Returning to Orbit
It feels strange to pop back in here after such a long
break, so let’s start with the obvious: sorry for vanishing for almost a year.
Back in November 2024, I thought I had everything neatly planned. The idea was
simple: Icelandic holiday, festive season back home in the UK, and then BAM! — a
full-throttle return to indie game blogging in January 2025.
Life, as it often does, decided to tear up the script. 2025
turned into a tough, bruising year that demanded my attention elsewhere, and
blogging had to take a back seat. Still, I’m determined to squeeze in a few
posts before the year wraps up. And when 2026 rolls around, I want to hit the
ground running with regular articles again.
So enough about me. Let’s jump right in and dive headfirst
into the belly of a beast — specifically, my recent experience at To The
Moon (TTM) in the Birmingham NEC. A convention that promised the stars but
barely managed to launch off the ground.
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Houston, We Have a Convention Problem!
When a public event falls drastically short of expectations,
social media doesn’t just light up; it explodes faster than you could say “Willy's
Chocolate Experience”. That’s precisely what happened as feeds were deluged
in posts, videos and photos about TTM.
Before we get into the grim details, let me state: I’m only
commenting on what I personally saw, verified, or experienced. The internet is
flooded with third-hand anecdotes — and you’ll find no shortage of videos,
photos, and posts on your platform of choice if you’re looking to do a deep
dive.
I’ve taken a few days since the exhibition wrapped up to
gather my thoughts, check a few details, and figure out what I really want to
say. And the truth is, the whole expo was on shaky ground from the get-go.
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Mission Control or Fantasy Control?
The first warning sign? Timing. TTM decided to run on a
Wednesday and Thursday. Let’s be honest — weekends are the lifeblood of
conventions. Choosing midweek felt like setting the event up to fail before it
even began due to most potential attendees have jobs or are in education system.
Then came the website. Reading it felt like stumbling into a
fever dream. The organisers were making bold claims: 15,000 attendees, up to
150 exhibitors, and 40 million follower digital footprint. On paper, it
sounded impressive, but it was either wildly optimistic or downright
misleading.
Take the attendance figure. Fifteen thousand people
at a brand-new expo that barely anyone had heard of. Pure fantasy. I only
stumbled across TTM by accident while searching for alternatives to MCM Comic
Con/EGX — and that was just two weeks before the event. When I asked my gaming
friends, none of them had even heard of it. So where exactly were these thousands
of gamers supposed to materialise from — enough to fill a small football stadium. The fact is,
they didn’t. The lack of grassroots buzz and effective, early marketing meant
this figure was fiction masquerading as a target.
The claim of up to 150 developers and publishers was
equally baffling. Attracting 150 studios requires a massive amount of
credibility and a proven track record. It means studios must take a huge gamble
on an untested event, it isn’t a scam and that it will deliver genuine value in
terms of foot traffic and press.
As a gamer, I can’t speak from the developer or publisher
perspective, but I was fortunate enough to read an excellent article
written by an indie developer who explained exactly why their studio chose not
to attend. It highlighted the kind of due diligence companies should — and must
— do before committing their time, money, and staff to expos. It perfectly
illustrated precisely why they fell monumentally short of their exhibitor
quota.
Even their promotional material raised eyebrows. Some of the
logos on the website were effectively doubled up, showing both the game logo and
the developer logo, which, to the casual eye, inflated the appearance of having
more exhibitors than they had. It felt less like solid planning and more like a
cheap magic trick, designed to create a visual impression that couldn't
withstand closer scrutiny.
But perhaps the most laughable claim of all was the boast of
a 40 million follower digital footprint.
Not even close.
It’s almost certain that they were trying to count the
combined follower numbers of the people or companies they were partnering with.
If so, they were due for a seriously rude awakening. The engagement transfer
from the partnered people and companies to an unknown brand is minimal at best.
This claim wasn't just misleading; it demonstrated a profound lack of
understanding of modern social media dynamics.
With cracks showing before a single ticket was scanned, the
stage was set for disaster.
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One Small Step… Into a 40-Minute Line
Just as I was about to head out the door on Wednesday, a
message from TTM dropped into my inbox: the doors wouldn’t open until 11
a.m. because the event “wasn’t ready”. The delay, they claimed, was
due to adverse weather and travel disruption. What exactly wasn’t ready,
though, was anyone’s guess. Were the developers still stuck in traffic? Or had
the organisers simply not finished building the expo floor?
For some attendees, that message came too late. Many were
already enroute or arriving at the NEC when the announcement landed. This
immediately set the mood for frustration and dissatisfaction.
