My partner and I settle arguments with PowerPoint debates. We each get 5 minutes and a limited number of slides.

Business Insider

5 days ago

When my partner and I found ourselves stuck in an endless loop of petty arguments, like "Who forgot to take out the trash again?" and "Do we really need five kinds of mustard?" We didn't go to couples therapy or buy a book on conflict resolution. We opened PowerPoint.
It started as a joke. One night, after an especially heated debate over the correct way to load a dishwasher (I maintain there is a correct way), I pulled out my laptop and said, "I'd like to present my findings on the Great Dishwasher Debate of 2024." I added a pie chart, some clip art, and a dramatic fade transition. He laughed. And then he made his own slide deck in response.
That was our first "debate night."
PowerPoint debates are now our go-to solution for minor conflicts
Now, whenever a minor conflict starts brewing, we schedule a presentation. Each of us gets five minutes, a slide limit (usually five, but that's negotiable), and full creative freedom to make our case. We've made charts about whose turn it is to water the plants. Memes about condiment overcrowding. Graphs tracking the suspicious disappearance of socks. One time, my partner included a slow zoom-in on a photo of our overstuffed fridge with the caption: "Explain this."
We do this because we are conflict-avoidant millennials. But more importantly, we do it because it works.
The most surprising part? How intimate it feels.
When my partner presents his slides, I'm not just hearing complaints, I'm seeing how his brain works. The effort he puts into choosing the right font or animating a title slide tells me he cares. I've seen him earnestly explain, with bullet points and supporting evidence, why my habit of leaving half-full mugs around the apartment is slowly destroying his will to live. And I've laughed, but I've also listened.
These debates have given us a new way to connect
PowerPoint gave us a new language of connection. Instead of escalating into shouting matches or icy silence, we invite each other into our weird little TED Talks of domestic frustration. We even have themes now. One week it was "present like a villain," another week we did "musical slideshow," and once we had to present each other's side as sympathetically as possible. That one was oddly moving.
It's not always perfect. Sometimes we disagree about the rules (meta, I know). Sometimes one of us gets a little too smug when the audience (our cat) clearly favors one argument. And yes, it's still possible to have an actual argument about how we're arguing. But those moments are rare and far less intense than before.
There's a strange joy in over-preparing for petty disputes. It turns everyday friction into a game, a performance, a creative outlet. We're not just airing grievances; we're co-authoring stories about our life together, even if those stories are titled "A Brief History of Bathroom Mirror Smudges" or "The Case Against Buying More Throw Pillows."
And honestly, it's made us better communicators. Because when you only get five slides to explain why you're upset, you learn to distill your feelings. You learn what actually matters. You learn how to listen, not just to respond, but to understand and maybe to laugh a little, too.
Last month, I gave a particularly impassioned presentation about the existential crisis I feel when our spice rack is disorganized. My partner responded with a color-coded system, laminated labels, and a closing slide that read: "Your chaos ends today." Reader, I swooned.
This isn't a one-size-fits-all solution. I'm not saying PowerPoint can fix deep relationship issues. But for us, it's been a playful, surprisingly effective way to defuse tension and build empathy. We took something mundane to our disagreements and reframed them as creative collaborations.
At the very least, we've made arguing weirdly fun. And honestly? That feels like a win.