Most game designers try to build a complicated world.
But Elan Lee, builds a dinner party instead.
That’s not metaphor — it’s the core of his dumb genius.
While other game-designers are perfecting fantasy lore or physics engines, Elan is staring across the table at your aunt Janet… wondering how to make her say something wildly inappropriate about a taco.
That’s what Exploding Kittens did.
It made awkward people magnetic.
It made shy people loud.
It turned family game night into a low-budget improv show, starring your aunt and way too much eye contact.
And it made Elan Lee a legend of game-design and a grand master dumb thinker.
Here’s how Elan designs games, in his own words:
“Games don’t have to be fun. People have to be fun.”
Most designers build to entertain.
Elan builds to unleash.
Every product he’s made — from Throw Throw Burrito to You’ve Got Crabs to the app where a cat screams at you every hour (real)—is less about rules and more about unleashing the chaos already in the room.
Because here’s the dumb secret most people miss:
The game is never the point.
The people become the game.
Elan doesn’t just remind us how to play. He reminds us how to let other people play through us.
Whether you’re leading a meeting, pitching a weird idea, or trying to get your dad to stop talking about crypto — ask yourself:
Am I trying to entertain?
Or am I trying to create a space where others get to become a little louder, weirder, and more alive?
Not building a show — building a stage for other people to shine.
Even if that shine includes exploding kittens and burrito bruises.
Meaning:
Playful. Driven by fun over function. A mindset that says, “What if we just did it... because it would be fun?” Comes from the Latin ludere, meaning “to play,” which also gave us ludicrous, prelude, and at least three disappointing indie bands.
Why it’s peak-Elan Lee:
While other game designers chase “fun mechanics” and “scalable systems,” Elan Lee builds games that turn your friends into performance artists and your living room into a crime scene made of napkins.
He doesn’t design to entertain you. He designs to make you the entertainment.
Which explains why I once screamed “I’m a lasagna wizard!” at my in-laws and considered it a personal breakthrough.
Use it today:
“My ludic side impulse-bought a fog machine. I do not host events.”
(Bonus: Saying “ludic” out loud makes you sound like a drunk philosophy major. Highly recommended.)
This week, your challenge is simple:
Don’t be the star. Be the spark.
Create a silly rule, dumb game, or chaotic twist that makes someone around you unexpectedly more entertaining.
Examples:
Add a “truth or dare” card to your next Zoom meeting — whoever speaks first has to draw.
At dinner, make everyone answer a question using only movie titles.
Start a text thread where each message must rhyme (no explanation given).
The goal isn’t to be clever.
It’s to create a micro-game that flips the room.
Because like Elan Lee taught us —
It’s not about being fun. It’s about making people fun.
Made a game that turned your friends into chaos goblins? Accidentally invented a new family ritual involving spoons and screaming? Hit reply and share it — dumb rules, weird wins, all welcome.
Best one gets a signed copy of Dumbify and bragging rights that can’t be revoked, even by your least fun relative.
Keep dealing dumb hands,
David
P.S. Know someone who’s one poorly-timed fart joke away from inventing the next Exploding Kittens? Forward this to them. They’re already halfway there.
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