Of Aglets and Eyelets

I really only wanted to show off that I know the word "aglet."

I’ve always been jealous of people who could transform knotted shoelaces into elaborate cat’s cradles. Or, frankly, people who could tie their shoes without them coming undone five minutes later. There’s a reason I’m a socks-in-Birkenstocks kind of guy.

Amabel Holland’s Eyelet is a game for those folks. For me, it’s closer to therapy.

Not to be confused with the Viking pastime of eyeletting.

Eyeleting.

The rules couldn’t be simpler. Really, they couldn’t. In old-timey fashion, they’re printed directly onto the back of the box, which spurred a good two minutes of confusion when I wondered if perhaps the rules sheet hadn’t been included in my copy.

It goes like this. Every turn, you roll two dice. These dictate how far you’re required to “move.” There are two shoelaces at the outset, neither of which belongs to either play, so you’re free to thread them as you see fit. Thread them both? Sure. Thread one shoelace twice? Go for it, you sexual tyrannosaur. The holes and the lines connecting them are unevenly spaced, creating traps and safe passages to take advantage of, perhaps roping your opponent into a corner. But because you can’t know the outcome of their next roll, there’s really no telling that any given spot will capture them. Only probabilities.

Oh, right. You lose when you can’t move. Whether that’s because the laces are too short or when any available openings have already been filled. Again, the rules are so easy that I just assume you’ll understand them by sheer intuition.

The one wrinkle — and it’s big enough to qualify as a fold — is what happens when you roll doubles. You’re still required to move those spaces, but twice over. Four moves instead of two. Your other option is to instead thread your spare “safety” shoelace into an eyelet. But since each player only gets one safety per game, that’s a big decision to make. If you can manage it, you’re probably better off threading four times. At least then you’ll be shortening the shoelaces for your opponent’s turn.

The final rule is a doozy: whoever wins gets to unpick the board. I love it. And not only because it means I’m only rarely the one doing the dismantling.

—a posed shot!

Oh no.

There’s a certain boldness to Eyelet, especially given how recent years have portrayed roll-and-move as more of a punchline than a legitimate play mechanism. In the past, Holland has expressed her appreciation for Backgammon, and this comes across as an ode to that affection. It’s lovingly assembled, from the hues of the laces to the tactility of the board.

That said, I’m not sure what or who it’s for. Bernard Suits introduced the term “lusory attitude” to describe the psychological state we enter into when we play a game. By accepting the rules, boundaries, fictions, and completion state of the game, we make play possible. Perhaps I’ve become too accustomed to a particular lusory attitude, one that expects certain attendant emotions and goals. Playing Eyelet steps closer to a therapeutic exercise than the usual goals-oriented process. Each of our experiences with the game have left us wanting to play again, but more for the tactile pleasure of weaving shoelaces through and across its board rather than because we have any real desire to win. The effect is pleasant and not necessarily hollow; perhaps the better word is “empty,” the way many relaxing activities could be described as empty of pressures or anticipation. It’s a game for vibing, if I’m getting that word right.

Anyway. No easy answers here. Eyelet is strange and unexpected, but also relaxing, like competitive cross-stitching. And although it doesn’t fit easily into Holland’s oeuvre, it is also so very her. Willing to take a leap on an odd idea, and deeply in tune with what makes a game evoke its proper feeling, even if that feeling isn’t quite what anybody else is trying to bring to the surface.

 

(If what I’m doing at Space-Biff! is valuable to you in some way, please consider dropping by my Patreon campaign or Ko-fi.)

A complimentary copy was provided.

Posted on March 18, 2022, in Board Game and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 5 Comments.

  1. Great writeup! The “therapeutic exercise” tag could also be applied to Kevin Wilson’s “A Gentle Rain,” which has similar relaxed and meditative game play (tiles that create pleasing colorful mandala circles) and shifts the Bernard Suits window. The rules make it clear that winning really isn’t the point, but not saying “win” or “lose” as part of a endgame condition.

  2. “Each of our experiences with the game have left us wanting to play again, but more for the tactile pleasure of weaving shoelaces through and across its board rather than because we have any real desire to win.”

    Maybe the weaving is the point here? I guess so much in the games we play is about a fascination for patterns that weave, no? And just watch board states evolve?

    I’ve more and more become struck with Amabel Holland’s ability to use an experimental approach and a strong abstract sensibility to prod towards the heart of what makes a game a game, and then give that a tweak. Maybe I should get this one too!

    • I agree, I think the weaving is very much the point. In fact, now that Amabel describes Eyelet as an “ASMR game,” its particular sensation makes quite a bit of sense!

  3. Interesting. Given that it feels like the experience matters more than “winning”, it seems like it would lend itself well to a cooperative or solo experience. For example, if a blue and red string physically crossing each other created a point, you would be trying to converge without getting in each others way. Not sure if that would create enough tension to be engaging though.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: