I have a love-hate relationship with inventory systems.

Not with games' inventory systems — with my own. Every time I start a new project, I swear I'll build something elegant. Clean. Intuitive. And every time, by the third iteration, I'm staring at the same pile of design decisions I've already made twice before and somehow still got wrong.

This is the story of my inventory system, and what it taught me about scope creep in game design.

Version One: The Naive Stack

The first version was simple. Items go in slots. Slots fill up. When slots are full, you can't pick up more. Clean. Limited. Fair.

The problem: it wasn't fun. Players started hoarding — keeping one healing potion for 40 hours because they were afraid they'd need it later. The entire economy of the game stalled because nobody wanted to spend anything.

Classic. I thought the answer was more slots.

Version Two: The Expanded Grid

More slots. Stack limits per item type. Categories — consumables here, quest items there, equipment somewhere else. Also not new. Also not my idea.

This worked better in some ways. Players stopped hoarding as aggressively. But now they were spending time navigating menus instead of playing. The inventory had become a chore.

I started noticing something in playtests: people would avoid fights because fighting meant sorting through their bags afterward. That's a design failure.

Version Three: The Auto-Sort

Version three tried to solve the chore problem with convenience. Auto-sort after every combat. One-click inventory cleanup. Stack merging on pickup.

The result: players still had too much stuff. They just sorted it faster.

What I hadn't fixed was the root issue — I was giving players too many items and too many ways to get more. The inventory was a symptom of a loot system that didn't respect the player's time.

What I Eventually Figured Out

The real problem wasn't the inventory UI. It was the design assumption underneath it: that more options equals better gameplay.

It doesn't. More options creates decision fatigue. Decision fatigue makes players avoid choices entirely — which means they stop engaging with your carefully designed item variety.

The inventory system that actually worked for my project had fewer item types, more meaningful drops, and a hard cap on total items carried. It felt restrictive. Players complained at first. But they also engaged with every single item in the game, because there were only so many to think about.

That's a lesson I keep relearning: constraints create engagement. An inventory with 20 slots and 20 items is more interesting than one with 200 slots and 500 items.

The best inventory system I've ever used was in a game that didn't let you carry anything between levels. You kept what you had, used it or lost it, and every pickup mattered.

I keep trying to build something more complex. It keeps being worse.

Maybe next time.