For nearly thirty years, the second week of June was the Christmas of the gaming world. Thousands of journalists, developers, and fans descended upon the Los Angeles Convention Center for E3 (the Electronic Entertainment Expo). It was the place where history was made, consoles were won or lost, and CEOs became memes.

But today, the lights are dark. In late 2023, the ESA officially called it: E3 is dead. How did the “World Series of Video Games” go from a mandatory industry pillar to a ghost of the past? Let’s plug in and look back at the history.

The Birth of a Titan (1995)

Before 1995, video games were treated like the “ugly stepchild” of the Consumer Electronics Show (CES). In the early 90s, gaming giants were often tucked away in outdoor tents; one year, a rainstorm actually ruined the hardware on display.

Sick of being relegated to the back of the hall behind dishwashers and microwaves, the industry broke away to launch E3 in Los Angeles. The very first show set the tone for decades of high-stakes drama. Sega of America’s CEO took the stage to announce the Saturn was available immediately for $399. Moments later, Sony’s Steve Race walked to the podium, uttered a single phrase—“$299”—and walked off. With that one number, Sony won the first E3, and the tradition of the “Mic Drop” was born.

The Golden Era: Lights, Cameras, and Chaos

From the late 90s to the mid-2000s, E3 was a rockstar. This was the era of the “Console Wars” in their purest, most expensive form. The Los Angeles Convention Center became a neon-soaked battlefield where multi-story booths and deafening bass lines competed for attention.

It was a period of pure personality. Who could forget Reggie Fils-Aimé’s 2004 debut? “My name is Reggie. I’m about kicking ass, I’m about taking names, and we’re about making games.” This was where we saw the first real gameplay of Halo 2, the debut of the Wii, and the legendary “Three-Hit Combo” of 2015 when Sony announced Final Fantasy VII Remake, The Last Guardian, and Shenmue III in a single night.

The Rivalry: Tokyo Game Show (TGS)

While E3 was the corporate heavyweight of the West, the Tokyo Game Show (TGS) emerged in 1996 as its neon-soaked Eastern rival. The two shows represented a fascinating split in gaming DNA. E3 was built as a “trade-only” event—a fortress for suits, retailers, and press. In contrast, TGS was always a public-first celebration.

The geography changed the games on display: while L.A. echoed with the sound of first-person shooters, the Makuhari Messe in Japan was the sanctuary for JRPG royalty. In 1996, E3 actually tried to launch “E3 Tokyo” to crush the competition, but it was a spectacular failure. Sony and Sega refused to show up, preferring their domestic turf. Ultimately, TGS’s focus on the community and fan experience is why it is still standing today, while E3’s expensive, exclusive marketing machine eventually ran out of fuel.

The “Cringe” Hall of Fame

Part of E3’s magic was that it was live, and live television thrives on disaster. You can’t tell the history of the show without the legendary blunders that became internet history.

In 2006, Sony gave us the “Giant Enemy Crab” and the infamous “$599” PS3 price reveal that sent shockwaves (and laughter) through the industry. Then there was the 2010 Konami press conference—a fever dream featuring luchadores, “one million troops,” and staring contests that felt more like performance art than a product pitch. These moments, while embarrassing for the brands, gave E3 a human element. It was the one week a year where the industry’s polished veneer cracked, and we got to see the chaos underneath.

The Beginning of the End: The Digital Pivot

The cracks in the foundation started appearing long before the pandemic. In 2013, Nintendo realized they didn’t need to spend $10 million on a physical stage to talk to their fans; they skipped the live keynote and launched the Nintendo Direct.

Slowly, other titans followed suit. The “E3 Tax”—the massive cost of floor space and logistics—started to outweigh the benefits. When Sony officially pulled out of the show in 2019, the writing was on the wall. The industry began to realize that a YouTube premiere could reach 10 million people more effectively than a loud convention floor.

Final Boss: The Pandemic and the Legacy

The COVID-19 pandemic was the final blow. With the 2020 show canceled, publishers were forced to master the art of the “Digital Showcase.” By the time E3 tried to return, the industry had moved on. Geoff Keighley’s Summer Game Fest filled the void, and “E3 Week” was replaced by a month-long drip-feed of trailers.

E3 was a product of its time—a pre-internet necessity where the industry had to meet in one room to talk to the world. While we won’t miss the $15 convention center hot dogs or the grueling lines, we will miss the collective “Gasp” of a dark theater seeing a legend born for the first time.

Rest in peace, E3. You were truly “Legendary.”