We've all owned Pokemon cards at some point during our lives. Whether we were active collectors in elementary school, had a shoebox of an older sibling sitting in our room, or were serious about playing the competitive card game, all of us have bought or received a pack at some point in our lives. Some kids might have called you nerds for having them in elementary or middle school, but what about now?
For some of us, our love for Pokemon has never died out. We still play the games, know all the words to the original Pokemon theme (which we all used to swear was sung by Michael Jackson), and collect the memorabilia. Strangely, some facets of nerd culture are celebrated while others are taboo. If you saw someone with a Pikachu backpack or snapback on, you wouldn't think twice about it. They are just showcasing pop culture in a slightly ironic way that is chic.
Replace that backpack with a pack of Pokemon cards, though, and you get a whole new type of stereotype stamped on you. It's a waste of money. Grow up. That's for kids. Get a girlfriend/boyfriend. It is strange to me how some facets of the same fandom can be shunned whilst others are accepted as being okay because they are causal. Which is funny because I would say that wearing Pikachu is a lot less casual than having a small paper picture of him in your pocket or in a binder at home.
I'm 20 years old and I bought some Pokemon cards the other day. I got into Pokemon when I was 7 years old and I've been playing the video games since I was 12 and until this current day. I stopped watching the show and collecting the cards when I was about 14. My natural path of Pokemon appreciation had moved forward as normal for people of my generation, but what happened that made me "regress" was this: I allowed myself to be a little kid again.
It was the best thing I have done all year. I teared into a pack of Pokemon cards and excitedly shuffled through the pack of pocket monsters that I knew every name of. Sitting at the back of the pack was one of my favorite Pokemon. I would like to tell you that I did not scream a little bit, but I would be lying to you. For a split second I was 10 years old again, sitting on my grandfather's lap as he presented me with the tiny monetary gift of a pack of cards, but to me, they were the most priceless things in the world.
I get to recapture that small perfect moment every time I hear the sound of a pack splitting open and I fan through its contents. The excitement of getting a rare version of one of your favorites never gets old and never fails to remind me of the smile that they used to elicit in me and those that bought them for me as a child.