even come up with this?…»
From the outside, it probably looked like a designer driven mad by his own question! But oddly enough, this little philosophical torture was the best thing that happened to the project. By forcing myself to answer endless “Whys,” I started cutting the fat, strengthening what mattered, and deliberately building design around clear goals. In essence, I gave the project an exam in meaning — and while it frayed my nerves, the end result was far more cohesive and intentional than I could have hoped. Yes, a simple question nearly drove me insane, but it made our game (and me as a designer) better. And this piece — well, it’s the aftermath of that sprint: a revelation and a small framework for my fellow Game Designers!
Why is the question “why” the most important in design?
The world of game design is full of important questions:
«What are we creating?»
Or
«How will it work?»
Or
«Who is our user?»
You get the idea! All of them matter; they’re all part of the process. Yet standing apart from the rest, like a granite monolith, must be the question “Why?” It is fundamental. It is the root. Why? Because it uncovers the meaning and purpose of everything we do. If a designer can’t clearly, without hesitation, explain why a particular card, system, mechanic, or feature is needed, chances are it isn’t needed at all — neither by the designer nor, more importantly, by the player.
There’s a famous phrase coined in the early 20th century by architect Louis Sullivan:
«Form follows function»
Simply put, design (form) should arise from its purpose (function), not from arbitrary aesthetic whims. Every detail must have intent — utilitarian, emotional, systemic, but consciously chosen. The entire 20th century carved this principle into stone — from architecture and industrial design to UX/UI. Naturally, it holds just as true for game design. No game mechanism should exist because “other games do it,” but because it answers a specific design need, conveys a particular idea.
When a designer trains his mind to ask “Why?” automatically, he builds a presumption of purpose into his work (in other words, you assume everything has a reason, not just “I felt like it, leave me alone”). Such a designer can justify any decision: Why does this card cost 3 mana instead of 4? Why does that enemy use this attack pattern? Why is this gameplay loop structured this way and not another? It’s more than a self-check tool. It’s armor — armor that protects both you and your project.
Sooner or later someone — a producer, a lead developer, a teammate, or, worst of all, a sharp-eyed player on a forum — will inevitably ask:
«So why did you do it that way?»
That’s the stress test. If the answer is an uncertain mumble or, heaven forbid, “uh… I thought it looked cool”, trust in the design — and its author — collapses. (Sure, there are exceptions; no one accuses the creator of ULTRAKILL of starting purely from “what’s the coolest thing,” but even there the question “why” mattered — don’t let appearances fool you.) Yet when you have a clear, hard-won “why”, even the most contentious decision feels measured, logical, and justified.
This works on the macro level, too. In his “Golden Circle” concept, Simon Sinek (see “Simon Sinek — The Golden Circle — TEDTalks 2009”) convincingly shows that the most successful companies and leaders build everything around answering “Why?” Of course, we’re not selling iPhones here, but the principle is the same: players instinctively gravitate toward games where they can feel intent, purpose, an author’s vision. If a design is stitched together without a clear sense of why, players detect it instantly. A game can look pretty and even function, but it won’t resonate. It’s hollow — because the creator never defined its essence.
So the question “why?” is the very foundation beneath the building — if not of your entire game, then at least of every system or mechanic. Without it you can slap something together, throw in lovely assets and “cool” features. But that structure won’t stand for long; it collapses under its own weight of meaninglessness. With a solid foundation of answers to “why,” even the boldest, riskiest design decisions gain granite-like stability — because they rest on tested purpose.
Practices that help you find your “why”.
All right, we’ve established that thinking about WHY is essential. But how do you put this philosophy into practice? Understanding the value of the question is one thing; learning to apply it constantly — without falling into endless self-analysis — is another. Below are a few techniques that help me stay focused on the core, especially when dealing with complex, multi-layered systems.
1. The “5 Whys” Method (or “Switch On Your Inner Child”).
You’ve probably heard, at least in passing, about the Japanese “Five Whys” technique (here’s a quick video: «Clarifying the “5 Whys” Problem-Solving Method»). The idea is simple: when you face a problem or a design choice, ask “Why?” repeatedly until you reach the root cause, the true goal — or hit a dead end. For me, it works like a scalpel, cutting through superficial answers:
«Why do we need this card?» ➔ «To deal damage» ➔ «Why is it important for the player to deal damage this way?» ➔ «So they have a tool against swarms of weak units» ➔ «And why do they need that tool?» ➔ «So a control strategy is viable, not just a cool idea»
See? At every step we discard the obvious and dig deeper. It doesn’t have to be exactly five steps; the key is not to stop at the first answer. Sometimes you have to channel that persistent child inside who keeps asking “Why?” to grasp the true nature of things.
2. User stories as a stress test.
Another practical tool: write user stories for new features (yes, another video: «Crafting Effective Agile User Stories: A Guide»). The classic Agile format is:
«As , I wan so that »
That last part is our “why,” framed from the player’s perspective.
