20-07-2025
This Is the Commodore Comeback Fans Have Waited for—but the Odds Are Still Against It
After years of mismanagement and questionable product tie-ins, the 80s computer brand is back, now with a fan at the helm. But is the appetite for retro gaming still big enough for it to succeed? The Commodore 64U Starlight Courtesy of Commodore
In 1994, Commodore crashed and burned. Once a home computing giant across the US and Europe, the company was undone by mismanagement and misfires. The carcass was picked clean and the pieces resold so many times that it was hard to keep track, but with each new owner came the inevitable—an attempt to make a fast buck by slapping the famous C= logo on any old junk.
Fans watched in horror as the brand appeared on the mediocre all-in-one PC, the bizarrely named Gravel in Pocket media player, and the Commodore smartphone. There was even a Commodore-branded shredder. So when retro gaming YouTuber Christian 'Perifractic' Simpson announced he wanted to buy what remained of Commodore and give it a new life, questions were asked. Chief among them: does the world still even need Commodore? When I'm 64
Commodore as a brand initially focused on typewriters and calculators, but its glory days arrived with the rise of home micros, causing a swift rebirth as Commodore International Computing.
Its biggest success was the Commodore 64, which hit the sweet spot between affordability and potential. While the CPU was sluggish, powerful graphics and a surprisingly capable sound chip (which remains revered today) spurred creativity on both sides of the Atlantic. Over 5,000 commercial games were released during the machine's heyday, and more than 15 million units were sold, making the C64 still one of the highest-selling single computer models ever.
It's this legacy Simpson aims to revive. Initially, he sought a licensing deal with the Commodore brand owners, imagining 'official' boards and replacement components as part of an inclusive, community-friendly conglomerate. These plans snowballed during discussions, and Simpson found himself securing an agreement to buy Commodore outright for a 'low seven-figure' sum. He now serves as Commodore CEO and promises to revive the company in a sustainable way—one that won't repeat the failures of the past.
But here's where things get tricky. Simpson doesn't actually own the original company because that company no longer exists. Commodore's 1990s dismemberment means the current iteration owns a number of trademarks, but essential parts of the ecosystem remain scattered. C64 ROMs and Amiga (Commodore's 16-bit micro) rights belong to Cloanto and Amiga Corporation. AmigaOS is controlled by Hyperion Entertainment. And aside from the odd mass-market flirtation from clone machines, like the C64DTV all-in-one joystick and the plug-and-play THEC64 Mini, major developments that mattered for the past 30 years have all come from the community, not the brand. Computers for the Masses
It's for these reasons Simpson finds himself walking multiple tightropes. He must avoid alienating enthusiasts that kept the Commodore flame alive, and not imply that only his new Commodore confers legitimacy. He must collaborate closely with owners of other key puzzle pieces and license the Commodore brand fairly to interested third parties. And to recoup that seven-figure sum, the new Commodore must sell enough new hardware, which means moving beyond a dwindling core fanbase.
For now, Simpson's initial play banks heavily on nostalgia—not solely for the C64, but for an entire era. The new Commodore website pitches the company as a 'digital detox brand [that's] grounded in digital minimalism.' It rails against social media, glorifies the good old days of 'techno optimism'—apparently, the 1980s through to the mid-1990s—and hints that Commodore can help users reclaim their childhoods. But the company also wants to be seen as an innovator with an eye on the future, and this results in a kind of branding whiplash. The new Commodore wants to be both reboot and original; past and future.
Fittingly, this iteration's debut product, the Commodore 64 Ultimate, embodies such tensions. The $500 gold-bling Founders Edition and $350 LED-laden disco case Starlight Edition don't exactly scream digital minimalism. But the $300 BASIC Beige is the spitting image of the original hardware. All models bridge authenticity and modernity by supporting original C64 peripherals and current connectivity, including 1080p HDMI output so you needn't hunt down a CRT TV. Inside, it's all FPGAS—field programmable gate arrays—which ultimately mean simulation rather than the less-accurate emulation found in Chinese retro handhelds and cheap plug-and-play TV devices.
Some critics nonetheless grumble that even this 'new' machine is past and present in another way, effectively being an amalgamation of existing products, from the keycaps to the having the Ultimate64 board at its core. However, Ultimate64 creator Gideon Zweijtzer has publicly disagreed that Simpson is merely assembling other people's hard work and slapping on a logo. He believes the Commodore 64 Ultimate was a 'joint effort between parties to create a cohesive package' and credits Simpson as someone with reach who can 'bring people together.' The $64,000 Question
That reach will be essential because noble efforts, sentiment, and saying the right thing won't bring sustainability. Even pent-up demand for a new Commodore 64—at the time of writing, over 4000 units have been sold, amounting to $1.5 million in revenue—is a one-off trick that can't be repeated. History shows retro appeal can be short-lived. Outside the hardcore enthusiasts, fans tend to rapidly move beyond rose-tinted, wide-eyed nostalgia; the retro devices they've bought then gather dust. Few remain on sale for long because the market is finite and fickle.
And then, there's the question of games. A large slice of the annual retro gaming market—estimated to be around $2.5 billion, though no one has a great handle on the numbers—comes from software rather than hardware. The issue for Commodore here is that it never released any notable games of its own, so it can't mimic Atari's ability to remake the Atari 2600 with modern connectivity while also reimagining 1980s classics like Pong and Missile Command . And even if Commodore were to license games, nothing in the entire C64 catalog has the cultural clout of Pac-Man , Space Invaders , Sonic the Hedgehog , or Super Mario Bros .
The Commodore 64 Ultimate menu.
The alternate mainstream option would be an attempt to reestablish Commodore's reputation as a brand that offers computing for the masses, not the classes, ringing in Simpson's desire for a 'simpler, distraction-free computing experience.' But what would that mean in practice? Unplugging? Educational and creative tools? Commodore 64 BASIC is notoriously bad, and it's unclear whether enough newcomers will see value in a relatively expensive beige retro box when a Raspberry Pi costs a fraction of the price and can tap into a massive existing ecosystem. But an entirely new platform would be a colossally risky endeavor. The Last Byte of a Legend
What is the endgame, then? Without hit games and obvious mainstream appeal, how does Commodore survive, let alone thrive? Is it even possible for this 1980s cultural icon to move beyond people who were there at the time and break out of its bubble? It's hard to say.
Perhaps it doesn't have to. Simpson envisions a 'single, joined-up family of Commodore machines,' and that could be enough. Commodore would become a community-focused brand, presiding over a modest ecosystem, acting as a benevolent curator that elevates quality projects, brings just enough polish and legitimacy to help the scene flourish, and simply refuses to let the legacy fade. Although investors who've pumped in cash might see things differently.
A much worse scenario would be a repeat of the past: panic over income, leading to the brand again being stamped on unremarkable products, or the mismanagement and misfires that alienate partners and fans. There's also the very real possibility that Commodore might just discover the harsh reality of being a very niche, small player in an industry of giants. Any one of those could deal a final, fatal blow to the brand from which it would never recover, taking down swathes of the community with it.
Still, this time feels different. This revival doesn't come from cynicism but from genuine passion and love for the brand. Even so, the odds of success feel slim, whether that means sparking a new wave of computing optimism or returning the brand to cultural relevance. But for a while at least, fans can remain optimistic this might finally be the play that truly brings Commodore back to life.
