The Switch 2 conversation this week has been noisy in the usual way: release lists, review threads, sales chatter, physical copies behind glass, and people trying to work out what they are actually going to play next. That last part is the interesting bit. A new console generation always arrives with a small identity crisis. You do not just buy hardware. You inherit a new list.
Maybe it starts with a launch game. Maybe it starts with something you missed on the first Switch. Maybe it starts with a friend saying, "you should really try this one," and you nod like you will remember the name later. You will not. None of us do.
That is why the phrase *Letterboxd for games* keeps coming back. It is not because games need another place to be scored out of five. Scores are the least interesting part of the habit. What people seem to want is a record that can survive the mess: new consoles, old libraries, half-finished saves, wishlists that sprawl across storefronts, and recommendations that arrive while you are in line for coffee.
A new console makes the old problem visible
The last thirty days of gaming chatter have been full of Switch 2 lists. YouTube channels are doing the expected rounds: upcoming cozy games, new releases for Switch 1 and 2, big games to watch, what people are actually playing. Reddit is doing Reddit things: arguing about physical editions, sharing sales headlines, and turning one retail shelf photo into a small referendum on whether games are even real until someone lets you buy the box.
Underneath the jokes, there is a practical problem. New hardware makes your taste feel exciting again, but it also scatters your attention. You suddenly have the games you already own, the ones you want to replay, the ones getting upgraded, the ones your friends are excited about, the ones you saw in a showcase, and the ones you only want because the cover art looked perfect for a rainy Sunday.
Storefront wishlists help a little, but only inside their own walls. Steam remembers Steam. PlayStation remembers PlayStation. Xbox remembers Xbox. Nintendo remembers what Nintendo can sell you. None of those places are built to remember why you cared.
That distinction matters. A wishlist is not the same as intent. A library is not the same as memory. A completed-game counter is not the same as a journal.
The best game tracker is not just a backlog tool
A backlog can turn mean very quickly. It starts as a hopeful shelf and becomes a small accusation. You open the list and all you can see is unfinished business: fifty hours here, two hundred achievements there, a dozen games you bought because everyone said they were essential.
I do not think games need to be treated like chores. Some games are meant to be finished, sure. Some are meant to be abandoned after three good evenings. Some sit untouched for years and then land perfectly because your life finally catches up with them. A useful video game tracker should have room for all of that.
That is where the *Letterboxd for games* comparison works, but only up to a point. Film logging is usually clean. You watched the movie, you rated it, maybe you wrote a note. Games are stranger. They can take weeks. They can change through patches. They can be shared with friends. They can be something you technically played for ten minutes and still think about for a decade.
A game journal has to be flexible enough for those edge cases. It should let you mark what you are playing now without making everything else feel like failure. It should let you shelve a game without shame. It should let you keep a wishlist that is more than a shopping cart. It should let you write a one-sentence note or a messy review that only makes sense to you.
Perthro is built around that quieter idea. It is an iPhone-first social gaming journal in TestFlight beta, not a scoreboard. You can track games you are playing, have played, plan to play, or shelved. You can rate games on a five-star scale and write reviews of any length. The point is not to prove you are a better player than someone else. The point is to keep a record you will actually want to return to.
The iPhone is where the memory usually happens
There is a reason *track games on iPhone* is a better phrase than it sounds. Most game decisions do not happen while you are sitting at the console. They happen in the stray moments around playing.
A friend texts you about a weird detective game. You see a clip from an indie showcase. A review thread convinces you that the new LEGO Batman might be exactly the comfort game you need. Someone mentions a cozy Switch 2 release and you want to save it before the title evaporates from your brain. Later, when you actually have time to play, you do not want to reconstruct the whole chain of desire from search history and vibes.
That is the job of a good tracker: catch the thought when it is small.
Desktop tools can be powerful, and spreadsheets will always have their people. I respect the spreadsheet crowd. They know what they want, and they are willing to build it cell by cell. But for most players, the useful moment is mobile. You want to add a game quickly, move it into a backlog, write down why it caught your eye, or check what you said about the last entry in a series before buying the new one.
That is especially true when your library is spread across platforms. Perthro can import your library from Steam, PlayStation Network, and Xbox Live, with achievements or trophies where supported. Game metadata comes from IGDB. That gives you a starting point, but the import is not the whole story. The more personal part comes after: ratings, reviews, custom lists, backlog order, wishlist order, and the small notes that turn an inventory into a diary.
Social should mean context, not pressure
The social side of game tracking is easy to get wrong. Games already have enough numbers attached to them: hours played, completion percentage, trophies, achievements, rankings, seasonal levels, battle pass progress, critic scores, user scores, trending charts. Add another feed on top and it can start to feel like the hobby is watching you back.
But friends are still the best discovery system games have. Not algorithms. Not store carousels. Friends.
A friend recommendation carries a kind of context that a platform rarely understands. They know you bounced off one roguelike but loved another. They know you do not usually play horror unless the writing is good. They know you say you hate long RPGs and then disappear into one every winter. That kind of taste is hard to quantify, but it is easy to recognize when you see a friend write honestly about what worked for them.
That is the version of social I want from a game journal. Follow players. See activity. React and reply. Notice what people are finishing, shelving, replaying, or quietly loving. Keep it human-sized.
Perthro has friends and a feed for that reason. Not because every opinion needs to become content, and not because every player needs an audience. Sometimes you just want to see that someone you trust gave a game four stars and wrote, "slow start, worth it by hour three." That note can do more than a trailer.
A tracker should help you choose, then help you remember
The current wave of Switch 2 chatter is a good reminder that choosing is now part of the hobby. There are too many games for any normal person to hold in their head. That is not a complaint, exactly. It is a privilege, and sometimes a ridiculous one. But abundance still needs shape.
A good game tracker gives that abundance a little shape without draining the life out of it. It helps you answer simple questions. What am I playing? What did I mean to play next? Which games did I already try and shelve? What did I think of the last one? What did my friends say was worth my time?
Those questions sound small until you need them. Then they are the whole thing.
If you are looking for a *Letterboxd for games*, the best version is probably not a perfect clone of Letterboxd. Games ask for a different kind of memory. They need room for unfinished things, platform sprawl, long gaps, changing opinions, private notes, public reviews, and lists that are allowed to be oddly specific.
That is the shape a good game journal is trying to hold: your games, your journey, all in one place. If your Switch 2 wishlist is already getting away from you, or your Steam library has become a fog bank, maybe start by writing one thing down before it disappears.
Not everything has to become a backlog. Some of it can just become a memory.