The scene: it's right after

I knew Lucina and Robin, the Fire Emblem amiibo, were coming for months. I had already missed out on Marth and Ike the first time around, because I was so swamped with life things that I missed pre-order windows. I eventually shrugged it off, thinking, "I don't need to spend $26 on these when I bills to pay." Right? RIGHT?

Back to the present. The morning after the Nintendo Direct I walk into work at nine. My desk neighbor, editor Peter Brown, tells me that GameStop pre-orders for the new amiibo start at noon. He already has the GameStop webpage open to the amiibo section.

As for that second point of blame, that's us. We did this. We did this to ourselves and we love it. We rail against Nintendo and retailers for squeezing us out of buying these toys, and we readily do it again and again and again. We allow this to happen. We stand in pre-order lines for hours, huffing and puffing about the wait and how we took off work to wait the entire time. We crazily refresh websites for hours, crashing an entire company system with our hunger for tiny Charizards. The amiibo fever exists because we make it so, passing it along to one another like kids on the playground pass mono. Stop placing your lives on hold to pre-order a plastic figure the size of your middle finger. That figure won't put bacon on the table or keep you warm at night. Stop waiting in lines for hours and just go to the store to get them when it's convenient for you; don't feed the hysteria.

But back to me. At 3 p.m. I gave up hope that I would get my Lucina and Robin amiibo. When Justin told me he was planning to get up at 4 a.m. for the Toys R Us online pre-orders, I sadly responded that I would not be joining him. In one day I had caught amiibo fever and completely burned it out, discouraged and disgusted at myself.

The day after the amiibo fiasco, I am exhausted. I don't own any amiibo and I don't know that I will ever consider purchasing one ever again, even if I think it's a cool addition to a game I own. I can't bring myself care as deeply as I know other people do, because the heinous, enthusiasm-killing atmosphere surrounding the amiibo market has driven me away.

Nintendo is limiting its amiibo market by limiting access to the amiibo people want; that's a lot of sad fans and a lot of dollars lost. People want certain amiibo because they love certain series, because Nintendo has created something that they enjoy and adore and they want to deepen their connection to that franchise. By deliberately making fans fight for a chance to buy an amiibo, you're dividing the community and your audience.

So please: don't get so riled up over amiibo. Although if anyone bought an extra Lucina, I will happily take it off your hands.