I visited the house I grew up
in over Spring Break. My fam-
ily moved a while back, but we
haven’t been able to sell it yet, so
it sits empty. The room that our
Christmas tree would always
light up was being painted, and
I was taken back to when I was
12 years old — just about to leave
primary school — when I got
“Pokémon Black 2” for Christ-
mas. I was about two years
younger than its protagonist,
but a year older than the origi-
nal protagonist of the series’s
progenitor “Pokémon Red and
Blue.” Now, I’m 21 years old
and adults make up more and
more of the franchise’s market
demographic. Even with all the
arguments that Pokémon will
forever remain a franchise for
children, the reception for the
series is dying off. A once uni-
versally-adored series seemed to
be running out of steam, reliant
on formulas and gimmicks now
decades old.
Here’s the thing, though.
Through all the noise and the
rightful frustration of the infa-
mously irritable Pokémon fan-
base, its creators did strike
gold with the franchise’s origi-
nal core concepts. The biggest
accomplishment of the Pokémon
games is their ability to tie sto-
ries so closely to gameplay. Every
encounter has the potential to
give you a new battle partner for
life in your quest to “catch ‘em
all,” and every turn-based battle
victory is another step on your
journey (to be the very best, like
no one ever was). It’s what made
the series — largely relegated to
2D top-down chibi sprites — so
immersive.
The core mechanics have
never changed as the franchise
evolved from Generations I to
IX between six different hand-
held consoles; the formula just
became more and more refined
with each Gen, adding new
Pokémon along the way. Fans
were satisfied because it felt like
each evolution was a new chap-
ter in the same story that pushed
the limits of their handheld
homes — but this seemed to peak
around Gen V, with the “Poké-
mon Black and White” games
for the Nintendo DS. From here
onward, the series became reli-
ant on battle gimmicks that
wouldn’t return in future games
and balancing nostalgia manipu-
lation with proper tribute to the
past: Gen VI’s Mega Evolutions,
Gen VII’s Z-moves, Gen VIII’s
Dynamaxing.
These
weren’t
new chapters or refinement of a
formula, but tired tropes being
repeated. When new Gen VIII
titles were announced for the
Nintendo Switch — a truly inno-
vative next-gen console in and
of itself, being a next-gen home
console that was also this gen-
eration’s handheld — it felt like
a new story needed to be writ-
ten, an expectation that was
betrayed by the derivativeness
of “Pokémon Sword and Shield.”
However, is Pokémon ready to
tell a new story?
Enter Ash Ketchum. Or rath-
er, exit Ash Ketchum, as the
Pokémon
anime
protagonist
wraps up his last episodes after
25 years. During those two and
a half decades, he’s remained
just 10 years old, as everyone
around him was also ageless.
He’s received many a costume
change and art-style innova-
tion, sure, but he’s never really
changed or grown up as a pro-
tagonist. Of course, this leads
to numerous fan theories on his
supposed immortality, but it’s
clear he just operates in a “float-
ing timeline” — one that keeps
the show updated in the present
without accounting for aging.
But in many ways, Ash’s eternal
youth and marginal maturing
symbolize the state of his fran-
chise. That’s why it’s so interest-
ing that they’ve now chosen to
finally let him move on, to intro-
duce new protagonists.
Enter “Pokémon Scarlet and
Violet.” I’ve written on it at
length, but there’s a variety of
interesting innovations I didn’t
mention:
defying
Pokémon
starter patterns, breaking Poké-
mon Professor naming tradi-
tions, bucking the games’ story
conventions entirely. Yes, the
games operated poorly at launch
and these issues aren’t quite yet
resolved, but they’re still vastly
interesting entries that aren’t
getting enough credit for what
they attempted to do — finally
tell a different kind of story.
Playing through these Gen IX
games felt like they were trying
their absolute hardest to give
the series a new starting point
— making “Scarlet and Violet”
just a shade different from “Red
and Blue.” But did we ever really
want Pokémon to change? Are
we wishing for what used to
make the series so special to us?
Or are we slowly realizing that
maybe that spark is gone, that it
left when we grew up?
