Pokemon: The Cutest Obsession

By Michele Orecklin

As video games go, Pokemon is a far cry from Doom. Rather than annihilating demons with an arsenal of firepower, kids manipulate a group of cloyingly cute critters whose primary form of battle is a glorified version of rock, paper, scissors. There are no guns, no blood--no one even dies. Players choose a starter Pokemon (short for pocket monster), then nurture and train it to battle other monsters using such "weapons" as water, fire and electricity. After defeating a foe, the original monster becomes more powerful. The aim is to become a "master trainer" by vanquishing all 150 challengers.

With its benevolent characters and empowering ethic of "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger," Pokemon is unlikely to spur kids to purchase assault weapons. But it has inspired the kind of obsessive acquisitiveness not seen since--well, the Beanie Baby. When Pokemon was introduced in Japan in 1996, the characters immediately captivated the preteen set, particularly young boys. Pokemon creatures such as Pikachu (a yellow catlike mite) and Poliwhirl (a disk with bulging eyes) were soon presiding over a media juggernaut, including an animated TV show and trading cards, and appearing on everything from cell phones to hot-dog packages.

Now the fever has spread to the U.S. Within a month of its debut last September, the TV series--less a cartoon than a half-hour exercise in Pokemon product placement--became the highest-rated children's show in the U.S., first in syndication and now on the WB network. Nintendo has sold 2.5 million Pokemon Game Boy cartridges in seven months, making it the fastest-selling product in company history. Since January, 850,000 Pokemon trading-card sets have been sold in the U.S., and kids flock to malls to participate in official trading bazaars. So preoccupied are kids with the trading cards, some schools have banned them.

For most parents, Pokemon seems a relatively benign, if exasperating fad. But could it be a gateway to more dangerous obsessions? David Walsh, a child psychologist and founder of the National Institute on Media and the Family, thinks it's possible. The technology behind most video games, he explains, is based on a psychological principle called "operant conditioning"--essentially, stimulus-response-reward. "Research has shown that operant conditioning is a powerful shaper and influencer of behavior," says Walsh. "The obsession is not about violence; it's about how engrossing the game becomes."

Walsh stresses the need to balance children's activities, which is not so easy when it comes to Pokemon. "I play it whenever I can get my hands on it," says eight-year-old Chad Boecke of Kenosha, Wis. Joshua Tunis, also 8, of New York City, would play every waking moment if his parents didn't set a kitchen timer to signal the game's end. Like most fads, Pokemania will undoubtedly fade. But there are no signs of that yet: the Pokemon movie is due out around Thanksgiving.

--By Michele Orecklin. With reporting by Autumn De Leon/New York, Erik Gunn/Kenosha and Jeanne McDowell/Los Angeles

With reporting by Autumn De Leon/New York, Erik Gunn/Kenosha and Jeanne McDowell/Los Angeles