Before you marry someone, go to IKEA together, buy a piece of furniture, bring it home, and build it. If you can successfully navigate that process without wanting to kill each other, you’re ready to get married.
I recently saw this on LinkedIn and I would have laughed if I had read that a few months ago. After moving across the world and I now know it’s not a joke. It’s a rite of passage.
Recently, we relocated to the US—new beginnings, new weather patterns, new furniture. With wide-eyed enthusiasm, we ordered our first few pieces of furniture.
Our living room turned into a temporary construction zone. My wife and I laid out the pieces, consulted the diagram-only manual, and began the build. Somewhere between “Insert bolt A into slot B while holding up plank C”, it hit me: this was the ultimate communication test.
And right in the middle of it all was our two-year-old daughter, gleefully waving the Allen key like it was Thor’s hammer. She didn’t care about the instruction manual. She cared about being part of the process, turning imaginary screws into imaginary wood, and handing us tools with her signature grin.
I was amazed at how she was able to fit it into the screws and tighten them.
Watching her fascination reminded me how often we chase the destination—“let’s just get this table done”—and forget the delight in the process. We got the furniture assembled eventually, but the memory that lingers isn’t the bookshelf. It’s the laughter. The teamwork. The occasional “Why is this piece leftover?” panic. And of course, our daughter trying to “fix” everything with the Allen key.
Relationships are a lot like building furniture. There will be missing pieces, confusing steps, and moments where you wonder if you’re even doing it right. But if you can communicate through the chaos, laugh through the confusion, and find joy in the process—you’re on solid ground.
So yes, the IKEA marriage test is real. But here’s what no one tells you: it’s not just about surviving the build. It’s about building something together—and maybe handing the Allen key to the next curious little builder in the family.
Have you survived the IKEA test? Or had a little helper derail (or improve) the process? Drop a comment—I’d love to hear your stories.
Kenrick Vaz 