Lost in LA, Found Through Pokémon Cards

From Pattern Drafting to Pokémon

When I first landed in Los Angeles for my fashion studies, I expected inspiration to come from museums or runways. But the spark came unexpectedly one afternoon in Little Tokyo, where I wandered into a quirky collectibles shop. In the center of the glass case was a glittering Pokémon Card—specifically, a Japanese Holographic Umbreon. Something about its soft shimmer pulled me in, as if it belonged in a couture collection. That moment changed the entire course of my trip.

A Memory Rekindled

Touching that card transported me back to my childhood in Lahore, when my brother and I would sketch our favorite Pokémon on the backs of our school notebooks. We couldn’t afford real cards, so we created our own. Holding an actual Pokémon Card now, all those forgotten doodles, giggles, and late-night cartoon marathons came rushing back. I wasn’t just staring at a card—I was staring into a portal. A silent reminder that even as we grow, certain joys never age.

Art in Every Foil

As an aspiring fashion designer, I suddenly noticed how artistic Pokémon Cards are. The illustration styles, typography, and even the holographic layering reflected concepts I was studying in school. I bought a few booster packs “for design research,” or at least that’s what I told myself. Every time I opened one, I felt like I was unboxing a tiny art gallery—curated and colorful, where dragons, spirits, and electric mice posed with graphic elegance. Fashion and fandom had collided beautifully.

Los Angeles and Its Layers

LA is an endless patchwork of cultures and aesthetics. I saw people wearing Pokémon-themed varsity jackets at Melrose, Pikachu Crocs in Venice Beach, and oversized Gengar chains downtown. In a city driven by image and individuality, Pokémon wasn’t just nostalgia—it was a style statement. I even spotted a Pokémon-print handbag at a student fashion show. Here, the line between “childhood collectible” and “art-forward accessory” blurred, and it made me wonder: could fashion be as playful as a Pokémon Card?

A Chance Encounter at the Pokémon Store

One weekend, I visited the Pokémon Center Pop-Up in Santa Monica. It felt like stepping into a living animation—walls lined with plushies, collectible binders, apparel, and of course, cards. I met a fellow student there who was sketching the different packaging designs for a school project. We bonded instantly. She gave me her extra Mewtwo promo card, and I gave her a Ditto sticker I had just bought. It wasn’t just a store—it was a shared creative sanctuary.

Trading Stories and Stories Through Trading

Back on campus, I started bringing my small binder of cards to class. Surprisingly, more people responded than I expected. One classmate traded me a rare Gardevoir for my Leafeon, simply because “it reminds me of my sister.” Each Pokémon Card became a story passed hand-to-hand. What started as a solo obsession became a medium for storytelling. Our studio desk, once covered in fabric scraps, now also held cards—silent, shiny reminders that we all come from colorful, complex pasts.

Fashion Meets Fandom

Inspired by my rediscovered passion, I pitched a collection called “Electric Type” for our semester showcase. Each piece featured elements from Pokémon: thunderbolt stitching, Poké Ball-shaped buttons, and holographic fabric panels. The centerpiece was a cape inspired by Articuno, lined with icy blue foil. When my model strutted down the runway, I could hear whispers: “That’s definitely Pokémon-inspired.” But it wasn’t gimmicky—it was elegant. My professor, unaware of the origin, called it “nostalgic yet avant-garde.” Mission accomplished.

One Card, Infinite Meaning

There’s one card I keep framed beside my sewing machine: a reverse holographic Espeon. I pulled it from a pack on a day I almost dropped out. The calm expression of the Pokémon reminded me to trust my instincts and stay creative. That simple card became my emotional compass. Sometimes, it’s not about rarity or resale value. Sometimes, a Pokémon Card just quietly reminds you of your purpose, your roots, or simply that joy still exists—layered in foil and memory.

Packing Up with Pocket Monsters

Now, as my semester ends, I’m packing up. Among my notebooks and garment prototypes, my card binder sits neatly tucked in my suitcase. These cards are more than collectibles—they’re souvenirs of emotional growth, unexpected friendships, and artistic evolution. I came to LA chasing fashion dreams and found an unexpected creative fuel in the shimmer of a Pokémon Card. Wherever I go next—Paris, Tokyo, or back home—I’ll carry them with me. Not just as cards, but as chapters in my journey.