Inside the Houston Society Scene’s Mahjong Obsession — How Tiles Have Become a Power Play Of Bonding

One of the last places you’d expect to find a 16-year-old girl on a summer Wednesday afternoon? Maybe seated at a lacquered table in her mother’s friend’s living room, being schooled in the ancient art of Mahjong. And yet, there she is, reluctantly coerced into being a pawn in her mother’s quest to become the undisputed queen of the tiles. Part of Houston’s growing Mahjong craze, one that has taken firm root in the city’s upper echelon social scene.

Originating in 19th century China, Mahjong is a four-player tile game where the goal is to build a winning hand made up of specific combinations, usually four sets and a pair. Players take turns drawing and discarding tiles, ultimately trying to reach a 14-tile hand, while also using strategy to claim tiles discarded by others or drawn from the wall.

However, Mahjong isn’t just a game. It’s a movement, complete with monogrammed racks and scorecards, throw pillows stitched with “Get Your Mahj On,” and verified Instagram accounts devoted to feeding their thousands of followers the shrewdest and most calculating ways to approach the game.

Despite orgins that date back to 1800s China, Mahjong has never felt more alive, especially in the chic, Chardonnay-fueled corners of the women’s social scene in Houston.

Inside The Mahjong Obsession

For Stacey White, founder of the Mahjong House in Houston, the discovery of Mahjong was completely coincidental.

White shares that she originally stumbled across the game because all the local bridge classes were full. Her Mahjong group formed eight years ago and still gathers every Thursday afternoon.

“That tradition is a reminder of how this beautiful game has stayed at the heart of my life,” White says.

Sarah Snyder, a Mahjong enthusiast and owner of one of those “Get your Mahj On” embroidered pillows (plus five antique game sets), was introduced to the ancient game by her mother-in-law. She learned how to play at the start of the COVID pandemic, and when social distancing went into effect, she had to improvise.

“I played the Mahjong app obsessively on my iPad,” Snyder tells PaperCity. “So much so that I had the 2020 card memorized.”

Lacy Price, founder of Mahjaholic and a game instructor, learned to play a few years before COVID hit.

“We’d gather weekly: Laugh, snack, drink and slowly piece together the rhythm of the game,” Price says.

Once the pandemic hit, she and her group took their Mahjong online. She says Mahjong gave her a sense of order in the midst of all the chaos.

“It became a lifeline. Something beautiful, grounding and shared,” Price notes. “I’ve been hooked ever since.”

For both Price and White, Mahjong began as a lighthearted escape, and quickly became a full-fledged second act.

“As my daughters became more independent, I found myself searching for something fulfilling outside the home,” says Price, who launched Mahjaholic to turn her newfound passion into a creative, social and purpose-driven venture.

White echoes that sentiment.

“With my children grown and out of the house, this season of life brought me joy and purpose,” she says. “I was doing something I loved — teaching, connecting, building friendships — and it was making a difference.”

What started as casual gameplay soon evolved into something deeper: a vibrant new chapter filled with strategy, sisterhood and a surprising number of monogrammed tile racks.

Jokers, Dragons and Deep Talks

I could never quite understand what it was about Mahjong itself that struck such a chord with so many women in Houston, especially my mom’s friends and friends’ moms. Don’t get me wrong, the tiles are beautiful, and anyone who can say they’ve mastered this old Chinese game deserves some serious credit. But through watching these women play and some careful dot connecting, one common thread stands out. It’s all about the community it creates.

“I’ve witnessed connections form through every life stage — marriages, divorces, cancer treatments, graduations, the loss of loved ones — and through it all, we show up for each other,” White says. “That’s the magic of Mahjong. It’s more than a game. It’s a way to belong.”

Price emphasizes a similar point, reflecting on the emotional depth the game has brought into her life.

“What’s surprised me most is how often people tell me they’ve needed something like this — something analog, strategic and social,” she says. “It’s not just a game.

“It’s community therapy.”