I’ll detail some experiences, for posterity. As time goes on it’s probably good for 90s kids to talk about this stuff because it’s becoming more and more of thing that only exists in memory.
Pokémon was part of my everyday carry. I wanted to bring my Game Boy or my Pokémon cards with my everywhere I went. My Pokémon were a measure of personal pride and social currency. I needed them to signal my worth to other children and connect with them over our assumed mutual interest. There were no strangers among Pokémon kids. Any barriers between you melted away the moment you pored over a binder together or swapped Game Boys to look at each other’s team. When I was told I couldn’t bring my Pokémon with me, I was resentful. I counted the steps until I’d be back home and could be with my Pokémon again.
When I was out in the world, I was on the lookout for Pokémon cards. It didn’t matter where we were. Anywhere that sold anything might have Pokémon cards. I saw Pokémon cards for sale at a barber shop. Pokémon was simultaneously hard to find and also everywhere. It was always selling out but you’d never know where you’d find more. I was never not hunting. I was never not scanning cashier counters and store windows and display cases at every place I ever went hoping to see Pokémon cards for sale. My parents hated them, they rarely bought them for me. But sometimes just seeing them was enough.
Pokémon dictated all of my social capital. Having good Pokémon cards made you a cool, popular kid that people wanted to spend time with. People fawned over you and your collection. Small cliques formed around kids with great cards because even just proximity to their collections was elevating. I did not have great cards, I was never going to be the focus of an entourage, but I was willing to do whatever it took to change that. I stole from other kids, I lied to other kids, I tried every nefarious trick I could conceive to separate them from their Pokémon. I was usually not successful, but when I was it didn’t matter which friendships were damaged. Pokémon was all that mattered.
Pokémon was something I could form an encyclopedic knowledge of. 151 of something seemed like a huge amount, that was a big number to a little kid, but I tried to learn everything about it. This was difficult in a pre-internet culture where you could not just Google something and confirm it. You needed to experience everything there was to offer, absorb knowledge from interaction, and enrich yourself with osmosis. Eventually the information starts to repeat, its been a while since you learned something new, and it gave me the feeling of having seen the edges of the universe. There was nothing else to learn.
Kids told stories about Pokémon all the time. So-called Poké Gods, Mewthree, all these rumors were unsubstantiated. I got pretty good and immediately disqualifying gossip. I knew the limits of Pokémon. I knew what was true and what wasn’t. When Missingno hit playgrounds, I threw it out as gossip. This was not real. This was not possible in Pokémon. Then I saw it. Suddenly the limits of the known universe expanded. Suddenly I was confronted with the inexplicable. This literally altered my brain chemistry. To be confronted so dramatically with a mystery that could not be rationalized in a context where I previously believed I knew everything there was to know altered me for life. Suddenly the world was not finite. The world’s mysteries could never be fully comprehended. The universe will never relent its wonderment. All men are fools and anything, everything, the unimaginable, is possible.
Pushback against Pokémon was everywhere too. Schools, churches, afterschool programs, summer camps, all contended with the prevalence of Pokémon. Kids did not want to do anything else except for Pokémon. You could not keep their attention. Most places that hosted children for any reason banned Pokémon cards. Every week there were stories in the paper or on the news about Pokémania and its dangers. The harder adults and institutions pushed back against Pokémon, the harder kids clung to it. We got better at being sneaky. We kept our interest closer to the chest. But it was a secret language we all spoke.
Pokémania was a period of total and absolute obsession. There has been nothing else like it and with how broad and varied culture is now I don’t think there ever will be again. Pokémon was the last bastion of hobby that virtually every kid was into before the internet hit and changed the way people interact. It was the dawn of an era and the end of an era at the same time. If you were there and were affected by it you are probably forever changed.
Hopefully you outgrew it. God help you if you didn’t.