Card Games, Addiction, and Regulation: How much sense does it make?

On February 26th, Singapore's Ministry of Home Affairs confirmed that collectible card packages will be regulated as part of new measures targeting gambling risks related to "blind box" products. According to a report from The Straits Times, regulations are being drafted, with details and an implementation timeline to be announced later this year. Singapore could be the first country to explicitly take action to regulate collectible card packages under a gambling framework.

The same week, a post on The Straits Times forum by Lim Guohao argued that while collectible cards have legitimate recreational value, when purchasing shifts from gameplay to speculation, behavioral patterns can begin to resemble gambling. The author suggested regulation should consider whether value is determined primarily by chance and marketed that way, with safeguards for minors.

Context matters: there have been several reported cases in Singapore involving scams, thefts, and criminal schemes related to trading cards. In 2024, a man was arrested for stealing $115,000 in a scheme involving pre-orders of Pokémon and One Piece TCG cards; another was arrested for the same reason in February of this year, with scams totaling $135,000; a group of buyers claimed, also in February, to have lost $700,000 in undelivered orders involving a single seller with multiple accounts on local marketplaces. Thefts involving card game boxes are also reported: in March 2024, a 23-year-old nurse was charged with stealing two Pokémon TCG boxes.

The country also has a collectible card market flooded with "oripas" — short for "original packs," packs randomized by third parties, sold online or at conventions. Sellers market these products for up to $129, promising winnings of up to 10.000, but most packs consist of bulk and cards with no liquidity on the secondary market.

Regardless of the reasons, it was the first case and might not be the last. This is why we need to discuss this matter now. For the first time in two decades, card games are in the spotlight. According to Mark Rosewater, head designer of Magic: The Gathering — considered the pioneer of the TCG genre — Magic has never been consumed or talked about as much as recently. Magic partners with world-famous brands like The Lord of the Rings, Final Fantasy, and Marvel. Pokémon already has a multi-media expansion with a decades-old loyal fanbase and has become a topic of discussion as a financial asset; Disney and League of Legends have entered the race with Lorcana and Riftbound — no matter where you look, card games have become pop culture products.

Paraphrasing our article on the risks of treating card games as investments, the more attention figures like Logan Paul draw to the genre by convincing tens of thousands that TCGs are million-dollar assets, and the more this culture expands, the more attention will also be drawn to the gray areas of this business model, both inside and outside the packs.

If the less pretty zones of collectible cards draw attention and can be questioned by parliaments, we need to look at them and assess how much substance these accusations have, as opposed to how much can be seen as modern moral panic. If we refuse, we either reinforce a narrative or build our own arguments without enough foundation to understand this discussion and find resolutions.

The majority of the card game consumer audience averages between 25 and 45 years old. We are adults; we should see and debate this subject as adults. Even when TCGs are, for most consumers, a hobby from their adolescence. We need to because the answer to "Can card games cause addiction or resemble gambling?" is not clear: there's a lack of data, sufficient research, and honest conversations about the subject within the community.

For science, the answer is inconclusive. Part of the dilemma on the subject is that the scientific interpretation is as gray as the topic itself: we find only three studies that directly attempted to measure the correlation between collectible card games and problematic gambling behavior.

Two claim there are no risks, and one claims there is and has more robust data and a more efficient methodology. Other work on loot boxes/gacha is used as an analogy, but research focused on card games and physical booster packs seems absent from the academic field.

The study "May the passion be with you: The addictive potential of collectible card games, miniatures, and dice of the Star Wars universe" was published in 2018, conducted with 218 players of card games, miniatures, and dice from the Star Wars universe, and addresses important elements about the collective behavior of a card game community.

Using a standardized scale to measure gaming disorder, no participant scored above the cut-off point for pathological addiction, although many self-declared as "addicted" and some reported economic and family issues related to the hobby.

The authors' conclusion was that playing these games cannot be equated to truly addictive behavior, but the research contributed to discussions about the tendency to overestimate excessive pleasurable behaviors and illustrates the mismatch between subjective perception of the problem — if you spend a lot of money on a hobby, you must be an addict — and clinical diagnosis.

Global consumption patterns have changed consistently during and after the pandemic. We are more conditioned today to accept variable reward products than we were in 2018. Therefore, we need more up-to-date data.

