If part of the problem with mass culture is the encompassment of life into the values and desires of the marketplace, Susan Stewart seems to suggest that the idea of a collection could—at least preliminarily—look like an alternative space for self-creation. Imagine your own collection (or really, any alternative you can think of for creative life outside the marketplace)—describe how it might work (locating it within issues from class), and whether this seems truly to be a viable personal and social alternative for you.

	Pokémon may not exactly be the first word used in an essay to be examined and analyzed by members of the academe, but it is a mass culture phenomenon that simply cannot be ignored. Though one may not be aware of the global competitive battling scene built up around it, one may have surely heard of the franchise’s tenet-turned-tagline, which is of course, ‘gotta catch ‘em all!’, which has since fallen out of use since 2003, according to Pokémon encyclopedia Bulbapedia (Mariosjasque, et al., 2018). And yet, not every Pokémon trainer collects every creature they see on their routes—some choose only the very best to “be the very best” (Paige, 1997), as the song goes. Of course, “the very best” (Paige, 1997) is subjective—that is, the quality of being the ‘best’ is a standard is informed by the collector’s values and beliefs. This transforms your Pokémon party from a simple collection into an avenue where you express yourself, grappling with others in a similar quest to find themselves in spite of the emotional strain it can produce, jeopardizing this self-expression. This concept of Pokémon as a space of self-creation will be explored and evaluated in this essay, colored with ideas taken from excerpts of “Objects of Desire”, a chapter from the Susan Stewart text known as On Longing.

	To determine the process by which Pokémon becomes a self-expressive medium through collection would require us to first define what a collection is. When most people say that they collect things, they usually mean that they examine, pick and gather various objects under a certain category. These categories can range from the general, such as stamps used by the United States Postal Service, to the niche, such as Green Party presidential campaign memorabilia from the highly memorable 2016 United States general election. This means that the act of collecting can be defined as a type of consumption based on not only the accepting accumulation of objects that satisfies specific personal standards, but also on the discriminate rejection of objects that do not satisfy those same definite individual qualifiers. The collection thus becomes a reflection of what is prized or so heralded by the collector, making the collection a place for a person’s interests, or preferences—or rather, their values—to manifest. The type of collection and its scope can then clue onlookers in on the personality and identity a collector may have. Hopefully, this hinting at an identity would trigger conversations about how this collection came to be, such as, ‘hey, I have that stamp too!’, or ‘why do you have these pictures of Jill Stein lying around?’.

	In fact, author Susan Stewart would agree with this previous definition of the act of collecting, saying in Objects of Desire that “the collection … is dependent upon principles of organization and categorization” (p. 153) to exist even as a concept. Stewart takes this definition further, as she distinguishes collections from the piles that hoarders and pack rats accumulate randomly. To accumulate items randomly would be to collect them without reason—that is, “without seriality, without relation to one another or to a context of acquisition” (Stewart, p. 153). In simpler terms, the act of accepting and rejecting items into a greater body as one sees fit does not just define the act of collecting. By discussing the idea of grouping items based on similar characteristics and accumulating more like items, Stewart describes the archetypal, perhaps Platonic idea of collection unto itself. However, this again implies that the choice of what to add, remove or leave out is dependent on the preference of the collector. So what would Stewart do to relate the idea of the collection to the expression of intangible identity? How would these claims lead us closer to process by which the collection asserts the self? She would have us simply look to what was established prior—that the collection, and its objects, reflects the collector.

	It is from this point on that Stewart’s argument comes alive, as she states the process by which collection becomes an “extension of the self” (p. 157) instead of an object “simply … of use value” that fills our living space. Stewart states that any object’s ties to a specific “culture and [its] economy” (p. 153) make it part of a deliberately selected collection, implying that we must lose ourselves in a certain culture and economy to deem a related object acceptable to collect in the first place. In less theoretical terms, what space I should save for readily-available books or writing implements with which to ‘better my mind’, I devote instead to a bunch of cartridges that contain entire universes of creatures created by Pokémon mainline developer Game Freak if only because I lose myself in the culture of the Pokémon fandom and the economy produced by a creature’s perceived ‘value’. Every creature’s value is produced by the rarity, available movesets, evolutionary future and elemental typing and competitive battling metagame viability of an individual Pokémon creature—which itself is subject to randomization as a result of what Bulbapedia calls “individual values … [or] IVs” (Mr. Bonding, et al., 2018). Otherwise, without my attachment to the fandom, there is neither value, nor a collection.

