Today marks the 30th anniversary of the Pokémon franchise. With over 1,000 pocket monsters to collect, battle, and trade, dozens of mainline and spinoff games, a lucrative trading card game, various animated shows and movies, as well as a plethora of merchandise, Pokémon is one of the most profitable franchises in the world. It also happens to be my favorite.
I’ve spoken ad nausea about how much I love Pokémon. I’ve collected all but one of the mainline games, my room is adorned with statues, posters, and plushies of my favorite monsters, and my social media profiles are labeled with custom Pokémon artwork. This franchise means more to me than any other. And for this Access Designed, in honor of Pokémon’s 30th anniversary, I want to explore how its relatively consistent accessibility has shaped me, not only as a disabled player, but as a disabled reporter.
Catching Them All
My first introduction to the series wasn’t a video game. It was actually a single trading card: a Machop, effortlessly holding a massive boulder above its head. My older brother had been forced to reluctantly share it with me. And from that moment on, all I wanted was to collect more. I watched my brother trade with his friends, slowly developing my favorites from afar.
It wasn’t until the age of five, when my mother picked me up from kindergarten with a copy of Pokémon: Blue Version, that I experienced my first foray into the digital world of Pokémon. Back in 1999, my disability had yet to progress to where it is now. Yes, I was weak and required a wheelchair, but my hands had yet to atrophy into their current shape, and so it was far easier to use handheld consoles like the Game Boy. And because early Pokémon games had simplistic movement and play-at-your-own-speed turn-based combat, I could spend hours catching and battling without physical fatigue or strain.
For years, well into Pokémon’s third generation with games like Ruby, Sapphire, Fire Red and Leaf Green, that classic, accessible gameplay design remained the same. While the different iterations of Game Boys changed their shapes and sizes, Pokémon’s overall play style was the only accessibility constant in my gaming life. Whether relaxing after school or stuck in an ICU room with IVs and tubes coming from my body, I was always able to play Pokémon.
When Change Creates Conflict
Pokémon’s inclusive gameplay design is inherent to its overall accessibility. The games are meant to be played by everyone, with difficulty being exclusive to the individual. Do you want to breeze through the game with just your starter and a legendary? Go for it. Do you want to build an intricately competitive team with proper stat distribution and type matchups? Nothing is stopping you. There is a level of freedom offered by Pokémon games that, for me, is unmatched in terms of accessible design.
Even as Nintendo evolved, with new handhelds that chased new ambitions, Pokémon’s core gameplay loop remained the same. While the DS and 3DS games used the touchscreen for minigames, I was still able to play the entirety of each Pokémon entry released on those consoles. That streak was brought to an end, though, with the release of the first Pokémon game for the Nintendo Switch.
Pokémon: Let’s Go, Pikachu and Pokémon: Let’s Go, Eevee were released in 2018. They are both remakes of the original generation’s Yellow Version, albeit with some notable differences. All Pokémon are visible on the overworld, making it easier to find your favorites and even hunt for elusive shinies. The overall difficulty is significantly easier, with an emphasis on attracting a new generation of Pokémon fans. Both of those changes were more than welcome. But the most controversial difference was the inclusion of forced motion controls.
Catching Pokémon meant flicking the Joycon, imitating throwing a Pokéball to activate the controller’s motion systems. There was no alternative to this mechanic, no ability to catch using traditional controls. For the first time ever in a mainline entry, Pokémon changed one of its core gameplay principles, and the result was a less accessible game. For the first time in my life, I was unable to play a Pokémon game due to its overall inaccessibility. And while I wasn’t disappointed to be missing another first-generation remake, I was fearful that this gimmick would set a precedent for future games.
In 2018, I wrote my first article exploring the negative accessibility impact of the Let’s Go games. In a uniquely beautiful, full circle moment, the series that was my accessibility constant helped launch my career as a disability and accessibility reporter. With gaming journalism in this field still within its infancy, it was refreshing to see a publication take a chance on a new writer to essentially call out one of the largest franchises in the world. My piece was deeply personal, but also spoke to the greater concerns of accessibility as a whole – can innovation be dangerous in the face of accessibility? Thankfully, Let’s Go were the only games to incorporate forced motion controls, but Pokémon continues to try to innovate.
An Uncertain Future
Pokémon’s recent Legends entries once again redefine what it means to capture and battle powerful monsters. While 2022’s Pokémon Legends: Arceus kept the series’ classic turn-based battle system, it implemented real-time catching without providing any accessible tools. And so while I was able to play Arceus to completion, I needed to use a specialized controller in combination with Nintendo’s native system accessibility settings, activated through the Switch itself rather than in-game. Fast forward to 2025’s Pokémon Legends: Z-A, and for the first time in a Pokémon entry everything was real-time. It meant that I found it a struggle to play for consecutive hours. So while I did complete both Legends games, I did so while grappling with a level of physical fatigue and strain that I’ve never experienced with Pokémon before. And even though I love these new interpretations of this 30 year-old classic series, I’m slightly apprehensive when thinking about the future of Pokémon. Will there be another Let’s Go-esque game I can’t play? I don’t know, and that quite frankly terrifies me.
I will always love Pokémon. I will always view it as my emotional comfort series. And as I’ve grown, I’ve learned to appreciate the nuances behind each game. Competitive battling, shiny hunting, and even Pokédex completion have historically been aspects of each game that I can comfortably engage with despite my physical disability. While I’ve become hesitant to let my accessibility guard down with new games and announcements, Pokémon’s vast library means I can always return to my comfort place. And for that reason alone, I’m excited to see where the next 30 years take us.
Grant Stoner is a disabled journalist covering accessibility and the disabled perspective in video games. When not writing, he is usually screaming about Pokémon or his cat, Goomba on Twitter.