David Zendle conducted a survey with 726 participants recruited on Reddit in 2021. The study found no statistically significant correlation between spending on TCGs and scores on problematic gambling scales (p=0.110, η²=0.004). Zendle concluded that, unlike digital reward boxes (better known as loot boxes), physical collectible card packs did not appear to be associated with measurable psychological harm.

The most recent result came from an international study led by Leon Y. Xiao, with a more robust methodology: 1,961 participants recruited through the Prolific platform, with a paid and more diverse sample. Xiao found a small but statistically significant correlation: r = 0.15.

In quick translation, r is the correlation coefficient, a number ranging from -1 to +1. The closer to 1, the stronger the relationship between two variables. An r of 0.15 is considered "small". Correlation exists, but it's not strong. According to the same methodology and research, loot boxes have r = 0.31. That is, card games showed a little less than half the correlation with addictive behaviors when compared to loot boxes.

The most important part is the sample size. Larger samples make results more reliable because they reduce the chance that a pattern appeared by chance alone. Xiao's study, with a sample almost three times larger and superior methodology, likely captured a more consistent result with recent reality: there is a correlation between spending on TCGs and compulsive gambling behavior. It's small, but it exists.

But this statement creates dozens of unanswered questions. If there's correlation, what's the direction of causality? Are people predisposed to compulsive behavior drawn to TCGs, or do TCGs induce compulsive behavior in vulnerable people? No one has followed a group of people over years to see if starting to play card games increases the risk of developing problems.

Neurobiology hasn't been applied to this case either. We know that gambling activates the dopaminergic reward system in the brain and that video games also activate this system. Collectible card games share structural mechanics with both, but we found no studies on opening TCG packs published from this perspective. We also found no research on how the brain reacts during a card game match, despite the technology to study it being available for decades.

Without targeted data, we're forced to seek answers in products with similar patterns. Behavioral psychology documents how certain inherent mechanics of gacha — inherited from slot machines — drive repetition patterns motivated by unpredictability. Even without specific studies on the genre, collectible card games operate under a model with similar structures: sealed packs with random content and rarity distribution ensuring the best cards are sufficiently rare, efficiently packaged.

In the previous article, we discussed that perception of value, cultural relevance, and affection are defining cores of TCGs, with nostalgia growing as a fourth element in the equation in recent years. If we evaluate the product in the most abstract concept rather than based on its historical development, the cores are capable of propelling consumption change, and from them, we can draw a map.

Booster packs are reinforced by variable ratio. You don't know how many packs you need to open to get that desired card. It could be the next one. It could be the hundredth. The mere variable factor reinforces the belief of "try one more time." In the 1950s, B.F. Skinner demonstrated how unpredictability is a tool for maintaining repetitive behavior.

Let's create a character here. Call him what you will. Imagine an individual buying boosters from the Magic: The Gathering collaboration with Avatar. Every booster is opened searching for a "hit" — a card that pays for all the boosters you open, preferably with profit. In an Avatar Play Booster, this card is Badgermole Cub.

For the individual, variable ratio can culminate in sunk cost. If they buy five Magic: The Gathering boosters at the average price in Brazil, that person has already spent R$200 (minimum wage at R$1,621). If they don't get a coveted card in those packs, rational logic would be to stop with the packs. Emotional logic, however, says: "I've already spent R$200, if I stop now, it'll be a waste. Maybe Badgermole Cub is in the next pack."

This "one more" can repeat indefinitely. According to prospect theory, we have an aversion to loss: they hurt about twice as much as equivalent gains bring pleasure. When someone opens the five packs mentioned above and gets nothing of value, the frustrated expectation is more intense than the satisfaction of opening a Badgermole Cub in the sixth booster — the likely reaction is to keep trying to "recoup" the loss.

On the seventh try, the individual opens a pack and sees a special shine on a green card, costing — it looks like, but wasn't, a Badgermole Cub. They almost got the desired card. Neurologically, a near-miss effect activates brain areas similar to an actual win and keeps the user engaged even when not winning.

