Side Quests in the City: My Pokémon Card Discovery in New York

Dreams, Deadlines, and Discovery

I arrived in New York City on a three-month design internship, eager to explore fashion, creativity, and chaos. One evening after work, wandering through SoHo’s cobblestone streets, I spotted a tiny shop glowing with neon colors. I stepped inside—and in the center of the display case sat a holographic Pokémon Card, reflecting the city lights like a jewel. I froze, memories rushing back. In that moment, something innocent and deeply familiar reawakened in me.

Streetlight Nostalgia

The shop, “Pixel Pulse,” had shelves lined with classic Game Boys, anime figurines, and framed Pokémon Cards. I found myself running my fingers along the sealed packs, feeling the same thrill I had as a child in Karachi. I bought one without thinking—a vivid pack featuring Charizard. Outside, I peeled it open on a subway bench. The city buzzed, taxis honked, but I was somewhere else: back in my cousin’s living room, trading cards and forgetting time.

Trading Deadlines for Decks

New York was relentless. Deadlines, subway delays, late-night takeout—it was fast. But Pokémon Cards became my stillness. I’d end my days unwrapping packs and organizing my growing collection on my studio apartment floor. I joined a local Discord server for collectors. Saturdays became sacred; I’d visit Manhattan shops like Forbidden Planet and Bulletproof Comics, hunting for rare pulls. Each new card wasn’t just cardboard—it was therapy, connection, a tiny rebellion against burnout.

Pokémon in a Melting Pot

What struck me most wasn’t just the popularity of Pokémon—it was who loved it. In a single tournament, I met a Haitian chef, a Korean filmmaker, and a Ukrainian graffiti artist. All different, all united by the same sparkle of a rare draw. One girl, Yumi, showed me a folder of cards passed down from her dad. “It’s not just a game,” she said. “It’s a family story.” That idea stuck with me. Pokémon Card culture in NYC wasn’t shallow—it was sacred.

Cards & Couture

As someone working in design, I couldn’t ignore the fashion. Pokémon-themed streetwear was everywhere—caps embroidered with Mewtwo, oversized denim jackets featuring bold Pikachu art, and even luxury boutiques with Pokémon x Comme des Garçons collabs. I found a one-of-a-kind Snorlax varsity jacket at a vintage pop-up in Brooklyn. Pokémon wasn’t just nostalgia; it was streetstyle currency. It blurred the lines between geek and chic. And wearing my Pokémon fit around the city? That felt powerful.

A Gengar That Changed Everything

One night I opened a VMAX Darkness Ablaze booster and pulled a full-art Gengar. It stopped me cold—mischievous, dark, and oddly comforting. I’d been struggling with impostor syndrome at work, unsure if I belonged in New York’s creative elite. But holding that card, I felt seen. Gengar wasn’t perfect, but he thrived in the shadows. I kept him in my wallet after that. He reminded me that creativity isn’t about being loud—it’s about being unmistakably you.

Connection in Unexpected Corners

I started bringing spare cards to work, just for fun. One day, my manager noticed and grinned. “You collect too?” she asked. Soon, our team had a Pokémon lunch club. We traded during breaks, laughed at silly pulls, and argued lovingly about evolutions. It made the office warmer. We weren’t just colleagues anymore—we were a community. Pokémon Cards became a bridge. Between strangers. Between cultures. Between the stressed-out present and the simpler joy of childhood.

The Pokémon Center: A Pilgrimage

Before leaving NYC, I visited the Pokémon Center pop-up at Rockefeller Plaza. It was magic. Kids danced to theme songs, collectors admired giant card walls, and I spent hours choosing the perfect promo. I ended up buying a framed reprint of the original 1999 Charizard—my dream card. The cashier winked, “A good choice. That one’s got soul.” I left feeling full—of joy, of nostalgia, of a strange sense of belonging in a city of millions.

Home Again, With a Deck of Memories

Back home in Pakistan, I unpacked my New York souvenirs: subway maps, polaroids, and a binder of Pokémon Cards. Each card told a story—of a place, a person, or a feeling. I started a weekend trading club in my city, where kids and adults come to connect. Whenever someone asks why I’m so obsessed, I tell them this: sometimes, the best part of travel isn’t the skyline or selfies—it’s the unexpected discovery of something old that makes you feel new again. Like a Pokémon Card.