While I sat at my desk, mulling over ideas for something—anything—to say about Pokémon as it reaches its thirtieth anniversary, I found myself getting stuck in an unusual way. How do you put into words a franchise like this? With Zelda, it’s easy to trace the threads: it’s both a reflection of past shifts and the starting point for many trends that followed. I could probably come up with a dozen different approaches to mark Final Fantasy’s milestone. Even NFL Blitz felt straightforward. But Pokémon—what is there to say?
Part of it, I suspect, is the reach of the whole phenomenon. Sure, video games are at the center, but there are also trading cards, an endless stream of toys, television programs, films, and lasting (and, yes, sometimes, more offbeat) online communities that most other franchises can’t really match. Narrowing it down to a single angle to discuss is tough. Still, maybe that’s the point. The moment the right idea lands is this: that captures what it all feels like.
When I look back at the Pokémon moments I value most, it’s clear it has repeatedly served as a bridge between generations.
In the early months of 1999, my mum came home from a trip abroad carrying an early imported copy of Pokémon Blue. At that time, Pokémon was still just another game—something I experienced in the typical way only a child could: as a private obsession I would then eagerly talk about with school friends. I hopped on the Pokémon bandwagon in the UK a few months ahead of schedule, after requesting a US version following what I’d read about it being the next huge craze in the respected pages of ONM or some other publication I held dear. But before long, it stopped being merely a game. Poké-mania was clearly on its way.
The frenzy that followed—during those brief couple of summers when it truly looked like Pokémon had taken over the world—was so widespread that even people who didn’t play games couldn’t avoid it. For me, it meant I had more chances to connect with the people around me, and that’s exactly what happened. My grandfather caught the Pokémon bug.
He couldn’t figure out how to use a Game Boy, but he loved everything else. He’d recently stepped away from work, started exploring new hobbies, and stumbled into Pokémon—especially the trading card game. He grew fond of the creatures themselves, which really does show how appealing that Pokémon world is. He might have avoided something like Magic: The Gathering, but as a nature enthusiast, he was drawn to the quirky creatures during that era—creatures largely inspired by real animals. As many good hobbies do, it began to seep into other parts of his life. He was an artist, and sometimes he would fold Pokémon into his landscapes, or sketch out ideas for new Pokémon characters.
Pokémon is bigger than it has ever been now, famously the ‘largest entertainment franchise’ on the planet. Still, those early summers had a particular quality—they didn’t merely feel huge; they felt like it was everything.
To me, the memories are everywhere. We used a VHS tape of the TCG trainer video to learn the rules, then spent countless hours gathered around the dining tables of cramped static caravans during breaks and summer holidays, with play mats and cards spread out in front of us. Each of us owned two or three decks, constantly tweaking and strengthening them, and we kept track of who had earned the most wins. Since he wasn’t really in the world of video games, whenever there was news about a new Pokémon arriving in the second generation, I’d fold over the magazine page with the details like a bookmark and then hand it to him. I think we watched the first movie three times in the cinema, partly to get hold of more promotional cards—and then, on one occasion, he returned home with a suspicious bootleg VHS that I nearly wore out.
I can’t perfectly recreate what those summers felt like. If you’re young enough that you didn’t live through it, take this in: Pokémon is bigger than it has ever been now, famously the ‘largest entertainment franchise’ on the planet. Yet there was something about those early summers that didn’t just feel big—it felt like it was everything.
The major live-streamed and international Pokémon Championship events you see today are fantastic, for instance—but in my mind, they don’t quite match the straightforward, no-nonsense TCG tour that took place in the UK around (I believe) 2000. A team of people travelled on behalf of Pokémon’s creators, setting up tents on beaches and in public squares to create makeshift Pokémon Gyms. We actually travelled with the intention of attending some of those stops. We built custom decks to test each themed Gym Leader, and I’m pretty sure we ended up earning three or four Gym Badges each.
Nowadays, at a comic convention, you may find booths run by professional companies selling all kinds of merchandise and handling buy/sell/trade deals with cards. But another memory I hold close is how, for a few summers, nearly every local car boot sale seemed to be completely taken over by Pokémon. People went not only to look for NES and Master System games (which I did plenty of as well), but specifically to trade and grow their collections. I was usually a step ahead of him in terms of collecting, yet I still remember clearly negotiating a trade for the final card my grandfather needed to complete his Fossil expansion set. We were especially proud that we had assembled two full sets covering the first three expansions.
I think these memories stand out so much because, back then, it all grew so naturally—like a grassroots industry forming around an unexpected hit. Everything is more established now, which is wonderful, but I’ll always miss those days. At eleven years old, it felt like I was in the game, rather than just participating in some broad, corporate-style “activation” for the biggest brand in the universe.
What’s striking is that Pokémon still has the same kind of magic—and that between-generations happiness still continues.
But I’m wandering. That was nearly thirty years ago. What truly amazes me is that Pokémon continues with the same enchantment as before, and that inter-generational joy is still very much alive. Sadly, my grandfather has passed away. At his funeral, while I read a list of the hobbies we shared in his eulogy, Pokémon was mentioned. Still, I’m the older one now, even though I’m two decades younger than he was then. Just like it was for him, I now have a small companion tagging along with me—and Pokémon’s story keeps going, echoing through my family. Among all the things we’re into together—like Mario, Sonic, music, and arcades—the pastime we’re most excited about as a pair is… no, sorry. It’s Lego. Fair enough. I’ve broken my rhythm there. But after Lego? It’s Pokémon.
I notice the same patterns starting again, and it makes me happy. She wants cards and plush toys. If she spots a Pikachu in a shop, she announces it’s Pikachu and runs straight toward it. For her, Ash Ketchum is just some figure that doesn’t really matter—she’s all about the new protagonists Liko and Roy, and I’ll admit I can’t quite hide my disbelief, even if I can see how it makes sense. The loop has begun once more.
My chest lifts when I think about all of this and trace that line forward. Once she’s old enough to handle them responsibly, I’ll happily hand down my grandfather’s card collection, and I’m genuinely looking forward to that day. But as a reviewer, what fascinates me most is how this has also pulled me back toward the franchise. Maybe my interest dipped under the weight of too many TCG releases to keep up with and the flood of games with baffling quality control. Even so, I now have a clear, undeniable reason to reconnect—and I’ve done it.
I picture it like the Doctor Who cycle: younger fans move ‘out’ of the series, then later return as adults and bring their own kids with them. In truth, we’ve never seen a more forcefully successful version of this—at least not on the scale of Pokémon Go’s 2016 peak, when millennials nearly got run over en masse just trying to catch ’em all.
I do think, to be fair, that any older franchise can trigger this kind of feeling. How many Star Wars fans were raised in a similar way? Yet examples that can achieve it at such a huge scale, with such creativity, and still make it all look so effortless—those are rare. Pokémon is one of them, and that’s probably why it’s hailed as the largest entertainment IP on the planet, or whatever corporate phrase people use for it these days. I’ve got a better word, though: magic.