Stepping off the train and making my way toward Hall 1, I
immediately joined what turned into a 40-minute, entirely unnecessary,
impromptu queuing game just to get inside.
The reason for the snail's pace quickly became painfully
clear: only one person was staffing the entire ticket booth. They were
handling scanning tickets and distributing wristbands — a ludicrous situation
for a supposed major convention. To their credit, eventually, additional staff
were pulled in to help and the queue got moving.
In fairness, the blame for the bottleneck doesn’t rest
entirely on TTM, as the NEC contracts the booths out to AXS, but combined with
the delayed opening time, it created a chaotic and amateur start to the day. If
you can’t handle getting people in the door smoothly, what hope is there
for the experience inside?
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The Vacuum of Space
Once I finally gained entry, I wasn’t greeted by the buzz
and energy of a packed convention floor. Instead, I was met by a cavernous,
barren, echoing hall.
The vast, empty spaces stretched out in front of me, making
it agonizingly clear that the chosen venue was simply far too big for the event
they managed to put on. Worse still, there was absolutely zero effort to dress
up the space. No decorations, no banners, no atmospheric lighting, just bare
concrete, high ceilings, and an oppressive sense of emptiness.
Walking the perimeter, it became evident that the physical
space dedicated to the few zones that did exist was drastically smaller
than the generous plots indicated on the website map. This made the whole
affair look even more sparse and, frankly, sad. I genuinely couldn’t tell you
the intended purpose of certain cordoned-off sections, and with a noticeable
absence of visible convention staff anywhere, there was no one around to ask.
TTM did attempt to soften the blow for Wednesday’s
disastrous opening by honouring tickets on Thursday for those who couldn’t make
it due to the "adverse weather". But let’s be honest: how many
people can truly rearrange their schedules at such short notice? And after the
backlash that had already erupted across social media, did anyone really want
to return?
The real disappointment here — the nail in the coffin,
organizationally speaking — was the visible lack of care for their own expo the
next day. Despite having a full 24 hours to regroup and at least attempt to
make the vast venue look less barren for Thursday, absolutely no effort was
made.
They had a window — a tiny chance — to show attendees that
they were trying to salvage the situation, to show respect for the money and
time people had invested. That chance was completely wasted.
For these reasons, I couldn’t in good conscience recommend
future TTM conventions to friends — especially if travel and accommodation were
involved.
It was hard to escape the devastating conclusion: TTM had
overpromised and catastrophically underdelivered.
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The Final Frontier of Ineptitude
After all the promises, missteps and fantastical figures,
one thought lingers: What does the future really hold for TTM?
Quite frankly, I think that’s the end of it. We opened the
box and Schrödinger’s cat wasn’t just dead — it was dead before it was even
placed inside.
The inevitable question is: Was TTM a scam?
Based on my observations, I don’t believe so. To convince me
of that, far more damning, and verifiable evidence would need to surface. What
I saw instead was something arguably more frustrating: Incompetence. A
fundamental, catastrophic inability to organize, to plan, to deliver, and to
manage the expectations — both their own and everyone else’s. It was a failure
of logistics, marketing, and basic business execution on a monumental scale.
If, by some truly unlikely twist of fate, the organisers
decide to bring TTM back next year, they’ll need to take a long, hard look at
themselves. They must decide what they truly want the expo to be — a regional
showcase, a small indie festival, or a true competitor — give it a clear,
realistic identity, and, most importantly, learn from the litany of mistakes
that defined this year’s attempt.
What saddens me the most is that gamers in the UK genuinely
want — and deserve — a premier, gaming focused event. The appetite is there;
the community is ready. Someone just needs to step up and deliver the
experience we’ve all been waiting for.
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Beam Me Up, Developers — You’re the Real Stars
Now, let’s not end on a sour note. There were moments at TTM
worth highlighting, and for me, that bright spot was Indie City.
If we ignore the barren hall around them, this section was
genuinely a beacon of light. I got proper, focused, hands-on time with games at
various stages of development, and — crucially — I had great, unhurried chats
with the passionate people behind them.
Speaking to developers, the consensus was clear: TTM’s
pricing structure allowed them to showcase their games in a place where they’d
normally be priced out of a stand at other expos. Seeing them not only present
their games but also support one another gave Indie City a real sense of
community.
So, while the event was a monumental failure, the core
reason I went delivered. Indie City was proof that even in the middle of
organisational chaos, creativity and passion can shine through.
As for me, I’ll be back soon with a dedicated post
highlighting some of the standout indie titles I discovered at TTM. Because
while the expo itself may have been a disaster, the games were anything but.
And that, at least, is worth celebrating.
What are you most excited to see from the indie game
scene over the next year? Let me know!
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