In this op-ed, Sam Somers, partner and general manager, SKMG, delves into the hype leading up to gaming giant Bethesda’s remastering of a nearly two-decade-old game, The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. In this case study, silence speaks volumes.
Gaming giant Bethesda has just turned a nearly two-decade-old game – The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion – into one of 2025’s hottest properties without publicly lifting a finger, and seemingly on a marketing budget of zero dollars. This brilliance lay not in shouting from rooftops but in understanding how to mobilise a smart conversation: by leaving just enough strategic breadcrumbs for fans and internet sleuths to do all the shouting themselves.
The anticipation began months earlier when whispers of an Oblivion remaster trickled online. These weren’t just idle rumours: they were meticulously fuelled by a 2023 leak from Microsoft’s documents (thanks to the FTC’s investigation into Activision Blizzard’s acquisition), explicitly naming an “Oblivion Remaster”. Adding to the intrigue, an eagle-eyed Reddit user discovered suspiciously polished screenshots lurking within the website of Virtuos Games, the studio responsible for recent acclaimed remasters such as Metal Gear Solid 3. But even amid mounting evidence, Bethesda leaned heavily into what it’s notoriously good at: remaining conspicuously silent, stoking community speculation to near hysteria.
Then, at the rumoured shadow-drop date of 21 April (in America, mind you), Bethesda finally emerged – just barely – from the shadows. A cryptic, perfectly timed post appeared on their official channels – “All will be revealed…” – alongside the date and time of 11 am, 22 April. It wasn’t much, but after weeks of deliberate silence, it was enough to confirm to the community that Bethesda was indeed pulling the strings. That this shit was real. Fans erupted in excitement all over again, exactly as Bethesda intended.
Let’s face it, people adore (and vividly remember) a well-executed surprise. Remember the chaos when Taylor Swift surprise dropped Evermore in 2020? Forgoing traditional, bombastic marketing blitzes can turn a release into something that feels intimate, like a gift handed directly to fans. So, those of us in Australia this morning woke up to the news that Bethesda had ultimately released the trailer, made the game immediately available, and dusted off their hands. Mischief managed.
Crucially, what makes Bethesda’s approach uniquely successful is their razor-sharp understanding of audience dynamics. Gamers are chronically, almost pathologically, online. The r/Oblivion sub-reddit exploded with memes, speculation and nostalgia-infused excitement once fans sensed the remaster was truly on the cards. They meticulously dissected each subtle cue – Bethesda’s breadcrumbs left behind – whether deliberately or incidentally; like Microsoft’s AI-powered Xbox Support chat hinting at a release date. In gaming communities, nothing fuels the fire quite like plausible deniability and strategic silence.
Let’s be clear: Bethesda pulled this off because they knew exactly who they were talking to, and more importantly, exactly what they were teasing. This wasn’t merely clever comms; it was an epic fan service. They understand their audience intimately. It’s gamers who’ve spent over a decade begging for a remastered Oblivion or anything new in The Elder Scrolls franchise. It’s players who’d long accepted they might never revisit Cyrodiil in modern glory. The remaster itself, meticulously rebuilt in Unreal Engine 5, delivered improved graphics, lighting, character models and gameplay mechanics, fully justifying the hype.
But there is a catch: this strategy isn’t universally applicable. It’s uniquely suited to products and brands with built-in cultural weight and established anticipation. If you’re an unknown brand teasing a product no one’s clamouring for, all the strategic silence and breadcrumb trails in the world won’t build the excitement you need. Instead, it will breed indifference. Teasing only works if your audience already believes in what you’re teasing. If you’re simultaneously trying to convince consumers they actually want what you’re quietly hyping, this tactic quickly falls apart.
To keep in the fantasy realm here, picture an unknown author hinting at the third and final book in the Name of the Wind series. Sure, that could spark interest, but only because the product itself is already something people desperately want. Without that baseline hunger or cultural resonance, strategic silence is more likely to leave you unheard than celebrated.
Bethesda’s approach to Oblivion Remastered was masterful, but it hinged entirely on a deep understanding of audience psychology, established credibility and a product worthy of the tease. Done well, it’s a marketing wizard’s spell. Done badly? It’s just awkward silence.