	Later in the text does Stewart codify the collection as an avenue of self-expression by arguing that we extend ourselves through our objects. In fact, she suggests to readers that “to disparage the collected object, one says “it is not you”” (Stewart, p. 159). This statement, despite its factual nature (i.e. I am not a Pokémon and instead am a human being as you and I may already know), is transformed into a proclamation so hurtful that we cannot help but want to snap right back with limited (if not totally varying) success, like the move Blizzard that hits with 70% Accuracy used by the Pokémon Ninetales in its Alola Form (Nintendo, 2017). This soul-twisting pain seems to come from the statement’s tone—one that seemingly banishes us from the culture and economy in which we apparently identify ourselves even though we know they are designed and formulated by total strangers. After all, Stewart writes that in every item, “the contained here is the self; the material body is simply one position within the seriality and diversity of objects” (Stewart, p. 159). The self expands to accommodate all of these new objects, and to poke fun at one would prod at the rest (not to mention of course, the blood, sweat, tears, time and money that went into selecting pieces for this collection in the first place).

	While many would prod at my collection of Pokémon creatures—mere collections of pixels and polygons—by calling it a type of “insane collection … for its own sake and for its own movement” (Stewart, p. 154), I must insist that is not. It is a part of what Stewart would call “the entire political economy that serves as the foundation for that [system of objects known as the collection] and the only domain within which the system acquires meaning” (p. 154). In the context of Pokémon, the system of serialized and diverse objects is known as the Pokédex—a compendium on every known Pokémon known to (in-game) man. Ever since I was a child, I had tried to fill up as many Pokédex entries as I can through various means—cheats, trading, going to international real-life Pokémon events in which exclusive rare Pokémon were offered during such-and-such date, you name it, been there, done that. Such modes of collection determine the rarity of the creature and its value to those that trade and collect Pokémon more intensely than I. However, I am aware that this value is eclipsed by its value in the greater Pokémon political economy, a system in which I find myself much more invested, if not interested. I refer to, of course, the internationally-known and highly-sensationalized Pokémon battling scene.

	In every Pokémon battle, one wins by using their own curated and painstakingly trained party—that is, six-strong collection—of Pokémon supercreatures to inflict enough damage to incapacitate the party of another Pokémon trainer. These battles, whether against computer-generated or player-controlled opponents, is the measure by which players test the competence of their collection, transforming a network of pixels and values in and out of the screen into a hyperreal struggle to become the so-called “Pokémon Master” (Nintendo, 2001). In the broader context of the Pokémon fanbase, a single battle can become the ultimate measure by which the competitive battling scene measures a player’s skill, worth, and competence. Every ounce of time, energy and effort poured into putting together the ‘perfect’ team would ideally lead to a streak of Pokémon battling victories. However, trainers must acknowledge that a streak-breaking loss endangers the identity that Pokémon trainers have so built up for themselves, validated through numerous arduous Pokémon battles. Thanks to the officially-backed, yearly Pokémon World Championships that are the Super Bowls and World Series games of the Pokémon franchise, this pressure mounts even on the shoulders of children less than ten years of age.

	Even as the possibility of self-desecration looms over every battle, many still choose to pour their golden hearts and silver souls into training creatures that, at the end of the proverbial day, are merely pixels and polygons on a screen that does little to damage our physical health (beyond of course, depriving us of sleep and perhaps ruining our vision as a result of prolonged exposure to LCD screens). We tether ourselves to the frivolous journey to be a Pokémon Master, which is characterized by in-game Pokémon Champion Lance as “long and difficult” (Nintendo, 2010) by finding an identity in the creatures that come our way and are captured into Poké Balls for portability. To train them, we carefully heed the proclamations of the popular website Smogon University—a fan-run Pokémon database specifically built to resemble a competitive battling institution—to let us know what to catch and what movesets and items with which to equip our Pokémon, and acquiesce to the demands that we must obey to remain ‘good trainers’. As a result, I’ve started to compare training a Pokémon with raising a child as a new parent glued to a guidebook, though unlike parents, I contribute nothing tangible to society by grooming pixelated creatures for a ‘victorious future’ that only exists within a digital gamespace.

	When combined with the Pokémon battling metagame that has been around for just as long as the official franchise has existed, this persistence to “be the very best” (Paige, 1997) creates a culture where potential representations of selves are organized into hierarchical tiers, built up and made worthless overnight with just one move. This is something that Smogon has been known to do, and in an act of infamy, it had determined that some representations of selves are too powerful by creating the Anything Goes tier, occupied solely by Mega Rayquaza—a Pokémon introduced recently in the Pokémon Omega Ruby and Alpha Sapphire versions released in 2014. It should be noted, however, that while Smogon is not the end-all-be-all arbiter of fair play in the Pokémon competitive battling metagame, it makes these claims as if it were. The Mega Rayquaza is written by Smogon author Vertex to be “at a completely different level than the whole metagame” (2015) as its power disrupts conventional competitive battling. Such power is used only by players believed by Smogon to treat the metagame lightly, with Vertex deeming the Anything Goes tier as “unbalanced … and … uncompetitive” (2015), perhaps applying such descriptors (and the connotations thereof) to Mega Rayquaza trainers as well.

