The End of Discs, the Ownership Crisis: Blockchain's Promise and Gaps Around the Future of Digital Assets

A remark by former PlayStation executive Shawn Layden has sparked fresh debate in the gaming world over recent weeks. In plain terms, he said that if a company can no longer sell a product to a customer, that customer does not truly own it — they hold only a limited permission to use it. As Sony and PlayStation gradually wind down the era of physical discs and move toward digital downloads, Layden's question is not merely about how gamers arrange their shelves; it questions the very foundation of ownership across the entire digital economy. And it is precisely at this point that blockchain technology becomes most relevant. Layden has said he is not certain of the financial reasoning behind Sony's decision. In his words, it is unquestionably a heavily spreadsheeted decision, in which every stage of production, supply and distribution has been measured. But he does not stop there. He has warned that halting physical releases could damage a company's reputation. This caution is not purely about gaming; it is a question of consumer trust, applicable to any digital sector. Another advantage of physical discs is often missing from the discussion: a copy remains transferable until it is destroyed. Digital licences usually carry no such freedom. Layden also offered a numerical illustration. He said the ratio of physical to digital sales might be close to 80-20, or it might not be. Crucially, he did not present this figure as a measurement — by his own admission it is an illustrative example. Treating this number as hard data without verification would be a common error, because it is not the product of independent research. He added that the remaining 20 percent of buyers are the most faithful of the faithful. For them, a physical edition is not just a product; it is a matter of collection and emotion. Layden drew a comparison with the comic-book market, where limited-edition copies hold their value for decades. His argument is that such a loyal collector base will survive the digital age. But how that collection is preserved and transferred without a physical disc is a question he does not clearly answer either. This question sits at the core of blockchain. The central promise of blockchain technology is that buying a digital asset means acquiring genuine ownership, not merely a licence to use. When a token or a non-fungible token is recorded on a blockchain, ownership is logged on a decentralised ledger. So even if a platform one day stops supporting that asset, the proof of ownership does not vanish. This is not only about in-game skins or weapons; it is about redefining the concept of property in the digital economy. This feature of blockchain directly answers Layden's concern. The ownership-versus-access conflict he raises can be resolved in a blockchain-based system. If a user can sell an asset held in their account to someone else, or move it to another platform, ownership takes on real meaning. Here the fundamental difference between physical discs and digital assets becomes clear. A disc can be lent, sold, or played a decade later on an old console. Digital licences usually carry no such freedom, and if blockchain is applied correctly, digital assets could become as transferable as discs. A less-discussed branch of this debate is the football video-game market. Franchises such as EA Football Club or eFootball release a new edition every year, and a large share of that is now digital. Collectors buy physical editions as collectibles, and those collections hold value year after year. If football games also one day become fully digital, the collector culture of football fans will face the same uncertainty. This connection is not directly stated in Sony's decision — it is the analyst's inference, and it should be viewed as exactly that. But turning this potential into reality faces no shortage of obstacles. First, the business models of major gaming companies are directly opposed to blockchain's decentralisation. If a central store platform hands genuine ownership to the customer, it loses control over its own revenue. Second, blockchain's scalability and speed still struggle to meet the demands of large-scale gaming platforms. Third, the reputation of NFTs is already heavily damaged. Owing to speculation, fraud and over-promising, a large part of the digital collector base views the very word NFT with suspicion. So however strong the technical case for blockchain-based ownership may be, rebuilding trust is essential to make it publicly acceptable. Here a contrarian truth emerges. Blockchain can offer a technical solution to the digital ownership problem, but the problem is fundamentally not technical — it is a problem of power and incentives. Platform owners will not voluntarily introduce a system that reduces their control unless law or market pressure forces them. In Layden's own words, the logic behind this decision is a calculation of cost and profit — where the customer's right of ownership is often the last consideration. In other words, even if the technology is ready, the decision to adopt it will come from the corporate and regulatory level, not from the technology layer. So the question becomes — will blockchain solve the digital ownership crisis, or merely create a new intermediary? Real-world examples suggest the answer is still undetermined. Some projects have delivered genuine ownership and transferability, while many others have simply restored the old model of centralised control in a new form. In some cases, the key to a user's wallet effectively remains in the platform's hands, directly contradicting blockchain's core promise. The issue also matters from a consumer-law perspective. Across the European Union and elsewhere, discussions are under way on the ownership of digital goods. If the law one day makes clear that the customer is the true owner of a digital asset, blockchain-based records could become a safeguard. If instead the law favours the platforms, blockchain's role will be limited. This tug-of-war between the two sides will determine which path digital ownership takes over the coming decade. Beyond gaming, the debate applies elsewhere. E-books, streaming music, films — in every case the customer is buying a permission to use, not ownership. After buying a digital film, a user cannot resell it, cannot pass it on as inheritance, and may even lose it if the platform shuts down. If blockchain can provide a credible solution to this crisis, its impact will spread beyond gaming into the entire digital economy. Publishing and the music industry would be affected similarly. If authors and artists can directly control the ownership and royalties of their work on a blockchain, the role of intermediaries will change. But there is risk here too — if complex smart contracts are unintelligible to ordinary users, a new elite layer could form, of those who understand the technology and those who do not. Inequality of ownership could then grow rather than shrink. In the days ahead, there is only one thing worth watching — whether Sony or another major platform announces that it will allow customers to transfer or resell their digital assets. The day such an announcement comes, it will be clear whether the digital ownership crisis is genuinely being solved by technology, or merely changing its language in advertising. Until then, Layden's question will remain hanging — if you cannot sell a thing, do you really own it?