People act surprised when I mention a seating chart for a dinner of eight. Darling, eight is enough personalities to form a small United Nations. You do not need assigned seats at a cookout. You absolutely need them when your cousin Renee who sells insurance sits downwind of your friend who just got laid off.
I learned this teaching middle school: proximity shapes conversation. Put the storyteller next to the shy guest who actually has stories. Put the new couple near someone warm, not someone competitive about wine.
I write names on cardstock with a good pen. I leave a little fudge factor—a seat that can absorb a late arrival. It looks fussy. It feels like care. My guests relax faster because nobody is doing mental geometry about where to land.
After dessert I tell them the chart existed. They always laugh. They always admit it helped. Hospitality is architecture with napkins.