Exploring our favorite Pokemon (My top 10 and 10 honorable mentions)

 What is Your Pokemon Top 10?

What can really be said about Pokemon...

That hasn’t already been said?

I still remember, ten years old, kneeling on the floor in front of a pew at my grandmother’s church, shuffling through my first two-player deck box with my friend James. It was Fire vs. Fighting—Machamp the single rare holographic card sitting like a treasure you could practically feel humming. We didn’t have the faintest idea how to play. We just stared at them, pretended we knew the rules, and imitated whatever half-formed memories we had from the anime. The details never mattered. The magic did.

That was twenty-seven years ago.

Four years later, I was sitting in final-period English class—(shout out to Mr. Abney, one of the rare teachers who treated me like I mattered)—with my friend Kyle and we’d be huddled over our Game Boy Advances playing Pokémon Sapphire and Ruby. The entire class thought we were immature, stupid, weird—whatever words made them feel bigger. But those afternoons felt like sanctuary. Our desks were quiet islands where imagination still had value.

Eleven years later, Pokémon X and Y came out. I had just crawled out of the hardest breakup of my life—the girl I’d truly believed was my best friend, my soulmate. Everything felt empty except for that little 3DS screen. Somehow, wandering through Kalos made the real world hurt a little less. The game didn’t heal me, but it gave me space to breathe. A pause button on grief.

Six years passed. Sword and Shield released. I was married then—my first marriage—and my son, Creedence, had just arrived. Suddenly, Pokémon wasn’t just something I used to escape; it was something I got to share. Everyone in the house was playing. The two oldest kids got their own Switches and their own copies. We would all take turns trading, catching, comparing teams. Our living room was full of laughter and digital monsters, and it felt like I was passing on a piece of myself.

Now here I am, six more years gone. I live in Thailand with my wife, my son, and our two cats. There’s a Snorlax and a Pikachu permanently camped on our couch. A whole shelf is dedicated to our decks (which we still play—my Ghost/Dark build remains a menace to society, respectfully). Another shelf is crowded with plush Pokémon, each one a tiny reminder of a lifetime of wonder.

And even now, at 37 years old, at the end of 2025, I’m writing this blog about how much Pokémon meant—and still means—to me.

That’s the astonishing thing: it’s been with me the whole time. Through childhood and school. Through breakups and abuse. Through divorce. Through the slow rebuild. Through crossing the world and starting anew. Pokémon didn’t just tag along; it shaped things. My mental health. My creativity. My sense of identity. It was always more than games or cards or a cartoon. It was comfort. Color. Continuity.

Maybe that’s why Pokémon hit as hard as it does—why it never really fades. Because it’s always been rooted in curiosity. Satoshi Tajiri once said he wanted kids to feel the same excitement he felt catching bugs in the countryside. That wild spark. That sense that there could be something magical hidden just out of sight if you were willing to look.

Pokémon never stopped delivering that feeling. Every generation, every new region, every new set of cards—there’s still mystery at the edges, still something waiting in the tall grass.

So many things in our lives drift away—friends, places, obsessions, versions of ourselves we barely recognize. But somehow, this one colorful world survived it all. It evolved with us. Shifted alongside us. Met us where we were—every time.

If the day ever comes when everything else falls quiet… I know Pokémon will still be there, offering that same strange peace it always has.

It really is something special.

But why?

Life loves to give you the illusion of choice

But Pokémon gives you the strength of choice.

When you’re ten years old, the world isn’t really yours. It’s a fenced-in pasture of schedules and rules drawn up by people taller than you. You wake up, go to school, come home, do homework, wash, sleep. Repeat. Childhood is supposed to be wondrous, but a lot of it feels like you’re just being shuffled from one obligation to the next while adults joke about how “easy” you have it.

Monotony disguised as innocence.

So of course Pokémon was every ten-year-old’s dream—because for the first time, you made the call.

Where most of real life was a track someone else laid down, Pokémon looked you in the eye and said:

“You’re ten. Choose your best friend. Then leave home. Go see the world. Catch more friends. Some will be cute. Some will be literal MOTHER-FUCKING DRAGONS. Good luck.”

That’s a hell of a pitch when you’re still years away from being allowed to cross the street without asking permission.

Imagine that moment—standing in front of a lab table, three Poké Balls laid out like a ritual. Inside: a dinosaur with a flower on its back. A turtle with cannons. A flaming lizard destined for dragonhood. No adults telling you what’s best. No predetermined path. Just a choice. Yours.

That’s not just picking a starter. That’s self-definition.

In those early days, your schoolyard reputation practically crystallized around the one you chose. You’d get judged or welcomed for it. It mattered. It mattered as much—honestly, maybe more—than whether you were Team Red Ranger or which Ninja Turtle you claimed on the playground (Raph, obviously). Because this wasn’t about mimicking a character someone else already was. Pokémon was about staking your own identity inside a world big enough to hold it.

One hundred fifty creatures. One hundred fifty possible companions. One hundred fifty ways to express yourself and discover who you were becoming. For a ten-year-old trapped in the loop of “Wake up, go to school, repeat,” that amount of agency felt infinite.

