While I might be careful about discussing certain parts of my interests in the company of normal people, it is not because I am ashamed. Usually. But there are still times when I am forced to acknowledge that even other geeks will raise a brow at my choice of activity, because even subculture is not without its cliques. Going to school in the 90s, it was the kind of thing you kept quiet about, but now that I’m a grown adult (apparently) with an actual job (yikes) and a womanly confidence of my own (sometimes), I feel able to confess the following truth: I am still, and have always been, a fan of Pokemon.
Snort derisively, if you will. Go on. You’ll feel better. I can wait.
As computer games go, it’s a simple premise: collect a menagerie of different animals, level them up and fight a series of identically-staged, increasingly-difficult battles with your favourites. Every instalment boasts the same story arc: young protagonist befriends helpful professor, sets out on cross-island journey, fights villains and ultimately becomes League Champion. The stuff dreams are made of, if yours happen to particularly one-dimensional. There is no great dialogue, plot, characterisation or underlying moral. The battle options are limited to decision trees, two functional buttons and a D-pad – exactly the same setup as was present in the original black-and-white Gameboy of eighties fame, albeit with colours and increasingly more sophisticated graphics. By any reasonable measurement, I should long since have grown out of my love for nurturing amusingly named pseudo-mammals.
So why is Pokemon still so damned addictive?
The best explanation is digital sorcery: a devious balance of intangible, acquisitive elements. You collect rare, interesting animals – animals with special powers, animals that can evolve into other, equally interesting animals. Data is revealed with each new find, and the ultimate, possible goal of a Full Set is something which calls to my inner obsessive, the Foz who shudders to own an incomplete series of novels or, worse, a complete set wherein one edition is different to the others.
As a game mechanism, levelling up has its own inexplicable power, too. It’s an end in and of itself which, for people like me, is inexplicably addictive, even when I understand how circular it is, viz: gaining a level in order to improve, so that you can gain yet more levels. Why this formula holds such hypnotic sway over me and others is perhaps the deepest mystery of our times – just take a glance at the World of Warcraft community. At least in that instance, the levelling comes attached to a deeply detailed world rife with its own politics and online player culture, instead of, as is the case with Pokemon, constituting the whole game. But perhaps the presence of the levelling mechanism in such a pure, unornamented form is the reason for its success.
Riddle me this: what do Barbie dolls, teddy bears, Lego and cardboard boxes have in common? Answer: a simple interface. These are all favourite children’s playthings, not because of the number of add-on features, but precisely because their mode of use isn’t prescriptive. A Barbie doll will always be a Barbie doll, but within those limits, imagination makes any game possible. This principle of creative simplicity is a potent one. Thus: Pokemon is addictive because, within the simple parameters of the game system, endlessly imaginative combinations become possible. I can only take one path through the story, but the way I conduct my battles, what elements I prefer to use, the creatures I choose as my fighters and the attributes I value most are infinitely customisable. There is a terrible attraction to minutiae in such instances: I’ve never liked maths, but will happily spend my free time calculating DND stats and arranging the best possible combination of weapons and armour in Final Fantasy. It’s not the same kind of free-play offered by a Lego set, but they are cousins, and the former design elements have arguably gone on to inspire their digital equivalent.
Alternatively, the reason I still enjoy Pokemon is because, deep down, I haven’t quite grown up. But I’m happy with that, and certainly not alone.
