In the Pokemon fandom, every once in a while you stumble upon a ‘Pokeballs are $200′ joke. In reference to how Pokeballs cost 200 of the in-game currency:
What a lot of fans, especially more casual ones, don’t seem to realize is that the currency in the Pokemon games it based on the Japanese yen. The symbol for the currency in the games even resembles the yen symbol:
In fact, according to Bulbapedia, the ‘Poke dollar’ symbol was specifically created for the English translations of the games, and the original Japanese versions use the yen symbol.
Now, for perspective, although the exact exchange rate naturally varies, a US dollar is equivalent to about 120 Japanese yen. So, 200 yen is about $1.67.
A Pokeball in the Pokemon games actually cost less then two bucks.
There’s a REASON we see so many young kids training Pokemon, especially early in the games. The cost of investing into a Pokeball to try catching their own Pokemon easily falls into the range of a typical kid’s allowance. A Potion for healing after battles is 300 (or about $2.50), but since Pokemon Centers offer their healing services for free, that’s a moot point.
Youngsters in the early game only give within a range from 50-150 of the currency, which is about equivalent to $0.40-$1.25. The first Gym Leader in Hoenn Region, Roxanne, give 1,680 in Omega Ruby/Alpha Sapphire, equivalent to about $14. Which is about right for the equivalent of a middle or high school honors student. A later Gym Leader, Winona, gives 4,200, or about $35. The Champion, Steven, gives 11600, or $96.67.
The winnings from enemy Trainers varies, but Ace Trainers seem to give out about 1500 or $14 on average, give or take. Swimmers (especially common later in ORAS), award a range from 400-800, or $3.33-$6.67.
Vitamins (such as Calcium, Iron, and HP UP), cost 9,800 or $81.67 each. An Ultra Ball cost 1,200, or $10. A Paralyze Heal costs the same as a Pokeball, while an Awakening is half that. A Revive is 1,500, or $12.50.
What’s the point of doing this? Well, for one, to get a better sense of the in-game economics, which can be hard to grasp if one doesn’t realize the in-game ‘Poke dollars’ are based on the Japanese yen. And a look at said economics reveals some interesting details.
First, it shows basic Pokemon training and raising is well within the affordability of a ten-year old, or older. Which makes sense as Pokemon is aimed at younger kids, and the develops would want them to have the sense that going on a Pokemon journey is something they could do if they somehow ended up in the Pokemon world.
On the other hand, it also shows there’s really not that much money to be made in Pokemon raising and traning, unless you battle frequently and regularly against higher-level opponents regularly and and win. Which is…very much in line with how professional sports work in real-life. Pokemon battling gets compared to a sporting event a lot for a reason. The initial 3-D games were even called Pokemon *Stadium.* Parallels are frequently drawn between the Pokemon League tournaments and the Olympics in the anime. The low money output is probably also why we often see Gym Leaders and the like working other jobs.
Just something interesting I decided to look into. I’m a Pokemon fan first, before any other fandom, and always will be. It’s shocking that I haven’t written any meta on it yet.
The 1000000 price for the bicycle translates to $8259.51, which is the price of a top quality bike for proffesionals.
Excellent catch! Helps explain why the bikes can ride through stuff like snow and sand. They are of excellent make.
And it also helps explain why the bike shop owners are happy to give out their bikes to a prospective Pokemon Trainer for free (whether through a voucher or otherwise). Your average Trainer taking the Gym challenge puts those bikes through the *wringer.* Riding them along mountains, through marshes, and even through snow. But a bike being able to endure that is the kind of thing a professional rider would look for, and desire.
Most Pokemon Trainers will never be able to afford the bikes, but are in one of the best positions to push them to their limits. So giving them out for free is actually a clever marketing move. Imagine a potential buyer seeing a Trainer riding one of those bikes in Lillycove, and said Trainer reveals they rode it from Rustboro (which means they rose it around a mountain, several caves, a few marshes, and possibly other environments I’m not thinking of right now). That’s a hell of an impression to make, and a fast, easy way to sell the buyer on getting the bike themselves, especially if they ride competitively.