And now? Twenty-seven years later? That number has exploded. Whole new continents, mythologies, ecosystems, breakaway species—thousands of Pokémon across generations, each with its own style, lore, and identity. Somewhere in that sprawling collection, every player—old or new, kid or adult—still finds themselves. Or finds who they wish they could be.

That’s the quiet miracle of Pokémon. It didn’t just make a fun game. It gave children everywhere a tiny simulation of autonomy. It let them practice choice long before the real world trusted them with any. It said, “You get to decide your path. You get to choose your partner. You get to write your story.”

Most fandoms fade because the people who love them outgrow the fantasy. Pokémon did the opposite—it grew with us. Added layers. New mechanics. Broader worlds. Deeper lore. It kept saying “Let’s go” even as its players became adults with bills and grief and real dragons to slay. It gave us nostalgia without stagnation; evolution without forgetting where we started.

We’re far from those three little Poké Balls on Professor Oak’s table now, but the spirit of that moment—your first real choice—still echoes. It shaped childhoods. It shaped friendships. It shaped the pop-culture landscape forever. And somehow, it keeps shaping us too.

The paths are wider now. The world is bigger. There are more Pokémon than ever. But the promise remains the same:

Choose a friend.
Take your first step.
See who you become.

There’s still magic in that.
And that is why we're here to talk about this today. This one simple question...

What is YOUR Pokemon Top 10?

For a lot of us—myself very much included—choosing your top ten favorite Pokémon from a list of thousands feels a bit like picking a favorite child, or a favorite movie, or a favorite song. Different days demand different rhythms, and trying to force them into a strict ranking can feel daunting… maybe even impossible.

Still, no matter how much our lists shift over time, one thing holds true: every favorite has a reason. Sometimes that reason is tiny, sometimes it’s enormous—but there’s always a why behind each one. The real question isn’t just what your top ten are, but why they’re yours.

I’d love to hear your list someday. But for now—since this is my blog—here are mine.

My top ten favorite Pokémon of all time, in order.

Honorable Mentions

With over a thousand Pokémon in circulation, it only makes sense that a few deserve special recognition… I’ve got ten. For now, I’ll just cover the nine pictured here. Number ten comes later—it stands out too much to lump in casually.

HM 9 – Milotic

The beauty and grace to Gyarados’ strength and terror. Both begin as useless, floppy fish, both become monsters—but Milotic’s elegance wins this one for me. The color palette, the serpentine flow, the sheer aesthetic appeal… it’s one of the most striking designs in the entire series.

HM 8 – Machamp

I told the story already, but this was my first holographic card. Fighting type while I was literally a martial artist. Four-armed pro-wrestler energy while I was deep into pro wrestling. Machamp checked every box back then and still does today.

HM 7 – Primeape

My first “favorite Pokémon” ever. Easy to catch early on. The anime gave him so much personality. The design was simple, chaotic, hilarious. A cranky, furry monkey ball with fists? You had me at hello.

HM 6 – Galarian Rapidash

Arguably the most beautiful Pokémon ever created. Grace, color choice, movement—this one is art. Thank whatever cosmic forces were responsible that it debuted during a fully animated 3D era, because seeing it in static 2D doesn’t do justice to how alive it feels.

HM 5 – Hariyama

Dropped in one of my favorite generations and modeled after a sumo wrestler—what’s not to love? Every aspect of its design is loaded with character. A tanky, heavy-handed threat that looks amazing on the field.

HM 4 – Toxtricity

Punk-rock lizard with a built-in electric guitar chest. That’s it. That’s the pitch. One of the strongest designs of the last five generations, period. My second-favorite Electric type—but depending on the day, easily capable of taking the top spot.

HM 3 – Dragonite

In Gen 1, Dragonite might as well have been a legend. Bright orange, tiny wings on a big friendly dragon body—it was both goofy and powerful in the best way. The anime episodes featuring the colossal Dragonite and the mail-carrier Dragonite gave it more charm than most Pokémon ever get. If you had a Dragonite, you were automatically cool.

HM 2 – Mimikyu

This one is all about story. What we see isn’t Mimikyu at all—it’s a costume, because its true form kills anyone who looks at it. A desperate little creature just trying to be loved, mimicking Pikachu because that’s what people seem to adore. If we consider it a “Pikachu-clone,” it’s easily the best one ever designed.

HM 1 – Gardevoir

Like Toxtricity, Gardevoir could slip into my top ten at any moment. One of the best bipedal designs in the franchise. Graceful, powerful, versatile. I can slot a Gardevoir onto almost any team and feel instantly more complete.

But… now we get to the good stuff. The real good stuff.

#10 - Golisopod

Just look at it.

When Kensaku Nabana designed Golisopod, it’s clear he knew exactly what he was aiming for: a samurai-inspired giant isopod. And wow. He nailed it.

The body shape, the layered armor plates, the muted sea-steel colors—everything about Golisopod radiates “alien warlord.” It looks less like a creature you catch and more like something that crawled out of a sunken temple just to ruin your day. Design-wise, it could easily pass for a legendary. More importantly, when you’re staring one down, it actually feels intimidating. The skeletal limbs, those massive claws, the blank dead eyes… it’s a menace before it even attacks.