«As a player, I want cards with a Stun effect so that I can temporarily disable key threats and create an opening for my combo»
If I can meaningfully complete the phrase after “so that” — great, the goal is clear. If I stumble and can’t explain why the player needs the hassle, that’s a red flag. This approach forces you to think from player needs and motivation, not from “the feature is cool!”
3. “Less is more,” but about meaningfulness.
Many of us love to quote principles like K.I.S.S. (Keep It Simple, Stupid) or Dieter Rams’ dictum:
«Good design is as little design as possible»
In the context of complex systems (like my card game) this can sound like a call to oversimplify. In game design, though, I’d rephrase it:
«Good game design isn’t fewer features, but more connections between them»
The point isn’t to remove everything extra; it’s to ensure that every new element (card, ability, rule) doesn’t just land in the pile but amplifies the depth of existing systems. Before adding a new card, I circle back to “Why?” — Does it create new synergy? Counter a popular strategy? Unlock an entirely new deck archetype? If yes, it’s needed. If it’s merely “another strong card” duplicating an existing function, it has no place in the game. This isn’t minimalism; it’s focused complexity with purpose.
4. “Just talk!”.
I almost skipped this point — but, ironically, was talked out of skipping it. There’s an obvious problem: sooner or later your eye becomes desensitized. A creator can fall in love with his own baby, get lost in the woods, and lose critical perspective. The question “why” is a powerful antidote, but sometimes you ask it half-heartedly, afraid of the unpleasant answer.
Two tricks help me. First, take the judgment outside (talk!). I explain my decision — and its “why” — to a colleague or friend. Even saying it aloud can expose weak spots: if I don’t believe my own explanation, that’s a signal. If the listener starts firing extra “whys,” even better — I get an express session of Five Whys from the outside.
Second, user testing (or at least feedback from friends not immersed in the project). I let them play the prototype or review the design and ask them everything as peers. If real users don’t understand why something exists, maybe it truly shouldn’t. Just remember that QA is its own science — you’ll need many additional skills there…
5. The project’s big “WHY” as a compass.
And finally, the most crucial point: beyond the “why” of a specific card, item, or mechanic (yes, whatever it is!) there’s always the overarching goal of the entire game. In the whirlwind of iterations, it’s easy to forget it. My project’s “Big WHY” at this stage looks roughly like this:
«Create a tense, cerebral yet fun competitive experience where victory depends on the player’s ability to adapt and outplay the opponent, not on grind or luck» (Still greatly simplified!)
When I keep that crystal-clear, every small decision faces a test: Does this new card support “intellectual confrontation”? Does it add too much randomness, killing strategy? This global compass mercilessly cuts away anything that doesn’t lead to the main goal. As Friedrich Nietzsche once wrote:
«He who has a why to live can bear almost any how»
Paraphrased for design: if a project (or its designer) has a compelling “why,” tackling the “how” (finding solutions and overcoming implementation hurdles) becomes far easier. Understanding the purpose of your work boosts motivation, perseverance, and flexibility — qualities that are never in excess.
Conclusion: The Game Designer and the Player
Yes, I fully realize that by saying all this I didn’t reinvent the wheel. For many experienced game designers, nothing here sounds revolutionary or even new — and that was never my goal.
My aim is much humbler: simply to remind us of a fundamental truth that, amid daily grind, deadline pressure, and the sparkle of “cool” ideas, tends to gather dust. If this text makes even one designer or developer pause for a moment and ask themselves the honest, uncomfortable question “Why?”, improving their project by even a jot — then it was all worth it.
In the end, were it not for other people’s articles, research, forums, and scattered thoughts I stumbled upon while crafting the “skeleton” of my own card system, this piece wouldn’t exist. We all stand on the shoulders of giants, and sometimes our task is merely to shine a light on ideas that deserve attention here and now.
Whenever I sit down to write, I try to bring something from outside into our world of game design — ideas from architecture, philosophy, business. Not to appear smarter, but because I believe game design, as a discipline, desperately needs fresh air, new thoughts, and open discussion of fundamental questions. This text isn’t only about card games or complex systems; it’s another invitation to dialogue. A dialogue about how we think when we create games.
Returning to the question in the title — how does Game Design decide what goes on this card? Nothing less than an answer. An answer found in an ongoing dialogue with the game itself. I never decide in a vacuum. I look at the system I’ve built and ask, “What do you need right now?” I look at the intended player experience and ask, “Which tool will make your choices more interesting?” I look at the project’s main goal and ask, “What brings us closer to it?” What appears on the map is the result of that dialogue.
The player doesn’t read my design doc. They don’t see my mind maps. But they sense falsehood with surprising accuracy — when an element exists without purpose, when a mechanic is added “just because.” It feels like an empty promise, a designer’s deceit. And every time my team and I painfully search for the answer to “why,” we’re really just trying to be honest with the player — honest in answering their unspoken question:
«Why should I spend my time on this?»
There is no greater professional bankruptcy than being caught in that lie.
And see you where the secrets are hidden → t.me/slepokNTe 👀
Top comments (0)