GGW Voices is an ongoing collaboration between CDC Gaming and Global Gaming Women featuring commentary and insight from women in the gaming industry.
Everyone is always chasing the next big hit. The question is whether you can see it coming — or only recognize it in the rear-view mirror.
That’s the thrill and the headache of data: it’s both compass and kaleidoscope. It can point you toward patterns, but it can also remind you that creativity doesn’t like being pinned down.
I work in that liminal space where art meets algorithm — where data isn’t just a report, it’s a provocation. The best days are when numbers start whispering and only a few know to hear it. The challenge is learning to listen without assumption.
Structuring the noise
Data, left alone, can be chaos. Dashboards, metrics, endless heat maps. All that noise means nothing until you decide what you’re listening for. The real work is in the framework, not the collection.
When you start structuring data around the questions that matter — not just the ones you can easily answer — it transforms from hindsight into foresight. You begin to see patterns forming before they’re visible. Maybe a certain feature keeps players around longer than expected. Maybe a theme the industry’s already written off as “done” starts quietly climbing again. These moments are whispers of what’s next.
The goal is simple: to catch the rhythm of a future forming.
When the data bites back
Of course, data has a nasty habit of looking definitive when it’s not. It’ll tell you what’s happening on-screen, but not why it resonates. That “why” is the part you have to earn.
I’ve seen games that launch softly and then flare to life weeks later. No dashboard ever predicts that spark. It’s some impossible blend of timing, art direction, soundtrack, and human engagement. That moment where a player says, “ooh, I like that!” — you can’t code for that.
Quantifying that kind of magic is the hardest part. But it’s also the reason to keep showing up. Because those lightning strikes, the ones that defy logic, are proof that emotion still rules the numbers.
The art in the algorithm
The truth is, the real artistry of data lies in interpretation. Anyone can learn to read a chart; not everyone can read the room it represents.
Good data work doesn’t end the conversation, it starts one. It gives creative teams a reason to ask “What if?” rather than “What now?”. A designer might see engagement flattening and think, “What if we gave players a new choice?” That’s where innovation happens — not because data dictated it, but because it challenged someone to think differently.
And collaboration matters. The best insights don’t come from staring at graphs; they come from the debates that follow. When analysts, designers, and producers challenge what a trend really means, that’s where progress hides.
Reading between the lines
Not every chart tells a full story. A dip might mean fatigue, or it might just mean success has run its course. A slow burn might be the start of a long-tail winner. Context is everything.
The temptation is to overreact — to make every blip a headline. But the longer you work with data, the more you realize stability is underrated. The real stories are often in the exceptions, the anomalies that don’t fit any model.
Spotting those early can shape roadmaps, inspire new ideas, and challenge creative comfort zones. But it’s less about finding answers and more about asking better questions.
The spark behind the stats
I’ve always believed data is at its best when it stays humble. It guides, it nudges, it illuminates — but it shouldn’t try to take the spotlight. The human element will always win.
Behind every dataset is someone making a choice: to play again, to walk away, to explore something new. That’s not just behaviour — it’s emotion, curiosity, connection.
So yes, data drives decisions. But instinct lights the way. The trick is to respect both — the measurable and the mysterious — and to leave room for that electric, unplannable spark that turns a good game into a phenomenon.
Because if you listen closely, the numbers will always hum before they sing.
