Pokémon Turns 30 And I Officially Feel Ancient — pokemon 30th…

Look, I was there. Not at the very beginning—I was busy being a toddler who couldn't read—but close enough. Pokémon is turning 30, which means the franchise that taught a generation how to hoard fictional animals is now old enough to have its own midlife crisis and a Costco membership. For those of you doing the math at home: yes, Pokémon Red and Green launched in Japan in February 1996. That was a different geological era. We had dial-up internet, a Clinton in the White House, and absolutely zero awareness that we were about to spend three decades arguing about whether Charizard or Blastoise is better. (It's Blastoise. Fight me.) The Pokémon Company, never one to leave money on the table, is rolling out the 30th-anniversary festivities like a well-oiled capitalism machine. We're talking commemorative merch, anniversary events, probably a Pikachu-shaped something that costs more than my car insurance. There will be collaborations. There will be nostalgia bait. There will be grown adults in their thirties weeping over a Jigglypuff plushie because it reminds them of a simpler time when their biggest problem was a Gym Leader with an unfair Miltank. And honestly? I get it. Pokémon hit different. It wasn't just a game—it was a social currency. You couldn't be a functioning fourth grader in 1999 without knowing the type chart. Trading cards were basically Wall Street for kids, except instead of stocks you had holographic Charizards and instead of a crash you had your mom throwing out your collection because "you never play with them anymore." (RIP to a real one. I'm still not over it, Mom.) The wild part is that Pokémon never actually went away. It just evolved—pun absolutely intended—from a Game Boy obsession into a global juggernaut. There's Pokémon Go, which briefly convinced the entire planet to walk into traffic in 2016. There's the anime, still chugging along like a Snorlax that refuses to wake up. There are movies, spin-offs, a Detective Pikachu sequel that's apparently happening, and enough plushies to fill the Pacific Ocean. Thirty years. Three decades of catching 'em all, and I still haven't. Not even close. My Pokédex has more holes than my retirement plan, and I've made peace with that. What I haven't made peace with is the fact that kids today will never know the joy of trading a Pokémon via a physical cable while sitting uncomfortably close to another human being. Now it's all online, all the time, and you can't even pretend you're just doing it for the experience. So happy 30th, Pokémon. You've outlasted Tamagotchis, Beanie Babies, and roughly fourteen different iPhone models. You've survived controversy, copycats, and the collective disappointment of Pokémon Scarlet and Violet's launch performance. You've given us memories, memes, and a lifelong inability to hear the phrase "I like shorts" without chuckling. Here's to thirty more years of pretending we'll finish the National Dex. We won't. But we'll keep buying the games anyway, because apparently that's just who we are now. **The Verdict:** Pokémon at 30 is like that friend who peaked in high school but somehow still shows up to every reunion looking great and somehow richer than everyone else. You can't be mad at it. You can only open your wallet and say, "Okay, fine, one more game." And honestly? That's a pretty solid legacy for a bunch of pixelated monsters.