As I sit here in 2026, the digital glow of storefronts reflecting in my eyes, I am struck once more by a familiar, sinking dread. The announcement of Star Wars Outlaws should be a moment of pure, unadulterated joy—a new galaxy to explore, a new story to live. Instead, my heart feels heavy, weighed down by numbers that flash on my screen like warnings from a distant, greedy star. In Singapore, where I make my home, the conversion from those pristine American dollars to my local currency is not a simple calculation; it is a visceral blow. The base game's $70 transforms into nearly $100 of my money. But it is the other editions, the ones promising early access and future promises, that truly steal my breath. $110. $130. For me, that becomes a staggering $150, and a heart-stopping $175. I stare at the screen, and a single, weary thought echoes: Good god, Ubisoft.

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The practice feels ancient now, a relic from a time of plastic and cardboard. I remember the ritual of pre-ordering when games were physical treasures you could hold. It was a pact—a little money upfront to assure the retailer, to help the publisher gauge our hunger, and to guarantee that on launch day, a copy would be waiting, its cellophane gleaming under the store lights. It served a purpose. It felt communal.

But that world is gone. We live in an age of endless digital shelves. There is no scarcity. The fear of an empty store rack, of kneeling before a barren display in despair, is a phantom pain from a bygone era. Now, the only tangible benefit of digitally pre-ordering the base game is the cold, automated convenience of a pre-loaded file. To justify this anachronism, publishers weave tapestries of extras, glittering with false value.

And what a tapestry Ubisoft has woven for Outlaws.

Pay $40 more, they say. For that, you can:

  • Play three days early (a practice that feels less like a reward and more like a toll on the bridge to enjoyment).

  • Adorn your character with cosmetic items.

  • Experience one extra mission at launch.

  • Receive a vague promise of two future DLCs, specters of content not yet born.

For $20 more, the offering thins further: a digital art book... and more cosmetics. It is a transaction built not on the substance of art, but on the anxiety of missing out, on the manufactured urgency of 'first.'

Here is the core of my sorrow, the quiet rage beneath the price shock: We are being asked to pay a premium for a dream, not a product.

I want to believe in Star Wars Outlaws. The idea sings to me—the scoundrel's life, the fringe worlds, the promise of freedom within my favorite galaxy. But belief is not currency. My trust must be earned, and Ubisoft's recent ledger gives me pause. The memory of ambitious worlds that felt hollow, of stories that promised the stars but delivered cardboard planets, is still fresh. There is a pattern, and hope is a fragile shield against it.

As of today, no independent soul has played it. No substantial previews exist. The gameplay remains a mystery, shown only in curated, cinematic splashes. We are, in essence, being asked to purchase a beautifully wrapped box with no guarantee of what, or if anything, is inside. The risk is entirely ours. The potential for disappointment—for the game to be a costly 'stinker'—is a very real shadow in this equation.

So, why the rush?

The cynical voice, the one that has watched this industry for years, whispers the answer. There is a very high probability—a near certainty based on history—that the price of Star Wars Outlaws will drop after launch. Sales will come. Bundles will appear. The 'Gold' and 'Ultimate' editions will eventually be discounted. By pre-ordering at these inaugural, inflated prices, we are not securing a deal; we are volunteering to pay the 'impatience tax.'

I understand the temptation. The hype is a powerful engine. The fear of being left behind as others play is a potent manipulator. But I implore you, fellow traveler: be a mindful consumer, not a mark.

Action What You Gain What You Risk
Pre-Order Ultimate Edition 3 early days, cosmetics, vague future DLC ~$175, the high chance of buyer's remorse, supporting questionable practices
Wait for Launch & Reviews Informed decision, potential price drops, seeing actual gameplay Missing the first 72 hours of online discourse

The game will be there tomorrow. It will be there next week. It will be the same game. The servers will not close if you wait to see if it is worthy of your hard-earned credits. Let the reviewers, the streamers, the players who gambled first, be your guides. Let the market adjust. Protect your wallet and your passion from the corrosive feeling of being taken advantage of.

My stance is not born of cynicism, but of a love for this art form that feels increasingly commodified. I dream of a day when the excitement for a game is about the worlds it will unlock in our imaginations, not the complex calculus of edition tiers and pre-order bonuses. Until then, I will hold my credits close. I will watch. I will wait. And I will hope that Star Wars Outlaws, when it finally lands, is a game so magnificent, so rich, that its true value makes all this talk of prices feel as distant and insignificant as a star in the far reaches of the Outer Rim.