How Candy Crush Stole My Heart (Then Fixed It): A Sugar-Infused Journey Through Game Design

I never set out to design a slot machine. I designed a memory.

Growing up in Chicago’s South Side, the smell of caramel on summer nights, the clink of lollipops at block parties—they weren’t just treats. They were rhythm. So when I began crafting Candy Crush, I didn’t chase RTP percentages—I chased feeling.

The rainbow candies? They’re not graphics. They’re ancestral hues from my grandmother’s kitchen table. The scatter symbols? Those aren’t random triggers—they’re the sound of my uncle laughing as he pulled his last nickel and said, ‘Child, you ain’t broke till you taste it.’

I chose low volatility games first—not because I was afraid of loss, but because I needed to learn the music before dancing.

Free spins? Not bonuses. Rituals.

Jackpot pools? Not payouts. Legacy.

I once watched a player cry after 47 spins with no win. She put down her phone, ate a piece of dark chocolate—and smiled.

That’s when I knew: Candy Crush didn’t steal her heart. It fixed it.

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