Woolworths, Woking, Surrey. I’d walk up to the till, place my Barbie or Britney Spears CD player on the counter, and before the cashier had the chance to ask if we wanted a bag, I’d blurt out: “This is a present for my sister, it’s not for me!” Sharing a smirk with my mum, they’d offer replies such as, “Wow, she’ll love it!” and “Aren’t you a kind brother?” (If you hadn’t already guessed, I do not have a sister.)
This was a regular occurrence in my childhood in the early 2000s. I was acutely aware, even as early as the age of five or six, that these were not the usual toys a little boy should be playing with. Where was my Action Man or Scalextric track? Why were my bedroom walls covered in posters of pop stars wearing crop tops and not footballers with muddy knees?
Barbie and Britney may have been my secret vices, but there was another phenomenon I, and a lot of other children my age, quickly became wrapped up in: Pokémon. The Japanese media franchise – currently the highest-grossing in the world – reached its “Pokémania” peak around this time.
