There’s a myth that refuses to die in Magic: the idea that balance is possible. That somewhere in the multiverse, a format exists where every color, deck, and archetype gets its time in the sun — and nobody complains. That’s adorable. But also, nonsense. Magic has never been fair. It was never meant to be fair. And deep down, that’s why we love it.

What “Fair” Even Means (And Why It’s a Trap)

When players say “fair,” what they really mean is: I want to win, but only if I feel like I earned it. We crave a sense of control. We want our deck to “do the thing,” but we also want it to feel like the game rewarded our skill, not our wallet or our luck.

But the problem is, Magic is a living system. It’s constantly shifting — new mechanics, reprints, power creep, bans, and endless Commander cards that make you question your life choices. A format that feels balanced today will be a dumpster fire in six months. And that’s not a failure. That’s evolution.

Fairness is a moving target. You can chase it, or you can learn to live with the chaos and enjoy the fireworks.

Commander: The Friendly Format That Secretly Isn’t

Commander gets marketed as the “casual” format — the place where everyone can play their pet deck and have fun. In reality? It’s social warfare disguised as friendship.

Sure, the Rule Zero conversation exists to keep expectations in check. But once the game starts, all bets are off. Someone’s comboing off with Dockside Extortionist while the group’s “jank” deck turns out to be a finely tuned value engine with a body count. Commander isn’t fair because it’s not supposed to be. It’s a sandbox — the balance is in the politics, not the card pool.

That’s what makes it beautiful. You can’t design your way out of human nature. You can only lean into it. And if that sounds familiar, you might’ve already read about how social dynamics shape games in EDH Politics.

Standard: The Illusion of Equal Ground

Standard is supposed to be the “controlled” format — the one where the design team keeps things tidy. New cards rotate in, old cards leave, and for about ten minutes, it all feels reasonable.

Then someone breaks it.

Every single Standard meta has a deck that overperforms — not because Wizards failed, but because players are wired to exploit systems. The moment someone finds a synergy between Fable of the Mirror-Breaker and something no one noticed before, the whole format tilts.

Players then flood Reddit with cries of “broken design,” “power creep,” and “why did I sell my mono-white deck?” But this cycle is exactly what keeps Magic interesting. A perfectly balanced Standard would be boring — it would feel like a math test, not a card game.

Modern: The Frankenstein Format

Modern is the wild middle child — a museum of mechanics that somehow still functions. You can play elves, elementals, combo soup, or whatever nonsense you want. It’s glorious and terrifying.

Modern isn’t balanced either — it’s curated chaos. When every deck can do something absurd, no one deck feels unbeatable. You’re not guaranteed a fair match, but you are guaranteed a story.

And that’s what players remember. Nobody reminisces about “that one fair match where both decks traded value for ten turns.” They remember the turn-three win, the improbable comeback, the moment they top-decked Lightning Bolt and screamed loud enough to scare the dog.

Vintage: The Format That Gave Up on Pretending

Vintage doesn’t even bother pretending to be fair. It’s like the designers said, “You want broken? Fine. Have a turn-one kill.” It’s the purest distillation of Magic’s DNA — power, greed, brilliance, and insanity.

It’s not a question of whether something’s broken; it’s how broken it is. Vintage is a museum of forbidden tech. It’s a place where you can legally cast Black Lotus, draw half your deck, and still lose to someone running a deck from 2003.

It’s chaos with a pedigree.

Side Note: I don’t care about “fair.” It’s a pipedream. But the disparities also motivate me to build something crazy, so I can smoke my buddy who dropped $20k on all of the Power 9 with my elf deck and laugh at them.

Why Fairness Isn’t the Point

The dream of a “fair” Magic format comes from a misunderstanding of what makes this game timeless. It’s not fairness — it’s friction. The imbalance between archetypes, mechanics, and player skill creates the tension that keeps us addicted.

When you sit down for a game, you don’t want sterile equality. You want drama. You want the swingy moments where a single draw changes everything. You want that dopamine hit of pulling the perfect answer from the top of your deck.

That’s why decks like those discussed in When to Stop Adding Staples and Start Adding Soul resonate so much — they remind us that flavor, creativity, and risk matter more than raw efficiency.

Power Creep Isn’t Evil — It’s Evolution

Every time Wizards prints a new set, someone cries, “This card breaks the game!” And sometimes, they’re right. But the truth is, Magic’s health depends on new extremes.

Cards like Oko, Thief of Crowns or Sheoldred, the Apocalypse may dominate their metas for a time, but they also push the boundaries of what players expect. That’s how formats evolve. That’s how deckbuilders adapt.

It’s uncomfortable, sure — but comfort kills innovation.

The Human Factor

Even if Magic were somehow balanced mechanically, it would still be broken by psychology. Players aren’t rational. They hold grudges. They bluff. They build decks out of spite.

And that’s the magic of Magic. The human element guarantees imbalance. A casual player facing a shark-tier spike isn’t “losing unfairly” — they’re living the full Magic experience. It’s personal, unpredictable, and sometimes infuriating. But it’s real.

The next time you’re tempted to complain about broken cards or unfair matchups, remember: this is the same game where a $0.10 common can beat a $500 deck with the right draw. Fairness is boring. Asymmetry is life.

Embracing the Beautiful Mess

Magic is the longest-running, most adaptable card game in existence because it’s not static. Every broken combo, every warped format, every “what were they thinking” design choice adds to the mythology.

If you want perfect balance, play chess. If you want unpredictable beauty, play Magic. The imbalance isn’t a bug — it’s the secret sauce that’s kept us sleeving up cards for 30 years.

The sooner we stop chasing “fair,” the sooner we can appreciate what this game really is: a chaotic, creative, occasionally cruel masterpiece.

Because deep down, Magic has never been fair — and thank goodness for that.