There is also something profoundly democratic about it. In life, we have different jobs, different incomes, different worries. But around a board, all that falls away. The CEO can be humiliated by a teenager’s lucky dice roll. The quiet one in the group can reveal a ruthless competitive streak. Board games reveal character in a way that small talk never can. They strip away our adult personas and remind us how to play.
The lockdowns, paradoxically, fuelled this revival. Families who had spent years orbiting each other in separate rooms were suddenly thrown together with nowhere to go. They dusted off the old games, or bought new ones, and rediscovered the joy of a shared evening. The board game became a lifeline, a structured way to connect when the outside world felt threatening and chaotic.
And now, as we emerge back into the world, we are taking that habit with us. Pubs host board game nights. Cafés are dedicated to them. It is a way of being social that doesn’t revolve solely around alcohol, that encourages conversation rather than shouting over music. It is an analog answer to a digital age, a small, cardboard rebellion against the loneliness of the screen. So, shuffle the deck, pick a token, and roll the dice. Your friends are waiting.
