HESS Toys Legacy

I’ve been reflecting on something recently that really struck me, not just as a concept for business but as a powerful idea about creating lasting value — and it comes from a place I never expected. It’s the story of the Hess toy trucks. I didn’t grow up with them, and honestly, I never even knew about them until a few years ago. But once I stumbled across this tradition, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It all started when I was visiting my American friends. They were showing me their home, and as we walked through the playing room, I noticed a shelf filled with toy trucks — not just a few, but dozens, neatly arranged by year. Some of them were clearly from the late 80s and early 90s. I remember thinking how strange it was that these toys looked almost brand new. They didn’t look like they’d been sitting on a shelf for decades — they looked like they could have just been bought yesterday.

At first, I figured they had picked them up for their kids, but when I found out their kids were all in their 20s, I started to wonder. Why keep all these toys? And why keep them in such pristine condition?

I dug deeper into the collection and realized something pretty amazing: these weren’t just toys. This was a tradition. A family tradition that a lot of people follow. Every year, around the holidays, they buy a new Hess truck-not because they need it, but because it’s part of the rhythm of their family. They don’t just collect the toys; they build a timeline. Each truck is like a snapshot of that particular year-a memory frozen in time. The more I learned, the more I was amazed by the entire system.

As I started looking into it, I found that Hess toys have been around since 1964, and since then, the company has released one truck every year. One truck. Not dozens. Not hundreds. Just one.

And that’s where it clicked for me. The beauty of the Hess model isn’t about releasing tons of toys or trying to maximize profits by flooding the market. No, it’s about creating something special-one release per year, something people can anticipate, something that becomes part of their annual tradition. And as I read more, I realized this wasn’t just about the toys themselves-it was about the anticipation, the tradition, and the ritual that comes with it.

If you want a Hess toy from, say, the 80s or 90s, it’s not like you can just walk into a store and grab a reprint. They don’t remake them, they don’t redo the designs. Once it’s sold, it’s gone. You have to track it down from collectors, through specialized marketplaces, and that’s part of the charm. It’s not about mass production-it’s about creating something meaningful, something that lasts.

And here’s the best part: People keep them. Not for resale value necessarily, but because they’re connected to something. They’re part of a story. That’s something that’s so rare today. In a world where so much gets produced and discarded, the Hess trucks stand as a testament to how powerful anticipation and scarcity can be when used to create emotional value.

Now, I’m a huge fan of this brand, and after diving deep into the tradition, I’ve decided to start my own collection. The goal? To collect as many of these trucks as I can, and pass them down to my son. I’ve already bought several trucks from the early 2000s-all in near-perfect condition-and I’m hooked. There’s something incredibly satisfying about knowing I’m building a collection that’s not just about the toy, but about the legacy and tradition behind it.

I can’t wait to see how it feels when my son grows up and looks at these toys, understanding that each one represents a chapter in a long history. It’s not just a collection-it’s a timeline of moments, memories, and experiences. And this is where the parallel to what we do really struck me.

Right now, it’s so easy to get caught up in creating a constant stream of releases. It’s tempting to push out more titles, more products, more content-always thinking about volume and scale. But the more I think about the Hess model, the more I realize that there’s power in restraint. There’s power in fewer releases with more meaning. We don’t have to flood the market to make something valuable. Instead, what if we focused on releasing fewer, more meaningful products? What if we took the time to craft something people actually looked forward to? Something that wasn’t just another item in a catalog, but something people could build a connection to over time?

I didn’t grow up with Hess toys. But now, I’m completely captivated by the concept behind them. I’m not just collecting trucks; I’m learning about how something so simple can become part of a family’s tradition. And I want to do that-I want to create something meaningful in our space, where each release counts, and people can look forward to the next chapter.

That’s the kind of legacy I want to build. Not a collection of products. But a timeline. 

And when I look at the board game industry, I realize something interesting-we don’t really have anything quite like this. There are publishers like Button Shy or Best with 1 that release games regularly, sometimes every month. Some titles quietly disappear, never to be printed again, while others come back again and again because of demand. There are also small publishers who experiment with limited runs-I’ve seen creators print 500 copies and move on, treating each game as a moment in time. But the pattern almost always repeats itself: if a game becomes successful, it gets reprinted. Again and again. And while that makes sense from a business perspective, it slowly removes that feeling of “this was special, this was now.” And that’s what keeps me thinking-what if there was something different? Something closer to that Hess idea-where a game exists in a specific moment, in a specific form, and once it’s gone, it becomes part of a story rather than just another product to restock. Because there is something undeniably powerful in knowing that a game is limited. That if you want to be part of that moment, you need to act now. Not because of artificial pressure, but because tomorrow it might simply be harder to find. Not impossible, but different. More meaningful. And honestly, I don’t really see this philosophy fully realized in our industry yet.

Maybe we’re too focused on availability. On scaling. On keeping things alive forever. But what if value doesn’t come from permanence? What if it comes from timing? What if a game could be not just something you own-but something you were there for? That’s an idea I can’t stop thinking about.

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