They went for the eighth booster and didn't get the card. On average, R$320 was spent in this cycle. That's already a higher amount, or as expensive as buying a Badgermole Cub in Brazil. The disruptive return potential is already down the drain, and that would probably be the moment the individual would conclude they had already bought too many boosters that day because the "hit" no longer generates profit and doesn't even recoup the loss.

Someone used to TCGs would bring the argument that this person would have spent less buying Badgermole Cub from a store. For compulsive patterns, it makes sense: buying singles eliminates the unpredictable factor in acquisition. You know exactly what you're buying, how much it costs, and when it arrives. It seems like the perfect solution to avoid addictive behaviors associated with boosters — the main topic of the debate on regulating collectible cards.

But there's a catch: the gameplay of almost every TCG is built on unpredictability. Every match begins with shuffling a deck of cards and drawing a certain amount, hoping they come in an expected order. In some cases, the mulligan serves to try a new chance at the card combination.

Your deck can be perfectly built, with four copies of each key card bought on the secondary market, and you can still lose because you didn't draw removal, because your opening hands came without lands, or if the pairings put you against an extremely unfavorable matchup.

It's part of what makes card games so attractive, even compared to other genres: you don't know what will happen when you play an RCQ at your local store on the weekend — you could leave as the champion needing to plan your trip to the Regional Championship and start dreaming of a Pro Tour, or you could go 0-3, drop, and carry the shame and frustration back home.

The result for the brain may resemble the variable reinforcement pattern, but there are also no relevant studies on the topic from this perspective. More practical examples, in Magic's case, would be found on Magic Arena: if a player has two losses on the ranked ladder because they got two bad matches and are penalized with fewer points to reach Mythic, they feel compelled to try again to recover. If they play ten matches and win three, the wins can be sufficiently rewarding to justify the losses when they receive daily rewards for wins.

The next round might be better. Let's try one more match. Just one more.

This might be one reason the study "A Ruse by Any Other Name: Comparing Loot Boxes and Collectible Card Games Using Magic Arena", from 2023, exists. The study compared the platform's boosters, physical Magic boosters, and loot boxes in games. It found significant differences regarding the presentation of digital and physical booster packs and the potentially troublesome impact they have on players: the digital product has more characteristics that can manipulate or exploit the user.

It's not the only text regarding digital TCGs: Matthew Fitzpatrick published, in 2025, an article pointing out gambling dynamics in Pokémon TCG Pocket. It questions the aesthetic elements and gacha mechanisms with timers and concludes by reaffirming the need for loot box regulation — at the end of the day, that's what randomized purchases in digital games are, even when the platform is a card game.

In tabletop games, tournaments have set dates, times, and prizes. There are fewer incentives for repetition since you can't play ad infinitum. Eventually the rounds end, and whoever is best placed in the standings wins. Reinforcement can come through other lines: FOMO, emotional need based on competitiveness, and a culture of collective consumption.

Every card game community forms through shared gaming rituals. Pokémon Leagues, Flesh and Blood Armories, Riftbound Nexus Nights, and Friday Night Magic are some of the main examples. People arrive at the store after work, play a few rounds, chat between matches, buy and sell cards, and go home after the tournament ends.

In some cases, card games are part of the means to connect with other people. For some, it might be their main or only social interaction activity of the week: current generations suffer more severely from loneliness issues. The number of people reporting having zero close friends grew from 3% in 1990 to, on average, 20% in 2025, and over 65% of Millennials and Gen Z report having a loneliness problem.

The local store becomes the "third place": the social gathering space outside home and work, where individuals can have conversations and develop friendships based on shared interests. In a time when people feel more alone, the existence of this space is even more precious.

Social connection is a basic psychological and emotional need, and its lack correlates with depression, anxiety, and a series of negative patterns for mental health. In the absence of bonds, socially isolated people find in addictive behaviors both escape and a sense of belonging through communities formed around these behaviors, but we need to be careful not to generalize and end up concluding that loneliness and addiction always have a direct causal relationship. Less lonely people can develop less responsible consumption behavioral patterns when these activities are also social and collective — the problem arises when a particular group or community normalizes a behavior.

In a historical period where social media algorithms envelop users in groups with common interests and biases, the risks are amplified.

