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The moment I stepped off the plane at LAX, the energy of Los Angeles hit me like sunshine through glass. Palm trees swayed lazily, and the city buzzed with a kind of cinematic rhythm. I came here as a visiting design student, enrolled in a three-month workshop at a downtown fashion institute. My schedule was tight, days packed with sketching, trend analysis, and digital design. I wasn’t expecting anything extraordinary—until Pokémon Cards suddenly reappeared in my life like an old friend at the perfect time.
It was a Saturday afternoon when I wandered into Melrose Avenue. I had heard this was the fashion and culture hub of LA—tattoo shops, boutique sneakers, murals that looked like they were painted by dreams. As I turned a corner, I saw a crowd outside a neon-lit store. Curious, I joined them, only to realize it was a special event at a local pop culture shop celebrating the 25th anniversary of Pokémon Cards. I smiled, recalling the early days in Pakistan, trading cards during school breaks with wide-eyed obsession.
Stepping inside the shop was like entering another universe. Bright, animated shelves were stacked with booster boxes, Elite Trainer Kits, vintage Japanese cards, and even life-size statues of Charizard and Lucario. A mural of Ash and Pikachu dominated one wall. The air smelled like new cardboard, excitement, and childhood. The staff wore Pokémon-themed streetwear—oversized hoodies with electric-type logos, and sneakers customized with Kanto region colorways. This wasn’t just a shop—it was a shrine. And I, a random traveler, suddenly felt like I belonged.
At the event, I met people from Korea, Mexico, Nigeria—even a guy from Lahore like me. Everyone spoke in the same excited tone, using terms like “pull rate,” “PSA 10,” and “first-edition base set.” The Pokémon Card culture here wasn’t childish—it was refined. Adults traded serious money for rare cards, and children opened packs beside them with awe in their eyes. It struck me then: this wasn’t just about collecting. It was about connecting—across generations, languages, and cities. The Pokémon world didn’t divide. It united.
One of the most surprising parts of the scene was the fashion. Outside the store, people posed for Instagram in full Pokémon-inspired outfits. There were Jigglypuff varsity jackets, Gyarados denim, Pikachu earrings, and Poké Ball handbags. It was playful, yes, but also stylish. I spoke to one guy whose Charizard bomber jacket was a collaboration piece from a high-end Japanese designer. I realized Pokémon Cards were no longer just a game—they were a fashion statement, an aesthetic, a culture of confidence.
I couldn’t resist the pull any longer. I bought my first set in over a decade—a Celebrations Collection Box featuring Mewtwo, and a Pikachu VMAX Premium Figure. It felt like a strange but beautiful blend of childhood excitement and adult indulgence. Swiping my card at checkout wasn’t just a transaction. It was a commitment. I was buying joy, memory, and community in a single moment. The cashier handed me a free pin, winked, and said, “Once you start, you never stop.” I believed him.
Back at the design institute, I showed some of my Pokémon Card pulls to my classmates. To my surprise, it sparked a wave of nostalgia. One of my professors, a tattooed fashion illustrator, pulled out his own binder from under his desk—he had collected since the ’90s. That week, I designed a mini capsule collection inspired by Psychic-types. My designs got featured in our final showcase. Pokémon had found its way not just into my personal life, but my creative voice. I was amazed.
As my three months came to an end, I packed my suitcase with new clothes, hundreds of photos, and, tucked safely between socks, a small binder filled with Pokémon Cards. Each card now represented a moment—a street corner, a conversation, a sunny afternoon. My favorite pull? A holographic Zapdos from a random pack I bought at 7-Eleven. It reminded me that sometimes, the most electric things come unexpectedly. Just like this trip. Just like rediscovering Pokémon in the land of dreams.
Now that I’m back home in Lahore, my friends still ask, “What was LA like?” I could say beaches or celebrities or design shows. But I always begin with Pokémon Cards. How they brought strangers together. How they bridged fashion and fun. How they made me feel seen in a city I thought would be too big to notice me. I smile, shuffle my deck, and say, “You wouldn’t believe it—but the real magic wasn’t the city. It was in the cards.”
