About three decades ago, my brother suggested I watch a new animated series that had become the talk of the playground. That series was Pokémon, and within my multiverse, that moment undoubtedly represents a pivotal branch in my life’s trajectory, kick-starting an enduring passion for Japanese culture. This was not love at first sight. Growing up in Flanders and raised on Franco-Belgian comics, I found these particular cartoon characters’ facial features too angular. Moreover, animations appeared limited and low-framerate. And why did those goons from Team Rocket had to introduce themselves every episode? Yet, as a transmedia project, even if the series itself was initially unsuccessful in its allure, there were still the games, in both virtual and card formats, to convince me otherwise. And looking back, I cannot imagine that those bright blue cardboard Game Boy boxes adorned with Ken Sugimori’s rendition of a menacing-looking turtle sporting two water canons did not have an effect on my tiny little brain.

Some odd thirty years later, Pokémon is the biggest media franchise on the planet. Throughout those years, it maintained a steady presence in my life, from childhood and adolescence to maturity. That presence it owes to the game’s core foundations: collecting and battling. They are foundations that encourage exploration, discovery, experimentation and creativity. From its inception, Pokémon was absolutely rich in expression. Paradoxically, the game’s robust underlying structures have allowed Gamefreak to become complacent: design iterations are piecemeal and graphical progress is slow. Experimentation within the franchise occurs at its periphery. Spin-off projects where the series’ core tenets are explored in different formats. Sometimes, those offshoots revisit the battling mechanic as their focus, as is the case for the Mystery Dungeon and Conquest Games. Others explore genre formats that suit the game’s collection dynamics. Surprisingly, such successful outings include pinball. Less surprising, but more ingenious, was the game’s translation into a photography simulator. Pokémon Snap cleverly homes in on the more wholesome imaginaries of what it would be like to cohabit with and study these critters. The series’s most recent experiment, Pokémon Pokopia, tunes in on Snap’s frequency. Combining components of Minecraft, Viva Pinata and Animal Crossing (among others), you are a Ditto tasked with reworking the land in a hospitable living environment to attract new Pokémon. In turn, your guests teach you new transformations that can help you in your daily tasks. The end result is a cosy cityscape sandbox that endears.

Admittedly, my track record with this particular genre is not the greatest. To me, titles like Animal Crossing and Pokopia seem somewhat at odds with the enjoyment I typically seek in this hobby. Their reward lies in the long-term investment through piecemeal routine play. My preference, however, lies with titles whose end state I can foresee. Though I admire the grind, ultimately, I’d like to savour as many games as possible. A 1000-hour sinkhole sounds antithetical to the latter goal. Quantity then, over loyalty. Of course, I have been curious in trying to achieve this level of dedication, yet this curiosity never materialised in having a fixed daily virtual routine as a mental escape.

The reticence I hold toward the genre might change, however, having played Pokopia. One could say that the game’s gentle introduction of transformations, together with the tried and tested formula of collecting, in this particular case, attracting Pokémon, offers the reward structure a gateway drug needs. There’s an impetus to return. In real life, building an animal sanctuary, like a bee hotel, wouldn’t yield an immediate result either. Some patience is required. So you put your Switch 2 into sleep mode and check back in a day or two. And while you are at it, why not perform a few chores. Rinse and repeat.

Beyond those foundations, however, two less obvious features add to my enjoyment of this particular title: nostalgia and a communitarian ecology. Now, when I say nostalgia, I don’t mean a general nostalgia for the series and my time spent in its universe – though that certainly plays a role. The nostalgia I refer to here is more specific. You see, that first episode I ever watched was the comedic Episode 37 of Season 1: “Ditto’s Mystery Mansion.” In this episode, Pikachu and friends encounter the transformation Pokémon and her trainer, Duplica. Duplica and Ditto run a performance centre focused on the art of imitation. Only problem is, Duplica’s Ditto isn’t all that good at performing their defining trait. More specifically, they have difficulty mimicking other entities’ facial features. Each transformation, while physically accurate for the most part, maintains Ditto’s beady eyes and derpy smile. The episode’s focus on a less articulated creature wasn’t exactly going to convert a comic book chauvinist. Over time, the episode grew on me, especially because of the comedic qualities of these transformations gone awry. For Game Freak and Omega Force, this episode too must hold some nostalgic qualities, as their Ditto suffers from the same condition. Upon seeing their creative choice, however, I was catapulted to a particular moment in time I vividly remember and wanted to recapture. Having had their marketing strategy hit the mark, this was an exceedingly rare one-day full-priced purchase.

The second reason why I appreciate Pokopia is its alternative imaginary of a more egalitarian society. Amidst genocide and geopolitical cynicism, a virtual world in which Pokémon share an ignorant optimism about the future serves as an effective escape. Moreover, taking place after what appears to be an ecological crisis, the world you inhabit is devoid of human presence. And despite my Pokémon’s overt longing for people to return – at this point, I don’t know if they will – part of me hopes they never do. I am glad this world isn’t populated by our species. It is better for it. And if people do have to return, please don’t let it be the imperial and colonising kind. Instead, it felt comforting to participate in an ecology built around a communal striving where everyone wants to make the place they live in better for their equals. From each according to their ability, to each according to their needs; let Slowpoke yawn and Squirtle water, Charmander start fires, and Scyther cut weeds. If nostalgia drew me in, the spirit of communitarianism might keep me going.