When you open a “Calvin and
Hobbes” comic collection, the air
around you explodes with homi-
cidal stuffed tigers and death-
defying sled crashes. Spaceman
Spiff soars through a black can-
vas cracked with stars, and Mom
is always there to push you out
the front door on a frigid Mon-
day morning. “G.R.O.S.S.” is the
name of the game, and the great
beloved outdoors is prettier and
brighter than it’s ever been. To
read “Calvin and Hobbes” is to be
a kid again, to see the big world
brimming with endless possibil-
ity and to know that as long as
you and your tiger best friend
make it home at the end of the
day — where mandatory bathtime
is your greatest nemesis — life is
good and kind and full.
My big brother is and always
will be five years older than me.
The gap between a newborn and
a five year old is virtually insur-
mountable. Even the difference
between 19 and 24 is significant.
But every year we get older, the
gap shrinks a little. When we’re
52 and 57, we’ll be just the same:
old.
Anyway, when I was little, I
adored my older brother. I want-
ed to be just like him. I remember
seeing him read all these differ-
ent chapter books and thinking,
“I can’t wait to read.” When I saw
him reading “Calvin and Hobbes”
comic books, it was only natural
that I ended up there too.
There were a lot of big words
that I didn’t understand. Calvin
gives quite a few philosophical
soliloquies every now and then.
But I got the gist of it — Calvin is
a funny 5-year-old rascal that you
can’t help but adore. Hobbes is his
loyal, true best friend, Nevermind
that he’s actually a stuffed tiger
that only comes alive when other
characters aren’t around, Hobbes
is very much real. My brother
named our cat Hobbes. He had
the name picked out before they
left for the Humane Society.
I think the magic of “Calvin
and Hobbes” lies in its ability to
marvelously capture the sacred
essence of childhood. All Calvin
cares about are those warm sum-
mer days where he and Hobbes
tramp out to the middle of the
woods and go soaring past the
trees and rocks and brooks on
their rickety old sled that has yet
to get them killed, despite their
best efforts. Calvin hates school,
never does his homework, abhors
baths and loves to hate his neigh-
bor Susie. He’s incredibly simple
in his likes and dislikes, and he’s
actually quite industrious in his
play. He establishes his own club
called G.R.O.S.S. — “Get Rid Of
Slimy girlS” — and occasionally
sets up his own booth to charge
people money for his advice
(shockingly, no one pays him).
There are very few significant
characters in Calvin’s world, and
it seems to exemplify the way
that, when you’re a kid, the world
is simultaneously so big and so
small. Calvin has the time and
space to consider such big ques-
tions about life, but he also has
a very clear sense of immediacy
and has no anxiety or concerns
about the future. He’s careless in
all the perfect, childhood ways.
When I read “Calvin and
Hobbes,” it takes me back to
those warm summer days when I
had nothing to do but everything
in the world to gain. My brother
and I would go out into the back-
yard and dig up earthworms to
feed to our pet quails. We’d cap-
ture roly-polies and stash them
in plastic bowls covered with
Saran Wrap until they died. Dur-
ing those long adventure days, my
friends and I would turn a giant
green round loveseat on its side
and cover it with a blanket. One of
us would crawl into the loveseat
while the rest of us would roll it
back and forth across the living
room, laughing hysterically as we
flung our friend around the room.
It was our very own homemade
roller coaster. Those days were
simple, beautiful and kind. Noth-
ing in the world mattered, and we
were happy.
After I moved to Michigan for
college, I started giving away
my “Calvin and Hobbes” books
to a few family friends in the
area. They have little boys in
elementary school who would
probably get a kick out of all the
rough-and-tumble craziness that
Calvin gets into. I’m growing up
now, and I’m a little too busy for
comics these days. The pages are
worn and wrinkled, with a few
food stains here and there from
when my brother and I would
snack on ice cream and crackers
while reading on the floor. But
even as I gave away these relics of
a time bathed in golden sunlight
and happy laughter, I kept one for
myself. It sits on the shelf right
above my desk — and every couple
of months, I pull it down from the
shelf, snuggle in a blanket, find a
good page and smile.
My toxic trait might just be
thinking I could survive “Outer
Banks.” For whatever reason,
patterned swimsuits and beach-
y music are enough to convince
me that I could totally handle
the “Pogue Life,” even if that
means spending my days run-
ning from the police or being
hunted by bloodthirsty mil-
lionaires. But despite the life-
threatening danger the show’s
characters always seem to be in,
something about their lifestyle
has always made me intensely
jealous. In fact, I still remember
the exact words I texted my best
friend after I finished the first
season three years ago: “I want
to be a pogue so bad.” And if I’ve
learned anything through the
appalling amount of time I spend
online, it’s that I’m not alone in
that wish.
