How I Break My Worlds on Purpose

There’s something beautiful about a world that doesn’t quite work.

I don’t mean bugs or lazy design — I mean the kind of intentional “brokenness” that makes a game feel more human. The stairs that creak weirdly. The item that’s wildly overpowered but only when used incorrectly. The NPC that repeats themselves in a way that makes you wonder if they’re okay.

I design these on purpose.

Sometimes I’ll add a mechanic that contradicts everything the player has learned — not to frustrate, but to remind them: this world is alive, and not everything is explainable. Sometimes I let a shortcut exist. Sometimes a rule is meant to be bent.

In stories, we call it texture. In design, it’s friction. In both, it’s what makes things memorable.

If a perfectly polished game is like a machine, I’m more interested in making clockwork creatures. They tick, they tock, they stutter. And they mean something.

Your Turn:

What’s a moment in a game where something “felt off” — but in a good way? A glitch you loved? A strange rule?
👇 Drop it in the comments.