Let's All Get a Console to Honor Mikey Today
The strange world of PS5 restock trackers
Maybe I haven’t posted a blog in two months because everything’s falling apart, but you already know that. Or maybe it’s the curvy behemoth of black-and-white plastic sitting on our credenza — horizontally, because it looks hideous upright, but precariously on its hooked stand attachment. Yes, I got a PS5 back in April, when you can just pretend this newsletter hit your inbox.
As a twentysomething with no kids, a small car, and rent that mercifully didn’t triple (or increase at all) heading into next year, I’ve been relatively spared from the worst of the big price go up button. But my tangential exposure to Brandon Stuff — most dramatically, the empty cream cheese shelves last year — came to a head this spring. Considering the feet-dragging before he authorized the Defense Production Act for infant formula, I certainly wouldn’t expect Brandon/Brayden/Braxton to help get things humming along at the Sony computer chip factory.
For a time it felt like my best chance of securing a system would be if a music writer I’m acquainted with online got hacked by someone pretending to have stacks of PS5 boxes in a windowless room. But after many months of indifference, I finally took the dramatic steps required to get a console: turning on notifications from some weird guys on social media.
(I guess this is where context is important for the non-gaming knowers — despite the PS5 entering its second year of release, they were still notoriously hard to find as of this March and April. You certainly can’t walk into a store and buy one, and oftentimes need to be on a big-box retailer’s website for the drop within seconds or minutes to have a chance against the bots and scalpers. I understand that it’s easier now, but the chip shortage is still very much a thing.)
A new cottage industry sprang out of this frenzied environment, which is to say guys whose primary or even sole work is dedicated to live-streaming console drops, tweeting information about store inventory, online releases, and giveaways to their million-plus followers. It’s sometimes presented as a selfless act — you turn on my notifications until you get a conosle, and then be on your way — but the hope is you’ve liked, subscribed, or even bought a paid newsletter subscription from them to help make this thing a career. If the chip shortage continues into next year and these guys manage a modest churn rate, maybe they will. All told, it’s fine to meet this shopping advice-as-public service with skepticism, even if they’ve helped make the day of several thousand kids and adults.
Of course I can’t complain — one of them helped me get a PS5, during an anticlimactic, no-notice noontime onsale in less than a minute. And the chase itself brought an unexpected sense of purpose, even if I ended up mostly playing games a generation or two removed (Bioshock 2, Dark Souls III) once I got it. Fruitlessly waking up at 6 a.m. and spamming the refresh button on Target’s website and mobile app or driving out to Best Buy on a lunch break to check on a shoddy tip about unclaimed consoles were all part of the rush.
But the strangest, certainly darkest chapter came one morning around 6:30 or 7 a.m., whenever Target was about to release some consoles. One of these gaming Paul Reveres hopped on a livestream, with alternating camera angles and EDM blaring, as he readied the page for refreshing, with dozens of people recounting past failures in the chat. The mood turned especially dour when one commenter said something to the effect of, and I’m changing the name here, obviously: let’s all get a console today to honor Mikey. Mikey was a six-year-old boy who the restock tracker helped secure a console within the past year and died of brain cancer the night before this stream. This particular livestreamer, visibly shaken, said he almost didn’t want to get on the stream that day after hearing the news. But after several commenters repeated the refrain of paying tribute to Mikey through getting their own consoles, he collected himself a bit and agreed.
Not going to belittle anyone’s unconventional online communities or secondhand grieving…but this was certainly a new one to witness! Sometimes that’s all you can say, really, without stepping on someone else’s catharsis in a Hell World exchange. Within a few moments, the alarm bell sounded on Target’s website, and everyone jumped to refresh their other open tab or window, hoping for an end to the chase.