Released in April 2020, “Outer
Banks” gained a cult following
during the early stages of the
pandemic, specifically with the
teen demographic. For those
unfamiliar, the show tells the
story of the “Pogues,” a group
of friends from the Outer Banks
of North Carolina who spend
their days boating, fishing and
searching for the lost treasure
of a famed shipwreck. After
a hurricane hits the Carolina
coast, the teens are left without
power or working cell phones
for almost the entirety of the
first season. And, in my opinion,
it’s this aspect that has helped
elevate the series and lead it to
popularity amongst a younger
demographic.
It’s not that Gen Z is lacking
in teenage content and media —
we’re definitely not. But we are
lacking in teenage content that
isn’t
completely
intertwined
with our generation’s affili-
ation with technology. With
other Netflix shows directed
at teen audiences (“Sex Educa-
tion” or “Ginny and Georgia,”
for example), the internet and
social media are integral to the
plot of the show and regularly
make their way into the charac-
ters’ everyday lives (if I had to
watch this scene, so do you). And
honestly, with the amount of
time modern teens spend online,
these may not be entirely inac-
curate depictions of the way we
live. But “Outer Banks’ ” notice-
able lack of technology helps to
show us a new perspective: not
the life we do live, but the life we
wish we could.
Personally, I feel like I got
through high school. But I didn’t
really live it. I never snuck out
or even attended a high school
party until spring of my senior
year. What was the point? Had
I decided to leave, our high-
tech security system would have
alerted my parents immediately,
and even if it didn’t, Life360
would have incriminated me
by the next morning anyways.
I’m not implying that my secret
high school longing was to sneak
out a window and go hang in
some rando’s basement, or that
I would have even made the
choice to do these things in the
first place. But, I am saying that
it’s easy to feel trapped when
you don’t have the opportu-
nity to make truly autonomous
choices. Not without knowing
that your technology will expose
you for making the same deci-
sions teenagers have always had
the freedom to make in previous
generations.
Before I became a teenager, I
was told that it would bring me a
newfound sense of freedom that
I hadn’t felt as a child. But to be
honest, I think the most inde-
pendent I’ve ever felt was dur-
ing my elementary school years
— before I even thought about
touching a cell phone. Before I
could no longer go on a walk to
clear my head without my loca-
tion being tracked, without con-
stant streams of text messages
and follow-up question marks
when my replies weren’t prompt
enough. Before I lost the feeling
of freedom previous generations
of teens have always had, all in
the name of — well, having tech-
nology.
This is obviously not all to
say that I think that tech is a
bad thing — I don’t. But I do
think that it’s easy to feel over-
whelmed when every attempt
you make to get away from it
all is met with excessive infor-
mation from the internet or the
perpetual obligation to reply to
messages, all contributing to the
mental white noise of constantly
consuming media. It’s easy to
feel a little like a lab rat: given
an illusion of autonomy, but con-
stantly feeling as though you’re
under surveillance.
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
A college kid’s ode to ‘Calvin and Hobbes’
Design by Yuchen Wu
SAARTHAK JOHRI
Digital Beat Editor
Will the Pokémon franchise finally grow up with us?
PAULINE KIM
Daily Arts Writer
Design by Avery Nelson
OLIVIA TARLING
Daily Arts Writer
The ‘Outer Banks’ effect:
Why teenagers have fallen in love with the ‘Pogue Life’
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
Portrait v.
Landscape:
A public lecture and reception; you may attend in person or virtually. For more information,
including the Zoom link, visit events.umich.edu/event/103667 or call 734.615.6667.
Sources (top to bottom): Kodak Shirley Card, 1960. Collection of Herman Zschiegner; Robert Wallace and Gordon
Parks, “The Restraints: Open and Hidden.” Life, September 24, 1956, p. 99; Found color transparency image, Photo
Managers, “The Rare Format Slide Guide,” July 3, 2017.
SARA BLAIR
Patricia S. Yaeger Collegiate Professor of
English Language & Literature, Vice Provost
for Academic and Faculty Affairs
Visual genres, anti-racism,
and the photograph
Tuesday, April 11, 2023 | 4:00 p.m. | Weiser Hall, 10th Floor
Wednesday, March 29, 2023 — 5
Design by Tye Kalinovic