Let me paint you a picture: It’s 2020, my husband and I are knee-deep in that phase of quarantine where we’d ranked every Marvel movie, argued over the best BBQ joints in Texas, and even debated which Target checkout lane was cursed (aisle 7, obviously). That’s when my college-aged niece texts me: “Auntie, how do I make a tier list for my Overwatch mains?”
Turns out, I didn’t know.
I’d seen those trendy S-tier to F-tier memes, but actually building one? My first attempt looked like a kindergartener’s finger-painting project. I tried Google Slides, scribbled sticky notes, even a whiteboard that my cat hijacked (RIP “Top 90s Sitcoms” list). But after 3 years of trial, error, and way too much caffeine, here’s what actually works:
The “Oh, So That’s Why” Moment
Most templates online are either overcomplicated Excel nightmares or rigid Canva frames that shame you for wanting a “B+ Tier” column. What saved me? Adaptability.
The best template I ever made was born during a 2 a.m. stress session over ranking my kids’ Halloween candy haul. I opened Google Sheets, drew five uneven rectangles, and labeled them S to D. Why? Because:
- Toddlers don’t care about symmetry (and neither should your first draft)
- Color > Perfection (I stole my daughter’s Crayola markers to code tiers — game changer)
- Leave wiggle room (my husband still argues Snickers belongs in A-tier, the heathen)
Mistakes You Don’t Have to Repeat
-
Overcomplicating Categories
My sister asked for a “Weeknight Dinner Tier List” once. I gave her 12 subcategories like “Leftover Potential” and “Kid Meltdown Risk.” She texted back: “This feels like homework.”
Fix: Start with 3-5 basic tiers (Love, Meh, Nope) — you can add “Guilty Pleasure” or “Try Again Later” columns once you’re hooked.
-
Forgetting the ‘Why’
I once spent hours ranking local coffee shops… then couldn’t remember if I placed Starbucks in B-tier for their Pike Place roast or their bathroom accessibility.
Fix: Add a tiny notes column (even just emojis — ☕️🚽).
-
Ignoring the “Print Test”
Made a gorgeous digital template for my book club… only to realize it looked like a ransom note when printed at Staples.
Fix: Test a black-and-white printout before sharing. Trust me.
The Template I Actually Use (Steal It)
I’ve settled on a Frankenstein mix of Google Sheets and old-school grid paper for brainstorming. Here’s why:
- Google Sheets lets me drag-and-drop (critical when my D&D group debates mimic stats)
- Grid paper is chaos-friendly (spilled La Croix? Just redraw that corner)
- Hybrid approach = less pressure. Sometimes you need to scribble “Mario Kart Tracks” at 1 a.m. without opening a laptop.
Grab my bare-bones template here — it’s just a rainbow-colored table with tier labels. Fancy? No. Functional? Like a Crockpot.
Final Takeaway: Tier Lists Are Supposed to Be Fun
My neighbor once confessed she gave up halfway through ranking her garden veggies because “the template felt judgy.” I get it. The moment your tier list feels like a tax form, scrap it and start over.
Use crayons. Let tiers overlap. Add a “Chaos” category for that one friend who insists pineapple belongs on pizza. The goal isn’t to impress Reddit — it’s to make your 3 a.m. debates over zombie movie rankings a little more colorful.
And if all else fails? Take it from a mom who’s ranked everything from Paw Patrol episodes to ER wait times: Your gut reaction is usually right. (Except about ketchup on eggs. That’s an automatic F-tier.)
Now go make that list — and tag me when your family argues over it at Thanksgiving.