D.I.C.E. Europe 2025: Retaining Institutional Knowledge in Games: Why it Matters and How to Use It

Left to right: Lis Moberly, Brenda Romero, and Josh Sawyer. Photo courtesy of Alexa Ray Corriea. With layoffs having struck so many game developers and studios in the last two years, like others I began thinking about the impact such losses would have long term on the game industry. First and foremost, the damage that a layoff can do to a single person is devastating, let alone the impact of a mass layoff or studio closure. Lost people, lost projects, lost community, and lost studios. How does someone look at what has happened and determine how the industry should move forward?

For me, the answer kept coming back to the feeling that the industry has forgotten itself–it's forgotten that at the center of a great game are its devs and what they have to offer. It has also forgotten how to run healthy production cycles, forgotten how to scope or take risks in an informed way, and prevent such wild swings in funding, external relationships, and organization structure.

In the midst of these treacherous waters, I started to seriously think about how a studio carries on after layoffs have laid waste to its people. As I started digging into resources, a phrase kept cropping up over and over again: institutional knowledge, or as it's called in research, institutional memory. I've spent the better part of several months reading from qualified researchers and academics on the topic and realized that what I was learning needed to be shared.

What Is Institutional Memory?

In essence, institutional memory is the collective knowledge and experience an institution has that lives within the people rather than recorded or catalogued away for reference. Let me give an example. One day at work you pitch something to the game director, who viscerally reacts, responding in a way you don't expect. Rather than getting the easy approval you'd expected–it's shut down. A fellow senior dev notices you're bewildered and asks if you'd like to join him for drinks with a couple of others after work. You agree, and an hour or so after settling into the booth with your buddies and beer, the senior dev starts sharing stories.

He has been with the studio for fifteen years and tells you that on a prior project ten years ago a similar pitch was given. Their publisher hated it, and lost confidence in the project. Funding was almost pulled and the game director, who had been a new lead at the time, had to bear the brunt of changes that were made to make the publisher happy. He'd endured months of crunch to make those changes, resulting in serious health problems and a divorce. The senior dev tells you it's something you could have never known walking into that pitch meeting–you hadn't been at the studio when it happened and it was such a dark time the game director never talks about it.

Hearing the senior dev's story, you suddenly understand the full context of the interaction you had with the game director and why he'd shut your idea down. Moving forward you apply that knowledge to future pitches, avoiding decisions similar to the one that led the studio into murky waters in the past. This is knowledge you could have only gained by shooting the shit after work with your colleagues.

While this is perhaps an extreme example, it does illustrate how institutional memory works. No one is going to record the story of how the game director's life was almost destroyed when a publisher overreacted to a design decision in Confluence or Miro. However, his old buddy, the senior dev, is willing to share it if the opportunity to relax and exchange war stories arises. There are many ways that institutional memory is exchanged, but the takeaway here isn't that you have to hang out with colleagues after hours and drink to get the information you need to be successful at work. What matters is that there was a space safe enough for that senior dev to relax and share stories–the vehicle for preserving institutional memory.

Institutional memory exists in every studio, every dev, and every large organization. It is hard to capture and retain, but it isn't impossible. However, once people leave, if that memory isn't passed on, it's gone forever.

D.I.C.E. Europe

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Photos taken during D.I.C.E. Europe 2025.

After learning everything I had on the topic, I wanted to know what the industry had to say. I also felt those who are in positions of power would appreciate becoming aware of how easily such knowledge is lost, and what can be done to retain it. I reached out to two of the most experienced and thoughtful developers I know: Brenda Romero, and Josh Sawyer. I asked them if they'd allow me to host a discussion between the two of them about their thoughts on the topic at D.I.C.E. Europe. The conversation that resulted was incredible, but for me, it was only the tip of the iceberg. There will be more to come regarding this topic from me in the future, but for now it's important that institutional memory remain top of mind for studios and teams that wish to move forward, succeed, and learn. By listening to each dev's unique experiences, memories and lessons learned, I believe there is a future for the industry that lies ahead.

Much appreciation is due to John Wie, Meggan Scavio, and AIAS for hosting this conversation and creating a beautiful summit. Thank you for having us.