Card game environments naturally involve people who spend time and money on card games. They develop friendships with others who frequent these environments, and they all spend time and money on cards. As the group grows, even organically, prices become more normalized the greater and more repeated the exposure to the act of purchasing.

When four friends buy preconstructed Commander decks to play as a group on the weekend, they have a manufacturer-assembled product of 100 cards. At some point, they'll discover they can improve the decks, access guides, and watch videos to decide how to optimize their lists. It might start with one player spending $20 or $50 on some cards, giving them a strategic advantage over others, who will feel compelled to do the same to level the playing field. They might spend $100 each the following month. The next month, someone buys a slightly more expensive staple, and the arms race will make them spend even more in the long run.

At Commander tables, it's possible to adopt social rules or even use proxies to avoid these patterns, but the above dynamic is inevitable in competitive play.

If your group participates in Standard tournaments, the need to update decks will make the group buy sealed products or seek singles to build new lists or improve their respective archetypes repeatedly. Collective behavior compels a new player within the group to consider normal the practice of spending hundreds of dollars to build a deck and that, if the deck rotates or declines too much, they'll be forced to spend hundreds more on another deck. By the third time, the cycle already seems common to the player themselves, and they motivate other players to do the same.

After all, everyone you know in the community buys packs, updates decks regularly, and spends hundreds of dollars per month. This is already the expected behavior in the group and somewhat reminiscent of drinking culture at universities: students justified excessive alcohol consumption as normal because "everyone does it." Depending on the genre, they mention social acceptance or status as motivators and normalize the behavior through comparison; if the group does it, then it's acceptable.

Humans learn behaviors through observation, social reinforcement, and modeling. Seeing friends buy a new product every week and receiving peer approval after showing new cards positively reinforces the behavior and develops thought processes — "investing in my deck makes me a better player," "I need these cards to be competitive," "everyone is doing it" — that rationalize and perpetuate spending while amplifying the sense of belonging to the group.

The practice also costs in perception of spending on the game. The term "cardboard crack" appears on t-shirts, stickers, and memes; is the name of a humorous comic series; and is sometimes treated as a joke on reels or TikTok. It's a joke, but all over-the-top humor comes from some foundation and can portray facts that a particular group doesn't want or feel comfortable examining or to lighten the weight of that debate. It's a performative tendency to laugh at one's own misfortune — and much easier than questioning.

No player will openly admit lack of money from buying cards or exacerbated irresponsible spending, as they risk social exclusion or judgment from their peers. Everyone will always act as if spending is manageable and an expected part when entering the hobby. Those who accumulate debt, hide it. Those who sacrificed other expenses to buy staples won't mention it. Social comparison will create pressure; after all, they're your friends, you share the same environment, and if they can manage, you should be able to.

If you can't, then the hobby isn't for you. If the hobby isn't for you, you don't belong to the group. If you question others' spending or your own, you risk questioning your place in that community as well. Suggesting that maybe they're spending too much or that, perhaps, the game can cause financial problems comes with the risk of being seen as someone who "doesn't understand the culture" or "isn't taking the game seriously." Collective behavior, sometimes masked by arguments about "investment" or "I can sell it later," also creates social pressure to conform.

Influencers also play a role in this story. Card game culture values enthusiasm and commitment to the hobby. If not in the form of decks, then in the form of unpackings and other materials that stimulate consumption and reinforce collective belonging. Any influencer's business model involves the need for public recognition, so they often need to adapt to what their audience wants. The card game audience almost always wants the hype.

There are clear similarities between booster packs and loot boxes. Both operate under randomized reward upon monetary payment, with variable content value and potential for gains and losses. The difference is the presence of a secondary market with buying, selling, and trading liquidity in collectible cards, a benefit of card games being physical products, while loot boxes are digital and can be manipulated via algorithms, interfaces, and visual effects to drive purchases.

Both the existence of this debate and its absence provide mutual protection between the two models in the face of legal challenges. For TCGs, it's convenient to keep digital loot boxes as villains and collectible cards as a legitimate commercial product that has existed since the 1950s. On the other hand, loot boxes use card games as a regulatory shield to affirm the product's legitimacy.

