The easiest way to make friends anywhere

A pocket-sized card game taught me more about connection than any self-help book

I got introduced to Dobble in 2022 after hearing absolute chaos erupt at the end of the office. Laughter, shouting, something about a “moon” and an “icicle” being yelled like it was a matter of life or death. Naturally, I wandered over to investigate and found a group of adults, the kind who probably have mortgages, screaming at small round cards like their lives depended on it.

I was immediately obsessed.

If you’ve never played Dobble, the premise is painfully simple. Each card has eight symbols. Every two cards share exactly one symbol. Your job is to find the matching one before anyone else does. That’s it. That’s the game. It was designed for six-year-olds, which says a lot about both my attention span and emotional maturity, but don’t be fooled. This game brings out something primal. It’s basically psychological warfare in a tin.

You either love Dobble, or you’re wrong.

I’ve always loved playing games. I never want to lose my playful side. I think it’s one of the most underrated ways to connect with people. To cut through the awkwardness, the surface-level small talk, and get to the real stuff.

Games won’t tell you someone’s life story, but they’ll show you everything else you actually need to know. Like whether they’re quietly competitive or full-blown chaotic. Whether they crumble under pressure or come alive in it. Whether they’re the kind of person who laughs when they lose, or sulks and says the game was stupid anyway. Do they celebrate a win with grace, or like they’ve just scored the World Cup final goal? Are they strategic thinkers? Sneaky rule benders? The designated hype person? The secret assassin who pretends not to care and then wipes the floor with everyone?

Dobble, in particular, creates either friends or enemies. There’s no in-between. The people who dive in, who get flustered and start yelling “CARROT!” at the top of their lungs like it’s a distress signal. Those are my people. The ones who sit back with a raised eyebrow, saying things like “Hmm, I just don’t really get the appeal”. We won’t be sharing a bottle of wine any time soon.

It’s a bit like a dating profile. If done well, it filters people out. Dobble is my green flag test. If you don’t enjoy it, I assume one of three things: you don’t like fun, you’re deeply threatened by speed-based visual puzzles (which, fair), or you were the kind of child who read the instructions first and probably insisted everyone else did too. None of those options exactly scream soulmate, I’m afraid.

I genuinely worry about people who don’t like playing games. In the same way I worry about people who say they’ve never cried at a film. Or people who don’t like dogs. It’s a red flag. It makes me wonder where all that feeling is hiding. Like… are you okay?

Dobble is also one of the easiest, quickest ways to bring joy into a moment that doesn’t have much of it. I’ve pulled it out in hostel kitchens, on beaches, in pub gardens, and airport lounges. No matter the setting, it does the same thing. Breaks the ice. Loosens people up. Makes them smile. You don’t need to speak the same language to play. You just need fast eyes and the confidence to shout “BOTTLE!” like it’s the only thing standing between you and missing your flight.

And the best part, Dobble rarely stays just Dobble. It might start with shouting about symbols, but it never ends there. It’s the entryway. A few rounds of yelling, and suddenly you're not just playing a game, you’re getting to know each other. It softens the edges, drops the guard, and invites proper conversation. You find yourself swapping stories between rounds. Real connection hiding in the middle of the madness.

There’s something intimate about play. Not the deep-heart-soul stuff, but something else. A closeness built through silliness. Eye contact. Laughter that catches you off guard and makes everyone feel more human.

I’ve been trying to reclaim joy in all its forms lately. Not just the big fireworks kind, but the everyday kind. The small, silly, totally unnecessary things that somehow feel like everything when they’re happening. Dobble is one of those things for me.

I’ve realised lately that joy doesn’t always show up in big, cinematic moments. Sometimes it hides in your bag, between a pack of gum and a crumpled up receipt. It looks like a tin of cards that turns strangers into teammates and grown adults into competitive messes. Carrying Dobble is my way of choosing joy on purpose. Of inviting it in, even when the setting doesn’t call for it. Especially then.

So yes, I always carry Dobble. It’s my social currency, my ice breaker, my emotional support game.

If you love it too, we’ll probably get on. If not, you can sit quietly in the corner while the rest of us scream random objects and dissolve into chaos.

Not everything has to be profound. Sometimes it’s just fun. And that’s enough.