	Even so, the creators of the Pokémon video games see this as pedantic, unfair and maladaptive to their franchise’s player base that encompasses all ages. In fact, Pokémon Omega Ruby and Alpha Sapphire director Shigeru Ohmori in a 2014 interview with Matt Kamen of Wired compared the use, creation and maintenance of databases such as Smogon to “looking at a datasheet on different dogs and deciding about the data on the different dogs and deciding which one you want based on that data”. In that respect, Ohmori ultimately deemed these websites “soulless” (Kamen, 2014), as it violates the principles upon which he, and veteran Pokémon producer-director Junichi Masuda and franchise creator Satoshi Tajiri before him, developed the Pokémon franchise into what it is today. Pokémon should be about “real, living creatures” (Kamen, 2014) bridging the gap between people of all ages, genders, races, and after the release of the Wi-Fi compatible Pokémon Diamond and Pearl Versions, geographical locations and time zones. Nevertheless, Game Freak, Nintendo and The Pokémon Company still profit from the culture they have inadvertently created, and based on how “the Pokemon World Championships will make a return next year” (Workman, 2017), they are also complicit in its perpetuity.

	For the reasons given above—the validation of certain identities at the expense of others, the overly intricate value system that determines the Pokémon collection and trading system, the toxic environment created by Smogon, and its sustenance by the greater Pokémon competitive battling metagame that is the franchise’s political economy, I believe that my collection of Pokémon creatures cannot be seen as a viable personal and social alternative space in which I can create an identity. Even if these thoughts have been fermenting for the past six years after the release of Pokémon Black-2 and White-2—my favorite set of paired versions in the entire franchise—only now have I been able to put these thoughts into legible, typed word to be circulated within the academe. And now, as much as I might try to use Smogon to help me create a better gameplay experience for me as I finish Ultra Sun and Ultra Moon, I will always remember the University’s grandiose and presumptuous proclamations that not every Pokémon trainer can possibly comprehend. Only time will tell if I wind up inhaling the thick and murky smog that is that dreaded website, but for now, I cannot rely on people such as Vertex to tell me what to do with my life and decisions as a Pokémon trainer.

	And yet, as much as I might wish for my brother to do the same, I can’t change his mind. My competitive battling streak had rubbed off on him and has blown itself up in the worst possible way—and yet, he doesn’t seem to view Smogon as a haughty, exclusive institution that is sustained by and for the Pokémon trainer elite in the same way that I do, though meticulous, by-the-book methods of Pokémon training it endorses has no room for creativity. But alas, it is my brother’s choice to follow the University syllabus, and thus, it is his choice to create an identity as a Pokémon trainer amidst the contagious arrogance that the Pokémon fandom has created for itself. This choice of his is something that I will have to accept, respect, silently and at a distance—and isn’t this choice the same impetus for self-creation, much like the impetus to collect? In the same manner, I will have to accept that the people around me choose to play and get lost in Pokémon GO (Niantic, 2016), which I believe to be an flimsy facsimile of Pokémon training, especially when compared to the breadth and depth of customization that the mainline Pokémon games ofer. Even so, it is not my right to tell them how to live their lives, lest I turn into a Vertex of Smogon myself—a monster I hope to never witness and capture in my life time.

	To conclude, the Pokémon competitive battling scene transforms a simple collection into an avenue in which you are led to believe you can express yourself through the objects that you so pick and choose. However, the act of battling with others that are trying to formulate their own identities in much the same way lock yourself into a system where selves are categorized by human institutions such as Smogon University based on their controversially-defined standards of competence. Some can say that Smogon creates a collection of their own through their elitism and discriminatory tastes. However, while this happens, you grapple with the reality of others trying to express themselves along the way, in spite of the emotional strain it can produce for both them and you. This strain can jeopardize this self-expression, and can ultimately become toxic. However, what’s even more toxic is the fact that telling others not to get locked into this political economy of war makes you just as toxic as these ‘exclusive Pokémon battling institutions’, and perhaps the only way to purify yourself is to break free and keep distant from this poisonous culture of constant bickering and arguing. Simply put, to become a Pokémon Master, you must avoid acting upon the thought of Pokémon Mastery at all.