When EA executives were summoned to the British Parliament in 2019 to defend FIFA's loot boxes, they called them "surprise mechanics" and explicitly compared them to Kinder Eggs and collectible card packages. The argument was simple: if these products have been accepted for decades, why would loot boxes be different? The British government accepted. In 2022, it decided not to amend the Gambling Act to include loot boxes and let the industry self-regulate.

The same year, the Belgian Gaming Commission went in the opposite direction and signaled that, according to their criteria, physical packages with random content could fall under the legal definition of gambling; an equivalence pointed out by researchers regarding booster packs when addressing the need to modernize gambling definitions.

More recently, on March 11, 2026, Valve responded to a lawsuit filed by the New York Attorney General regarding loot boxes on Steam. The company argues that loot boxes are comparable to similar products in the tangible world, referring to collectible cards and specifically to the Magic: The Gathering, Pokémon TCG, and Labubu brands, and counters that players don't need loot boxes to play since they are purely cosmetic.

There is no consensus on the nature of collectible cards between an activity with over 75 years of tradition and a product analogous to gacha. Singapore decided they are similar and intends to regulate both TCGs and loot boxes, although the main cases involving cards in the country are fraud, scams, and theft, which don't directly involve sealed products or the act of playing.

On the other side, Germany — which has very strict laws on cash prizes — considers card games as "games of skill," a change that allows hosting official events with cash prizes. The most recent case was Flesh and Blood, in 2025. It was an important milestone for the TCG genre in light of loot box debates and opens a precedent contrary to Singapore's: opening discussion around recognizing card games as a sport, oriented by knowledge and skill.

The rest of the world watches, still unsure how to choose. After all, the argument in defense of TCGs also works: collectible cards have cultural legitimacy that loot boxes will never have and have existed for nearly a century. Parents bought them as children. It doesn't differentiate as a product from a sticker album and seems fundamentally different from pressing a button on a screen and receiving a random digital skin.

Let's also consider the other perspective of this discussion.

In 1999, parents sued Nintendo, alleging that Pokémon cards caused "gambling addiction" in children. It was one of many similar lawsuits rejected by US courts. Public opinion was hostile; the media treated it as parental overreaction, an attempt to make easy money, and a refusal to accept responsibility for their own children's upbringing. The internet called the parents "idiots."

Twenty-seven years later, we're having this debate because Singapore decided to look from another perspective. We still don't have data to know if those parents were right or wrong; no one followed those children over the years to see if early exposure to random reward mechanics had any impact on future behavior.

We lack relevant published clinical studies on treating compulsive behavior specifically related to TCGs, no cases reported in medical journals, or data on how many TCG players seek treatment or present at clinics with addiction symptoms — perhaps there's no data because the problem doesn't exist, or the sampling is too redundant.

Magic: The Gathering was launched in 1993. Pokémon TCG in 1999. That's three decades of massive global distribution, hundreds of millions of players, and billions of packs sold. If TCGs caused problems on the scale of other forms of addiction, we would have seen clinical manifestation long ago. Perhaps, they don't exist because the problem is insignificant enough not to justify treatment and research infrastructure.

Singapore announced regulation but hasn't implemented anything yet. Details will come later; they might look closely and decide TCGs don't fit. The country's history for this decision stems from factors outside the competencies of card game manufacturers and the booster pack product model.

All other countries where the loot box discussion is pertinent have access to the same data, scientific literature, and structural comparisons. Still, they decided not to regulate, and no country in the world has banned card game packages to date. There's implicit consensus that there's enough difference between physical TCGs and loot boxes to justify different treatment. It might not be written in official documents, but the deliberate choice to regulate one and not the other is a message.

It makes sense: physical packs have real property: you buy, you own. You can hold, store, set on fire, or resell decades later. A Black Lotus from 1993 can be sold for millions today, while a Genshin Impact character or digital FIFA loot box disappears when the server shuts down. If, for some reason, Hoyoverse or EA bans your account, you lose everything with no legal recourse. In the end, you never owned anything — you only had a usage license.

Meanwhile, the secondary market for TCGs is robust and legitimizes cards as transferable property with real liquidity. You can convert cards into cash if needed ( that doesn't mean cards are a safe investment source). The same practice is impossible for most loot boxes, and those that can have severe restrictions.

