“GTA 6 looks better than real life,” comments user Mean_Rent_2156on a Reddit post in which two images are compared: a photograph taken of Miami, Florida’s sprawling cityscape, and an uncannily similar screenshot captured from the unreleased open-world videogame Grand Theft Auto VI.
With digital technologies emerging less than a century ago, it’s no secret that videogames like GTA 6 would construct their virtual landscapes on the foundation of traditional built environment principles—and the subsequent, rapid evolution of gaming software has only enhanced this level of detail and accuracy. However, such games aren’t mere copy-and-pastes of reality.
Through these virtual worlds, in both production and playhrough, civilizations are established, cultures formed, and virtual avatars reflecting our physical selves can freely roam. Developers and players alike seek to expand the world beyond its prescribed meaning. As a result, complex virtual spaces emerge, providing a unique lens through which our own societies and the spaces we inhabit can be studied.
Despite evident similarities, this relationship is still relatively unexplored. Published in early 2025, the book Architecture and Videogames: Intersecting Worlds (eds. Vincent Hui, Ryan Scavnicky, and Tatiana Estrina) presented a first-of-its-kind exhaustive study, compiling perspectives from a variety of disciplines to explore how videogames influence our perception of the world.
These authors embrace videogames as viable tools for designers to add to their toolkits; however, the idea is still completely foreign to many. Compared to the well-established built environment professions, suggesting that the newfound videogame industry can provide valuable insight may have the practicing designer scratching their head as they question: Oh, really? How so?
One reason for this skepticism is the preconception that videogames are limitless in what they create. Yet that mindset undermines the often-ignored functional considerations that go into making a game playable. Where the player is allowed to wander, how puzzles naturally blend into the environment, what the physics is like—creativity is often bounded by these very real conditions. Nonetheless, these limitations are still relatively lax compared to that of the physical world’s.
Bombarded nonstop with dos and don’ts, real-world designers precariously juggle a chaotic mix of client requirements, budget restraints, existing and changing physical, social, political contexts, building codes, liability concerns, accessibility and energy considerations—in such a restricted environment, is there even room for the type of exploratory play that videogame design allows?
Arguably there should be. Play serves as a medium for designers to dream up never-before-seen solutions, allowing a sort of freedom to experiment within design parameters. One such modeling tool called Platform Sandbox has already been used in some architectural studio curriculums. According to game designer and artist Damjan Jovanovic, the software “challenges architects to relinquish their obsession with precision and control, urging them to embrace the serendipitous and unexpected—it is ultimately not about abandoning structure but about reimagining it in a more fluid, dynamic context.” This form of play may help designers navigate the complexities of real-world design through an imaginative lens, without having to forsake one for the other.
As Jonathan Teng, practicing architect at Mahlum Architects and studio professor at the University of Washington, puts it, “Everything always has this duality: we have the technical aspects of what spaces are, but people won’t use that space unless it inspires them.” In seeing through the actualization of his projects, which range from residential to commercial, he says, “Spaces should spark joy and delight.”
The worst kind of space is a boring one—both the virtual and real-world designer can agree on that. With videogames containing powerful examples of these immersive environments, perhaps there’s a thing or two designers can take away as they reimagine the physical realm in a more animated, vibrant light.
Videogames are a huge slice of the modern pop culture pie, andthey aren’t going away anytime soon. Nearly half of the world population plays videogames, and many more have access to a device. With so much of our lives spent online and data encoded within it, the digital footprint is now another form of cultural artifact to be archived by the modern historian.
And the social influence is overwhelming, in its good and bad ways. While videogames have a generalized bad rep for encouraging violence or simply wasting time, there are just as many that contain meaningful and relatable stories—and may or may not lead you down the path of existential crisis. Both are influential, nonetheless.
“It’s not something where I just go and play a game and cool, game’s done,” says videogame developer Joshua Stiksma, who has worked with virtual reality for nearly a decade, and in the videogame industry longer. “It’s something that sits with you, sticks with you, can change how you think and how you perceive things—and that makes it an extremely powerful medium.” Before working at videogame developer firm Polyarc, Stiksma worked on multiple projects such as Destiny 2 and the Dragon Age franchise, before diving into the novel realm of virtual reality.
Moss was the first VR project Stiksma directed in its entirety, from the drawing board to its release in 2018. Emulating that of a storybook, the player and their tiny mouse companion, Quill, progress through a variety of panoramic puzzle-filled landscapes, each scene narrated by a calm storyteller’s voice. Tapping into the immersive potential of VR, Stiksma and his team of about twenty worked to create a world where both Quill as the protagonist, and the player as their own canonical entity harmoniously exist in the same space together.
Narrative-driven videogames like Moss are becoming increasingly popular. With some based on true stories, others embracing the wild and whimsical, they aim to move the hearts of players through both dynamic exposition and setting. Yet the true influence of these videogames lies in player agency. Unlike books or movies, in Moss the player is not just an observer of Quill’s story; they are a part of her story, thus able to form a meaningful bond of companionship with her.
Designers of the built environment have increasingly come to acknowledge that empathy and inclusivity are vital for designing in the contemporary world. Concurrently, the potential to learn from these virtual stories becomes more and more apparent.
“In a world where sometimes empathy is a little lacking,” Stiksma says, “a lot of it comes from being able to have experiences that you can then relate to.” Many of these videogames often reflect existing patterns from society, told through the way certain tropes are portrayed or how the world itself is expressed. Placed in the literal shoes of another, videogames present an opportunity for designers to have these experiences, fostering a more nuanced understanding of the world’s intricacies. With this mindset, designers are not only more prepared to think critically about the places they are designing for but are more willing to have open-minded conversations about them.
Unfortunately, often in the built environment such conversations are stifled before they even have a chance to begin, due to a lack of common language between the public and professional realms. VR provides a fascinating means to bridge this gap.
Not everyone may understand a plan or section, however when one is projected directly into the space, even the non-designer is able to contribute their honest thoughts. Plug-ins integrated into software like SketchUp and Unreal Engine allow quick, realistic, and experiential spaces to be visualized.
Teng recalls how his firm used VR in client meetings, the simple scan of a QR code allowing clients to see and move through the space from the screen of their device. Virtual spaces and user agency—inadvertently, as the profession continues to improve the ways they can quickly and accurately convey their projects, it seems they are beginning to overlap with characteristics of videogame design.
The door is now open for new collaborations. Designers can extend the conversation beyond professional jargon and diagrams. Everyone has an active role, becomes an active player. And the best part is—the foundation of this idea has already been laid, this time not by the architect but by the videogame developer.
Technological growth is showing no signs of slowing down, whether designers are on board or not. Designing for the physical realm is now inevitably intertwined with the virtual. With one foot already in the door, real-world designers should shed their hesitance, equip their best gear, and take the leap into exploring all the opportunities the virtual realm of videogames has to offer.
