It’s 2026, and I just returned Armored Core VI to my local library after a three-week binge. I didn’t pay a cent. My hold on the newest big release just came in, and I’ll pick it up tomorrow. If you had told me back in 2022 that my public library would become my primary game source, I might have laughed. Now it feels like the only sane way to keep up with this hobby.

Back in 2023, the release calendar was absolutely brutal on wallets. That year gave us Hi-Fi Rush, Venba, Cocoon, Lies of P, Sea of Stars, Humanity, and a pile of other critical darlings. Triple-A prices had just crept up to $70, and buying even half of them would have drained my bank account.

I leaned hard into subscription services. Xbox Game Pass covered a few. PlayStation Plus Premium gave me access to some excellent indies. The Epic Games Store tossed me a free game or two every week, though rarely new releases. But there were still major games I wanted to play that didn't land on any of those services—Armored Core VI, Star Wars Jedi: Survivor, Metroid Prime Remastered, Marvel's Midnight Suns, and Disney Illusion Island, to name a few.

That’s when I discovered my library’s game collection.

I currently have two games checked out and one on the way. Earlier this year I played through Metroid Prime Remastered and Marvel's Midnight Suns entirely from library copies. I’ve also borrowed Diablo IV, Street Fighter 6, and Fire Emblem Engage when I could find the time. The process is simple: search the online catalog, place a hold, wait for the notification, and pick it up from the hold shelf.

But games are only the beginning. My library card also unlocks a massive film collection—new releases on Blu-ray, older classics, even Criterion Collection editions with little essay booklets. If they don't have a physical copy, I can log into Kanopy and stream something on my TV for free.

There are shelves of CDs, comic books, manga, and even a library of things where you can rent an instrument, a sewing machine, or a Chromebook. I've seen people borrow ukuleles and pressure washers. It's genuinely wild.

Libraries have become one of the few remaining free third spaces in American life. They're places where you can exist without being expected to buy something. That matters in 2026 more than ever. They aren't just for readers, and they never were.

Now, I won't pretend library borrowing is instant gratification. Sometimes there's a wait. For a big new game, I might be tenth in line. But that's fine. While I wait for Spider-Man or Super Mario Bros. Wonder to circulate back to me, I can read a manga volume, learn a few chords on a rented guitar, or finally watch that film I missed in theaters.

If you're trying to play more and spend less, check your local library's website right now. You might be shocked by what's sitting on their shelves. The hold system costs you nothing but patience, and that patience pays for itself in saved cash.

In the three years since I started borrowing games, I've saved well over a thousand dollars. More importantly, I've rediscovered a public institution that feels almost utopian in a world of rising prices and shrinking free spaces. My only regret is not starting sooner.