Let’s be real. Most icebreakers suck. You sit in a circle, someone asks a generic question about "strengths and weaknesses," and everyone suddenly finds their cuticles fascinating. But board game would you rather is different. It’s the high-stakes, low-consequence arena where friendships are tested over things that don’t matter at all—like whether you’d rather lose every game of Catan for a year or have to wear a tuxedo every time you play Patchwork. It works because it taps into the specific, nerdy anxieties we all share.
I’ve spent a decade hovering over cardboard and plastic. I’ve seen grown adults nearly come to blows over the turn order in Twilight Imperium. What I’ve learned is that the "would you rather" format isn't just a way to kill time while someone looks up a rule in the index. It’s a diagnostic tool. It reveals if your friends are "win-at-all-costs" sharks or if they just want to see the world burn.
Why Board Game Would You Rather Actually Works
Standard icebreakers fail because they're too broad. Ask a stranger if they'd rather have flight or invisibility, and they’ll give you a canned answer. Ask a tabletop enthusiast if they’d rather always have the first player marker but never be able to trade, or always play last with a 20% resource bonus? Now you’ve got a debate.
Psychologically, these questions force a choice between two "pains" or two "pleasures" within a closed system. According to game design theory—think of the work by Jesse Schell or Raph Koster—games are essentially series of interesting choices. By stripping away the board and the dice, board game would you rather distills the hobby down to its purest form: decision-making under pressure. It’s basically a meta-game.
It’s about the stakes. In a real game, a bad move might cost you the win. In a hypothetical question, a bad answer might cost you your reputation as a strategic mastermind. Honestly, that's way scarier.
The Strategy of the Impossible Choice
You can't just ask boring stuff. "Would you rather play Monopoly or Scrabble?" is a garbage question. Everyone has an answer, and nobody cares. To make it work, you have to lean into the specific pain points of the hobby.
The Rulebook Dilemma
Imagine this. You’re at a friend’s house. They’ve bought the newest, heaviest Lacerda game. Would you rather spend two hours listening to a rules explanation where the teacher keeps saying "wait, let me check the book," or would you rather jump straight in and play for four hours knowing you’re definitely playing 30% of the rules incorrectly?
Most "hardcore" gamers will choose the rules check. They can't stand the idea of an "invalid" win. Casual players? They’ll take the chaos. This reveals the divide between those who value the system and those who value the experience. Neither is wrong. Both are exhausting in their own way.
The Component Crisis
We all have that one friend. The one who eats Cheetos while touching your linen-finish cards. Here’s a prompt: Would you rather have a dog chew the corner of your rarest out-of-print box, or have a friend spill a full glass of red wine on the center of the board during the final round of a campaign?
The dog damage is permanent but "natural." The wine spill is a betrayal. Most people I’ve surveyed—and yes, I’ve actually polled my local gaming group of 50+ people—choose the dog. We can forgive animals. We struggle to forgive the person who ruined a $100 Kickstarter exclusive because they were "gesturing too wildly."
Specific Scenarios That Will Ruin (or Save) Your Night
If you’re looking to inject some life into a stagnant group, you need specific, high-friction prompts. Don't be afraid to get weirdly technical.
- The Alpha Gamer Tax: Would you rather play a co-op game with an "Alpha Gamer" who tells you exactly what to do every turn, or play a competitive game against a "Sore Loser" who sighs and complains every time you make a good move?
- The Legacy Conundrum: Would you rather finish a 15-session Legacy game (like Pandemic Legacy or Gloomhaven) only to realize you skipped a major rule in Box 1 that made the whole thing easier, or have the group fall apart with only one session left to play?
- The Shelf of Shame: Would you rather sell every game you own and start over with only five titles, or never be allowed to buy a new game again but you have to keep everything currently on your shelf?
The "Shelf of Shame" question is particularly brutal for those of us with 200+ games. It forces you to confront the "sunk cost fallacy." Many gamers realize they’d actually prefer the five-game limit because it removes the guilt of the unplayed boxes staring them down from the Kallax shelves.
The Cultural Impact of Tabletop Hypocrisy
There’s a weird elitism in the hobby. We pretend it’s all about the "crunch" and the "mechanics," but a lot of it is just about aesthetic. Consider the board game would you rather question regarding components: Would you rather play a mechanically perfect game that is illustrated with MS Paint clip art, or a mediocre, boring game with the highest quality 32mm miniatures and double-layered boards?
If you say the "perfect game," you're lying. Or at least, the market says you're lying. The rise of multi-million dollar Kickstarters proves we are suckers for plastic. We want the "table presence."
Handling the "Non-Gamer" in the Room
When you’re dealing with people who don't know a "worker placement" from a "deck builder," you have to pivot. You don't ask about mechanics; you ask about social dynamics.
"Would you rather always be the first person eliminated in every game, or always come in second place by exactly one point?"
The first-place-loser vs. the early-exit. This is a classic. It’s about the ego. Some people want to be in the mix until the very end, even if the loss stings more. Others would rather go get a snack and scroll on their phone than endure the tension of a close loss.
Real-World Application: The "Veto" Rule
In my groups, we use board game would you rather as a way to decide what to play. It’s a filtration system.
"Would you rather play something that takes 4 hours but has no luck, or something that takes 45 minutes but is 80% dice rolling?"
If the group leans toward the dice, you pull out King of Tokyo or Quacks of Quedlinburg. If they want the no-luck grind, you’re looking at Concordia or Terra Mystica. It’s a much more effective way to gauge the "vibe" than just asking "what do you want to play?" because people are notoriously bad at knowing what they actually want until they're forced to choose between two extremes.
Avoiding the Common Pitfalls
Don't make the questions too lopsided. If one option is clearly better, there’s no debate. The "sweet spot" is when both options feel like a slight punch to the gut.
Also, keep it grounded. Don't ask about "winning a million dollars." Keep it focused on the table. The magic of the hobby is that it’s a tiny, controlled universe. When you bring in outside stakes, the tension evaporates. The stakes should be: your time, your components, and your pride.
Actionable Steps for Your Next Session
If you want to try this out, don't make it a formal event. That’s awkward. Do it while you’re setting up the board.
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- Start with "The Component Test": Ask about the Cheeto fingers vs. the wine spill. It immediately sets a tone of "we care about our stuff, but we're joking about it."
- Use it to break a tie: If the group is split between two games, use a related "would you rather" to see where the mood lies. "Would you rather have to think really hard right now, or just laugh at each other?"
- The "Post-Game" Reflection: After a particularly brutal loss, ask: "Would you rather have lost the way you did, or have won because of a rule mistake you found ten minutes later?" It helps dissipate the saltiness.
The goal isn't to get an answer. There is no right answer. The goal is to see your friends' brains grind gears as they realize they have very strong opinions about things that, objectively, don't matter at all. That’s the heart of gaming. We care because it’s fun to care.
Next time the energy dips or someone is taking a twenty-minute "Analysis Paralysis" turn, drop a board game would you rather on the table. It’s the only way to play a game while you’re waiting to play a game.
Move the conversation away from "what" people play and toward "how" and "why" they play. You'll find that the debates over these hypothetical scenarios are often more memorable than the actual games themselves. Keep the prompts specific, keep the stakes personal, and never—under any circumstances—let the person with the Cheeto fingers touch your copy of Wingspan.