Three decades after the PlayStation launched in the US and Europe, Sony’s celebration includes limited-edition Reebok sneakers, special console designs, and now a 400-page photography book that costs as much as the original console did in 1995. Read-Only Memory, the publisher behind well-regarded volumes on Sega and other gaming history, is handling the project with spring 2026 delivery. The standard edition runs $125, while collectors willing to drop $325 get a deluxe package with a clamshell box and only 1,994 others for company. That’s not a typo, by the way. The limited run of 1,994 copies is a nod to the year PlayStation launched in Japan, because of course it is. This is the kind of meticulous, self-aware detail that makes design nerds weak in the knees and normal people wonder why they’re spending rent money on a book.
The thing about anniversary projects like this is that they either become forgettable cash grabs or they tap into something deeper, something that justifies the price tag beyond nostalgia. From what we’ve seen so far, this one leans toward the latter. The images I’ve got—console prototypes that never left Sony’s labs, early controller iterations that look like they were sketched on the back of a napkin, a VR headset prototype that predates the PSVR by a decade, and pages of logo experiments that show just how close we came to a PlayStation brand that looked entirely different—suggest this isn’t just a victory lap. It’s a visual autopsy of how one of gaming’s most influential brands was built, piece by piece, mistake by mistake. And when you consider that the photography is handled by Benedict Redgrove, the guy who turned NASA’s engineering labs into high art, you start to understand why the deluxe edition is priced like a mid-range graphics card. The question isn’t whether it’s worth it. The question is who this is actually for.
Designer: Read-Only Memory
Because let’s be real, the people dropping $325 on a book aren’t the same ones complaining about the price of a PS5 game. This is for the collectors, the industrial design obsessives, the kind of person who can look at a rejected PlayStation logo from 1993 and geek out over the kerning. The standard edition is already expensive at $125, but that’s the cost of entry for a project that promises unprecedented access to Sony’s archives. We’re talking about a company that’s historically been tighter than a drum with its internal development materials. The fact that they’re letting Read-Only Memory photograph and publish prototypes that never saw the light of day is a big deal. It’s the kind of thing that usually only happens when someone retires and smuggles out a USB drive full of secrets. Here, it’s all above board, all officially sanctioned, all presented in a package that’s been art-directed by Michael C Place, whose work on the original WipEout games helped define the PlayStation’s early visual identity. That’s not just a selling point. That’s a statement of intent.
The images I’ve seen confirm that this isn’t a simple chronological retelling of PlayStation history. It’s a design deep dive. There’s a prototype controller that looks like it was inspired by a walkie-talkie, complete with a microphone that never made it to production. There’s a VR headset from the late ‘90s that looks like it was built by someone who had only heard descriptions of virtual reality. There are pages dedicated to the evolution of the PlayStation logo, showing how the brand’s identity was refined from something clunky and corporate into the sleek, instantly recognizable mark we know today. These aren’t just curiosities. They’re evidence of a process, a reminder that even the most iconic products start as a series of bad ideas that slowly get whittled down into something great. And for anyone who’s ever worked in design or product development, that’s the real draw. This book isn’t just showing you the final product. It’s showing you the scars.
Then there’s the photography. Benedict Redgrove’s involvement is what elevates this from a nice coffee table book to something that could legitimately be displayed in a gallery. His work on NASA’s facilities proved that he can turn functional, industrial spaces into something approaching fine art. If he’s bringing that same eye to Sony’s archives, we’re not just looking at a documentation of hardware. We’re looking at a recontextualization of it. The prototypes aren’t just presented as historical artifacts. They’re framed as objects of beauty, as sculptures that happen to be functional. That’s a subtle but important distinction. It means this book isn’t just for gamers or Sony fanboys. It’s for anyone who appreciates the intersection of form and function, who understands that the things we use every day are the result of countless decisions, most of which we never see.
The interviews are another selling point, though we don’t yet know how deep they go. Ken Kutaragi, the so-called “Father of PlayStation,” is involved, as are other key figures like Teiyu Goto and Yujin Morisawa. If these conversations go beyond the usual PR-friendly anecdotes and actually dig into the tensions, the failures, and the internal battles that shaped the PlayStation’s development, this could be one of the more honest looks at how a gaming giant operates. Sony’s corporate culture isn’t exactly known for its transparency, so if this book manages to pull back the curtain even a little, it’ll be worth the price of admission. That said, we’ve all been burned by “exclusive interviews” that turn out to be little more than sanitized press releases. Here’s hoping Read-Only Memory pushes for something more substantial.
The pricing, of course, is going to be the sticking point for a lot of people. $125 for the standard edition is slightly steep, but it’s in line with other high-end design books. The $325 deluxe edition, limited to 1,994 copies, is another story. That’s not just a book. That’s a flex. It’s the kind of thing you buy to signal to other collectors that you’re serious, that you’re part of an exclusive club. And look, there’s nothing wrong with that. Luxury goods exist for a reason. But it does raise the question of whether this book is meant to be read or displayed. The answer is probably both, but the emphasis is clearly on the latter. This is a book that’s designed to be handled with care, to be placed on a shelf where visitors can see it, to be flipped through occasionally but never actually read cover to cover. That’s not a criticism. It’s just the reality of what this is.
For those of us who care about the intersection of design, technology, and culture, though, this book is fascinating. It’s a chance to see the PlayStation not just as a gaming console but as a product of its time, shaped by the same forces that influenced everything from cars to computers in the ‘90s and early 2000s. The prototypes, in particular, are a reminder that innovation isn’t a straight line. It’s a messy, iterative process full of dead ends and wrong turns. The fact that Sony is willing to show those wrong turns, to acknowledge that the PlayStation could have looked and felt very different, is refreshing. It’s a level of honesty you don’t often see from a company that’s spent decades carefully controlling its image.
So, is it worth it? That depends on what you’re looking for. If you’re a casual fan who just wants a nice book to flip through, the standard edition is probably overkill. If you’re a designer, an engineer, or just someone who’s obsessed with the details of how things are made, this might be one of the more interesting releases of the year. The real test will be whether the book delivers on its promise of depth. If it’s just a bunch of pretty pictures with captions, it’ll be a disappointment. If it actually digs into the why behind the what, if it gives us real insight into the decisions that shaped the PlayStation, then it’ll be something special. Given Read-Only Memory’s track record, I’m inclined to be optimistic. But we’ll have to wait until spring 2026 to find out for sure.
In the meantime, if you’re on the fence, ask yourself this: Do you care more about the games or the hardware? If it’s the games, save your money. If it’s the hardware, if you’re the kind of person who gets excited about the evolution of a controller’s ergonomics or the way a logo’s typography changes over time, then this book is probably for you. Just don’t expect it to be a casual purchase. This is the kind of thing you budget for, the kind of thing you clear space on your shelf for before it even arrives. And if you’re going for the deluxe edition, well, just make sure your significant other is prepared for the explanation that follows. Because “it’s an investment” only works so many times.
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