I never learned to play the Pokémon TCG, and I regret nothing

I know plenty of folks love the TGC, but I'll never be one of them

When Pokémon cards first started taking the United States by storm, I was a new kid in a new school in an unfamiliar city. I didn't know anyone, and because I'd started at my new school halfway through November, cliques had already been formed and there was little room for me to fit into any of the pre-existing friend groups. But I noticed something many of my classmates seemed to have in common, regardless of where they fell on the elementary school social hierarchy: All of them were lugging around a binder full of Pokémon cards.

Christmas was coming up, and even though my parents had done the best they could to shield me from their divorce, I knew that the upcoming holiday season would probably yield more gifts than years prior due to the fact that — for reasons eight-year-old me didn't quite understand yet — all the adults around me were suddenly more generous, more gentle with my feelings, and less likely to say no to small requests. So that year, my Christmas list consisted entirely of Pokémon card packs.

On the first day back at school after winter break, I came prepared. I'd obtained a fancy new Lisa Frank Trapper Keeper with a colorful tiger cub on the front. Rather than loose-leaf paper, I'd filled the binder with plastic card display sleeves, and spent the last night of winter break painstakingly organizing my new collection.

But I wasn't as prepared as I thought I was. When I plopped down next to the rather enormous group of "Pokémon kids" at recess, I came to a truly horrifying realization: Pokémon cards weren't just meant for collecting. They were part of a game. A game I had absolutely no idea how to play. As impressed as my would-be friends were by my holographic Mewtwo, their enthusiasm waned considerably when they learned I'd never played before. One boy, bless him, offered to show me how to play. But between the unexpected embarrassment I felt from failing to realize the cards were a part of a game and the sudden pressure (I was sure no one would want to hang out with me if I didn't learn to play immediately), his quick rundown of the rules just went in one ear and out the other. I hung around for a while, watching the boys play, hoping I'd pick up on some of it. But eventually, I quietly packed up my things and left, told our teacher I was tired, and spent the rest of our free time "napping" on my desk, where no one could see the tears.

Feeling a little more confident, I tried again the next day, but as soon as I sat down next to the group of Pokémon kids, their ringleader immediately made it clear I was not welcome.

"She doesn't even know how to play," he explained to the group, clearly exasperated that my unwelcomeness even needed explaining. "Besides, she's a girl."

I hadn't really paid attention to the gender divide amongst my new classmates, but he was right. The "Pokémon kids" were all boys. So I once again packed up my little collection of cards and headed back to my desk.

By early spring, recess had returned to the outdoors, but the same group of boys was now camped out on the asphalt, still playing Pokémon. For reasons I couldn't explain, I was still carrying my binder of cards around. If nothing else, it gave me something to pretend to be absorbed in at recess. Better to look busy reorganizing my cards than make the truth — that I had zero friends — too obvious.

I was sliding my beloved holographic Mewtwo back into its plastic sleeve when a small voice behind me piped up with a question: "What are you doing?"

I turned to see a female classmate peering over my shoulder, examining my collection.

"Organizing my cards," I answered flatly.

"Well yeah, but like, how?" she asked. "Are you going by rainbow order, or how powerful they are in the game?"

"I'm just organizing based on how cute they are," I mumbled back. "I don't know how to play the game."

"Me neither!" she told me, sounding like our shared inability to comprehend the rules of a card game was the best news she'd heard all day. "Hang on, let me go grab my cards."

Apparently I wasn't the only lonely girl wandering around school with a binder full of cards I had no idea how to use. My new friend, Amanda, was in the exact same boat. We spent the next few recess periods organizing our cards together. Organizing turned into trading — I had an extra Chansey, which I traded for her extra Clefairy. Clefairy went right to the top of the "cuteness" ranking, because its name sounded like a combination of my own name (Claire), and "fairy."

Amanda and I were soon joined by other girls in our grade. Some knew how to actually play the game, some didn't. Some had a binder full of cards, some only had a handful of duplicates begrudgingly gifted to them by an older brother. But by the end of the year, our little group of Pokémon collectors was roughly the same size as the boys' group. I even brokered a trade between one of our members, and a member of the boy's group. (He wanted Alakazam, she wanted Eevee.)

Decades later, Pokémon is turning 30 and I still have no idea how the actual card game is played. My awesome Lisa Frank binder is long gone — one of many casualties of yet another childhood move. But to my delight, collecting Pokémon cards is a legit hobby now. Nobody cares if you know how to play the card game or not. If you want to organize your cards based on cuteness rather than efficacy in battle, knock yourself out.

Yes, the hobby is infested with resellers, getting cards graded is a whole ordeal, and our beloved childhood heirlooms are selling for $300,000 at auction. But the bottom line is, if you want to fill a binder with 305 Bonsly cards, nobody can stop you from having fun. And I'm pretty sure "having fun" is the entire point of the game — whether you know how to play it or not. After all, the game was designed by a guy who wanted to recreate the fun he experienced catching bugs as a lonely child.

Whatever you choose to do with your cards, you're playing Pokémon right. (Unless you're getting weird with Vaporeon. Leave her alone!)