What Does "Indie" Even Mean Anymore?

The word “indie” has always carried a certain charm in the video game industry, conjuring images of scrappy teams or even lone developers pouring their hearts into a project that might otherwise never see the light of day in a corporate environment. But in recent years, as the industry has evolved, so has the meaning of the term “indie.” These days, “indie” is as much a marketing tag as it is a descriptor, and depending on who you ask, it can mean wildly different things. Is it about independence from corporate backing? A certain creative philosophy? Or is it just shorthand for “games that are a little weird and artsy”?

One thing that’s become increasingly clear is that many studios that self-identify as “indie” today are anything but small-scale. A new term, “Triple-I” (III), has emerged to describe a growing class of large independent studios that are independent in the sense that they’re not owned by a publisher, but still have substantial funding and teams numbering in the dozens or even hundreds. Supergiant Games (Hades), Moon Studios (Ori and the Blind Forest), and even Ninja Theory (pre-Microsoft) all fall into this category. These studios have the resources to deliver polished, high-production-value experiences that rival—and sometimes surpass—what you might see from mid-tier AA developers. Yet they still wear the “indie” badge, which can muddy the waters for players trying to distinguish between what’s truly “independent” and what just happens to lack a big-name publisher.

Then there’s the “indie” tag on platforms like Steam, which can be wildly misleading. Slap the label on a game and it immediately signals something to the player: this is an “artsy” or “risky” title, a product of passion over profits. But more often than not, that tag is less about the circumstances of a game’s development and more about its tone, aesthetics, or marketing. Some games that carry the “indie” label had massive budgets and partnerships with high-profile publishers for distribution and marketing (No Man’s Sky and Tunic come to mind). At the same time, there are truly independent developers—the solo devs and teams of two or three—whose work gets lost in the shuffle because their games don’t fit the stylized mold of what players think an “indie” game should look like.

This brings us to a fundamental question: what should “indie” mean? Does it refer to financial independence—games made without corporate backing—or is it more about creative philosophy? The truth is, it’s both, and that duality is part of what makes the term so hard to pin down. A studio like Supergiant is technically independent, but it operates with a level of resources and polish that feels closer to AA than what most think of as indie. On the other end of the spectrum, you have developers like the one-person team behind Undertale or Stardew Valley, who rely on grit and ingenuity to bring their ideas to life. Both are “indie,” but their journeys and constraints couldn’t be more different.

It doesn’t help that the current state of AAA gaming has widened the gap between indie and mainstream even further. Major publishers have grown increasingly risk-averse, leaning into tried-and-true formulas to maximize profits. The result? A slew of bloated, derivative games that play it so safe they’re forgettable. Take Starfield, for example. Despite its massive budget and the expectations that come with Bethesda’s pedigree, the game ultimately felt like a collection of predictable design choices cobbled together to meet mainstream appeal. While it had moments of grandeur, many criticized it for lacking the innovation or risk-taking that could have made it truly memorable. Instead, Starfield came off as a product of excessive focus testing, catering to a broad audience without committing to bold, defining ideas. The relegation of creative storytelling to the indie space does a disservice to the entire industry. If the big players aren’t willing to take risks, it places an unfair burden on small developers to carry the torch of innovation and originality. And that’s a lot to ask of a solo developer with barely enough funding to finish a project.

The struggle for smaller indie teams is real, and it’s easy to overlook just how much they’re up against. Developing a game with fewer than five people (or by yourself) is an exercise in juggling impossible tasks. These devs are often working long hours, sometimes on top of day jobs, without the safety net of a steady income or access to tools that larger teams take for granted. Marketing, community management, bug fixing—it all falls on the same few shoulders. And while platforms like Steam and itch.io have lowered the barrier to entry, they’ve also created an oversaturated marketplace where standing out is harder than ever. For every Celeste or Hollow Knight that breaks through, there are hundreds of amazing indie games that go completely unnoticed.

Player expectations only add to the pressure. The term “indie” has become so synonymous with innovation and storytelling that players sometimes expect too much from small teams. We romanticize the idea of a lone developer creating the next Undertale, but that ignores the very real financial and emotional toll that goes into these projects. It also doesn’t help that Triple-I studios are setting new standards for quality in the indie space. While it’s fantastic to see games like Hades or Ori and the Will of the Wisps flourish, it skews expectations for what a “typical” indie game should look and play like. Not every indie dev has access to the resources that make those polished experiences possible, and that’s okay. But convincing players of that? It’s an uphill battle.

So where does this leave us? Perhaps we need to rethink how we use the term “indie.” Instead of trying to squeeze every independent studio under the same umbrella, maybe it’s time to start acknowledging the nuances of scale, funding, and creative vision that exist in the indie space. Not all indie games are made equal, but they all contribute to the diversity and richness of the gaming landscape. Whether it’s a basement coder working on a pixel art platformer or a Triple-I studio crafting an ambitious action-adventure game, the spirit of indie is about pushing boundaries—and the entire industry benefits from that.

At the end of the day, gaming needs indie developers. But more importantly, gaming needs all developers—AAA, indie, and everything in between—to embrace risk and creativity. Relegating innovation to the indie space is a failure of imagination, one that leaves us with a fragmented industry where big budgets chase trends and small budgets carry the weight of artistry. It’s not just unsustainable—it’s boring. And the last thing gaming should ever be is boring.