Moreover, if one in a hundred thousand people spends too much and accumulates credit card debt because of colored cardboard, is that enough to treat card packages like true cardboard crack? The majority of consumers play without problems. If 1% of 100 million TCG players have some kind of addiction disorder with card games, that's 1 million people. That seems like a lot until you realize 99 million play responsibly. Regulating the entire industry, restricting access for the 99% who see it as a healthy hobby because of the 1% who might develop addiction, might sound like an overblown measure.

If a wave of debates around regulation sets in, would it be the latest bout of moral panic? What's the difference between stating "Card games cause addiction" compared to "Video games cause violence" in the 90s, "D&D and heavy metal cause Satanism" in the 80s, or "Comic books promote juvenile delinquency" in the 70s? We've seen this story before: during the first card game boom in the 2000s, there were quite a number of TV shows associating them with Satanism. We might just be repeating the process, this time associating them with digital tools regulated recently, since religious panic no longer has the same effect.

It's arguable that in other crises, the correlation was zero or negative. D&D had zero evidence of causing anything beyond gathering a dozen nerds in the same place. TCGs, on the other hand, have a correlation: r = 0.15. It's not zero, but it's small enough to have possible inconsistencies. Even if it doesn't, r = 0.1 is considered a small effect on the scale. It's less than half the value the same research points to for loot boxes. It deserves attention, but studies need more investigation before being considered as a basis for public policy.

In 2013, users posted on a famous Magic forum about their issues with "impulsive purchases" within the game. One confesses to having bought six boosters every day for months, spending thousands of dollars, which harmed their own business. Another confesses, "It can get kind of scary at times, because out of nowhere I no longer have gas money. But what gets me is that slim chance that I could get something amazing."

It's just one among many posts on networks or even blogs reporting how card games created an addiction problem or the opposite — how TCGs pulled people out of addictions and created social interaction stimuli perceived as healthier by them. Both sides can be true for individual experiences; we don't consider how much card games may have saved lives by pulling people out of more harmful addictive patterns.

The topic remains approached by the community through jokes and anonymous confessions on forums but rarely questioned in groups. As consumers and players, we are resistant to facing some facts as harmful behaviors for our mental or financial health. There's public scrutiny in doing so. There's personal shame. Self-defense from not wanting to expose potential problems around the genre hinders discussion and the ability to consider whether that forum post was an anomaly or a growing pattern.

If you recognize harmful patterns in your own behavior — spending more than planned, lying about spending, using money meant for other things to buy cards, the constant need to open one more booster and play one more match, or feeling uncomfortable when away from cards for too long — these are some documented signs of gambling disorder.

Beyond just laughing at your own misfortune with internet memes or blaming late-stage capitalism, tangible actions are needed to change behaviors. Establishing monthly limits before starting to buy is a start. Preferably, with a limit calculated away from the store, away from your decks, and without card packs nearby. If you realize you can't do it alone, seek support from trusted friends, family, and psychotherapy.

In the broader space, the card game community should destigmatize conversation about excessive spending on games. Stop treating the term "cardboard crack" as a joke all the time and see it as a financial health issue; promote talks about the subject in your environment, offer non-judgmental support, and create digital communities to discuss the topic.

Academic data and research funding are also needed to bring clear and evident comparisons to clarify the discussion around not only loot boxes but also other randomized game modalities with addiction potential. Create a foundation to evaluate decisions like those made by Singapore or to refute them. Assess the social impact of TCGs and their individual and collective benefits and harms.

We don't know if card games cause gambling disorder and to what scale, due to lack of data and studies. All we have is proof that psychological mechanics associated with compulsive behaviors are embedded in the distribution model of this product. The absence of evidence can be worse than its existence. Not investigating when technology is available and the topic starts gaining relevance as the term "investment" becomes more associated with card games is a failure and could cost a lot in a few years. Regulation should be based on science and facts; if they don't exist, the blank space will be filled by demagoguery, moral panic, and biased discourses for social media.

When I started this article, the question I intended to address and answer was whether card games and collectible cards are addictive and capable of generating dependence. At the end of the text, the result was, besides not finding the answer, an even greater doubt: why, after three decades as a cultural and commercial phenomenon, with recent ascent to mainstream public attention, do we still not know the answer?