Devastating price crash in the Diablo III hamburger-dagger market

The market for a virtual hamburger which can be used in as a dagger in a popular video-game plummeted over the last week

Keeping on the hamburger theme, here's a sentence which will make sense to about two of you: the economy of Diablo III has fallen through the floor after a glut of Horadric Hamburgers (a burger which is also a dagger) for sale on the game's real-money auction house pushed the average price from around £90 to just £7.50.

The Horadric Hamburger is a "legendary" item in Diablo III. It's hard to get, and can only be found in a secret level, "Whimsyshire". And yes, it's a Hamburger which is also a dagger. The game provides only the cryptic description:

The Horadrim wandered far and wide to gather the finest ingredients for their feast. Only the lone traveler sent to the Moo Moo farm failed to return. Diablo had laid a trap for the Horadrim, the Hell Bovine, who struck the traveler down before he could gather the final ingredient: cheese.

The problem with the Horadric Hamburger is that although it's classified as an extremely rare item by the game, it's actually a bit rubbish. The game models stabbing someone with a hamburger relatively faithfully. That is to say, it doesn't hurt very much. As a result, no player who is practiced enough to find the damn thing is actually going to use it. It's a bit like a solid gold tennis-racket.

So the natural reaction of all the players was to take this immensely rare, precious, thing which they didn't actually want and use a new feature of the game which debuted last Friday: the real money auction house. There, they could sell their valuable trinket for cash money, and use it to buy real hamburgers which they can eat, rather than stab NPCs with.

Unfortunately, it seems everyone else had the same idea. As PC Games Network reported, three hours after the auction house opened, the burgers were listed at an average price of £87.91, with 12 chancers going for the maximum price of £200. By Tuesday, it appeared that they had realised their folly. Although it's impossible to tell how many sold, the average price had plummeted to just £7.50.

Virtual economies are increasingly interesting to economists, because of the sheer wealth of data they can produce. Valve, the makers of the Half Life and Portal series, recently hired Yanis Varoufakis, who rose to fame analysing the eurocrisis, as their "economist-in-residence". The President of Valve, Gabe Newell, laid out his pitch to Varoufakis:

I have been following your blog for a while… Here at my company we were discussing an issue of linking economies in two virtual environments (creating a shared currency), and wrestling with some of the thornier problems of balance of payments, when it occurred to me "this is Germany and Greece", a thought that wouldn’t have occurred to me without having followed your blog. Rather than continuing to run an emulator of you in my head, I thought I’d check to see if we couldn’t get the real you interested in what we are doing.

The Diablo economy is far simpler than the one that Valve appears to be setting up, but there's still no shortage of teachable lessons. The key one from this story is the fallacy of the idea that goods have some "intrinsic" value. Produce - even a legendary hamburger-dagger - is worth what people are prepared to pay for it. No more, no less. In this case, the labeling of the item gave faulty signals, which convinced sellers that there would be more demand than their actually was. As time went on and none sold, they were forced to cut prices to a more realistic level.

The auction house has now settled down a bit. If it goes the same direction as the auction house in Blizzard's previous game, World of Warcraft, expect to see some very interesting case studies indeed.

A hamburger. Not a virtual hamburger. Certainly not a virtual hamburger-dagger. Photograph: Getty Images

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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David Cameron's speech: a hymn to liberalism from a liberated PM

The Prime Minister spoke with the confidence of a man who finally has a full mandate for his approach. 

At every one of his previous nine Conservative conference speeches, David Cameron has had to confront the doubters. Those Tories who rejected his modernisation of the party from the start. Those who judged it to have failed when he fell short of a majority in 2010. Those, including many in his own party, who doubted that he could improve on this performance in 2015. Today, rather than confronting the doubters, he was able to greet the grateful. As the first majority Conservative prime minister for 18 years, he rightly savoured his moment. "Why did all the pollsters and pundits get it so wrong?" he asked. "Because, fundamentally, they didn't understand the people who make up our country. The vast majority of people aren't obsessives, arguing at the extremes of the debate. Let me put it as simply as I can: Britain and Twitter are not the same thing." Labour should pin that line to its profile. 

With a full mandate for his approach, Cameron went on to deliver his most unashamedly liberal speech to date. Early on in his address, he spoke with pride of how "social justice, equality for gay people, tackling climate change, and helping the world's poorest" were now "at the centre of the Conservative Party's mission". A lengthy section on diversity, lamenting how "people with white-sounding names are nearly twice as likely to get call backs for jobs than people with ethnic-sounding names", was greeted with a standing ovation. Proof, if needed, of how Cameron has changed his party beyond recognition. The former special adviser to Michael Howard, who avowed that "prison works", told his audience that prison too often did not. "The system is still not working ... We have got to get away from the sterile lock-em-up or let-em-out debate, and get smart about this." From now on, he declared, the system, would "treat their [prisoners'] problems, educate them, put them to work." 

There were, of course, oversights and lacuna. Cameron reaffirmed his commitment to a budget surplus but glossed over the unprecedented, and many believe undeliverable, that will be required to achieve it (and which may fail to do so). He hailed the new "national living wage" with no mention of the tax credit cuts that will leave the same "strivers" worse off. His "affordable" starter homes will be unaffordable for average-earning families in 58 per cent of local areas. But it is a mark of Cameron's political abilities that it was easy to forget much of this as he spoke. Like George Osborne, he deftly appropriated the language of the left ("social justice", "opportunity", "diversity", "equality") to describe the policies of the right. Cameron is on a mission to claim ownership of almost every concept associated with Labour. The opposition should not sleep easily as he does so. 

There was little mention of Labour in the speech, and no mention of Jeremy Corbyn by name. But when the attack came, it was ruthlessly delivered. "Thousands of words have been delivered about the new Labour leader. But you only really need to know one thing: he thinks the death of Osama bin Laden was a 'tragedy'". The description of Corbyn as the "new Labour leader" shows the Tories' ambition to permanently contaminate the party, rather than merely the man.

There are plenty of potential landmines ahead for Cameron. The comically lukewarm applause for his defence of EU membership was a reminder of how divided his party is on this issue. But today, he spoke as a man liberated. Liberated by winning a majority. Liberated by not having to fight an election again. Like a second-term US president, he was able to speak of how he was entering "the second half of my time in this job". Tributes to Osborne (the "Iron Chancellor) and Boris Johnson (greeted with a remarkable standing ovation) alluded to the contest to come. But whoever succeeds him can be confident of assuming a party in good health - and more at ease with the modern world than many ever thought possible. 

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.