Case in point, in Pokemon Gold/Silver and their re-makes, the bike shop even gives you the bike specifically as ‘advertising.’ After you’ve ridden it around long enough, you get a call saying that because of you doing so, their sales have shot through the roof (and happily tell you to keep the bike). And it’s no wonder why.
so I was talking with @gitwrecked about the Space Dad mentality and how rare it is that Shiro gets to have fun like the other Paladins do. A lot of fic and art either assume Shiro’s the responsible character, or leave him out completely while all the Paladins are having fun - and that’s always bugged me, a bit. Shiro so rarely gets a chance to play those games, or make mistakes, or be smol, or be taken care of in any way. In fandom, Shiro’s almost always the Responsible One, whether that’s in charge of the team, assisting with the team’s personal affairs/relationship woes Via the giving of Dad Advice, etc. etc. Even the mentality that back at the Garrison Shiro must’ve been tight-laced, Perfect, and Always Responsible is just…it doesn’t make sense, to me. Considering everything he’s been through, can’t our Shiro be allowed some fun?
Shiro would’ve been a COMPLETE troublemaker back at the Garrison. Hardworking and dedicated, sure, but once he proved himself and climbed up the ranks, so to speak? Kid could get away with ANYTHING. Nobody can keep a straight face quite like Shiro. Nobody knows why there’s always one particular flight-bike returned with just a bit less fuel than the others, nope, no sir. No, nobody knows how the doors to the hangars were left unlocked and a trio of cows slipped in last night. Nope, definitely not. Shirogane? Nope, definitely not involved. What kind of person would think that of Innocent, Responsible Shiro?
Shiro gets away with a lot of stuff like this. Matt only eggs him on, the little troublemaker. The two of them would make SUCH a pair, wreaking havoc, always messing things up, and the worst part is Iverson can NEVER PROVE IT. If Matt has even half the hacking skills of Pidge? Nothing would be safe. The rosters? Weird how Shiro and Matt are always in the same classes. Any type of list? Funny that the mess hall’s serving chocolate cake for dinner for the fourth night in a row, how odd. The simulators?
Dear lord, the simulators.
Fake missions. Weird Easter Eggs left behind in mission logs, so the freshmen are running these simulations and that’s definitely a duck that just flew past us, sir, how is a duck faster than this ship? Weird loopholes, one set of canyons that definitely loops you back to the beginning just after you exit. Missions with heavy-loss scenarios that light up at the end with a huge message saying APRIL FOOL’S. Just messing with everyone.
[Iverson: WHO LET HOLT INTO THE SIMULATOR PROGRAMMING? Matt, deadpan, as the newbies running the simulation have to fly through a series of caves in a mountain that looks suspiciously like a nose (only access point is through the nostril): It’s my computer programming final, sir. Iverson, who didn’t check all the course syllabi: Shirogane, is this true? Shiro, without batting an eye: Yes sir.]
In addition to the ability to lie their way out of every inquisition, Matt and Shiro are pretty clever at this. They don’t have to lie often because they don’t get caught. They’re extremely cautious, planning tricks weeks or months in advance, well worth taking the time to pull it off well and cover our tracks than it is to get caught and give up the whole game. (I’m not saying they were Weasleys of the Garrison, but.)
I wonder if this is also one of the reasons Lance looks up to Shiro so much. Picture one night a very young and impressionable Lance sneaking out of his dorm after hours, trying to get a level up by gaining just one extra peek at the simulators (poor bab wants so badly to be fighter class), and in so doing caught the rarest of rare events: Shiro, sneaking out of the simulator programming room.
And Lance doesn’t mean to, but he stumbles right into a trashcan and makes a huge clatter and Shiro’s head whips up and the two of them just stare at each other. Lance’s heart is going a mile a minute, he’s going to get in trouble, that’s Takashi Shirogane, the straight-A Perfect Responsible Top Of His Class Pilot -
Shiro draws breath. Lance winces, waiting for the reprimand.
“Can you keep a secret?” Shiro asks, and winks.
“Uh,” stutters Lance, floored.
And then the next day Lance is watching the simulator runs with his class, but for whatever reason the Simulator’s infected with some sort of weird bug. Anytime anyone fails at any part of the program the screen rains down confetti on them. Forgot to buckle your seatbelt? CONFETTI. Effed up that landing? CONFETTI. Turning to hurl into the main gearbox-
“Shirogane,” Iverson growls, “Did you program this run?”
“Must be a glitch, sir,” Shiro says, completely straight-faced.
The echo in Booming Ice Chasm is like nothing you’ve ever heard before. You have to pause for a few seconds after each syllable or your own words will drown out whatever you try to say next. Sing a series of notes and the cave will sing a chord back at you and hold it for nearly 10 seconds.