Yeah, the typing isn’t ideal. I don’t care. The design carries it. If Golisopod is available in a given game, odds are it’s on my team for the intimidation factor alone.

Maybe that’s because it reminds me of the humble house centipede—the one creature guaranteed to make me consider burning down my entire home. Maybe that’s where the visceral fear comes from. But whatever the reason, visually there are very few Pokémon as imposing as Golisopod.

Aesthetic perfection.

#9 - Butterfree

If Primeape was my first favorite Pokémon, Butterfree was my second. But where Butterfree really stakes its claim in my heart is the story wrapped around it.

Those early anime episodes with Ash and his Butterfree were some of the first moments in my life where television actually hit me emotionally. I still remember crying when Ash let Butterfree go—not because it was sad for sadness’ sake, but because it taught a quiet truth: when you love something, sometimes you have to let it fly.

Butterfree wasn’t just Ash’s first catch—it was the first fully evolved Pokémon many of us ever felt connected to. It carried the weight of being Caterpie, the underdog who refused to stay small, and that journey mattered. The design is simple, iconic, and instantly recognizable; the story is tender and formative; and together they cement Butterfree as a forever-beloved thread in the Pokémon tapestry.

#8 Luxray

Sonic-the-Hedgehog lightning cat.

That’s honestly the first thing that hits my brain when I look at Luxray. Speed, sleekness, that coiled athletic energy—you can practically hear the hum of static around it. When someone says “Quick Attack,” Luxray is the mental image that shows up, paws already blurring.

It’s built like a Kawasaki street bike: low, powerful, aerodynamic. And in a type full of all-timers—Pikachu, Electabuzz, Toxtricity—Luxray still manages to look distinct. The dark, almost shadowy body contrasted with those sharp streaks of electric yellow and that star-tipped tail…it’s elegance without losing edge. Fierce, but stylish. Sonic with claws and attitude.

As a lifelong Sonic nerd, I can never resist slotting Luxray onto my team. Design alone earns it that spot—before we even talk about how cool it feels to command one.

Luxray is simply god-tier.

#7 - Tyranitar

I feel like this one speaks for itself, but also… I’m writing a blog, so I guess I should talk about it.

Shadow Earth Godzilla.

Does that cover it? It should. A dark, Ground-type, giant dragon (not Dragon-type) with Sand Stream and a mega form.

Look—this list doesn’t need every pick to be some deep, philosophical meditation. Sometimes it’s pure, unfiltered aesthetic. And Tyranitar? He’s operating in a completely different tax bracket. When you’re eleven years old and someone tells you, “Hey, you can put Godzilla in a ball and command him to beat the hell out of other monsters,” your brain just melts. You don’t question it. You accept it. You sprint toward it.

That’s what Game Freak did with Tyranitar. They handed you Godzilla, shrugged, and said, “You can nickname him Steve if you want.” And then they let you go absolutely feral.

Tyranitar — your own personal Godzilla.

#6 - Obstagoon

Badgers cool? Yup. KISS cool? Yup. Edgelord design? Got it. Obstruct—an actually awesome signature move? 100%.

I’m a simple man. I see a punk-inspired, heavy-metal badger tank and I click “like.”

Obstagoon is, without a doubt, my favorite Gen 8 Pokémon. The design screams Gene Simmons every time I look at it, and that tank-y signature move hits the same part of my brain that loves MMO tanking. It’s indulgent in the best way.

The stark black-and-white palette, those bright pink eyes, the tongue—the whole look just nails it. When Sword and Shield dropped, this was my Pokémon. The one I ran that nobody else in my circle cared about. Suddenly the region felt a little more personal, a little more mine. That feeling stuck.

Obstagoon always has a spot on my team.

# 5 - Forretress

Forretress? Really?

Oh yeah… really.

As we move into the top five, there’s something you ought to know about me: I LOVE things that spin or roll to attack. When the Ninja Turtles tucked into their shells and whirled around? Perfection. When the Warrior Wheel showed up in Power Rangers Zeo? Inject it straight into my veins. So when Forretress hugged itself into that clamp-tight shell and started twisting like a metal blender from hell—I was gone. Hooked.

It’s one of those random quirks baked into my brain. I can’t explain it. If it spins or rolls, I’m all in.

And Forretress pulls it off beautifully. Steel/Bug, looking like a cross between a gun turret and a tiny mobile fortress, stacked with solid defense and… not a whole lot else. But honestly? That’s all it needed. It showed up, spun around menacingly, and met me exactly where I live.

I’ve loved it ever since.

Now, before we step into the top four, a warning: these next contenders can trade places at the top depending on my mood, the moon phase, or whatever I ate that day. On any given morning, I could wake up and say, “Yeah, that one’s my favorite.”

But number one has been with me the longest. He’s the king in my heart. If he just had more merch, more spotlight, more love… there wouldn’t be any debate.

Anyway—let’s get to…

#4 - Mawile

Mawile is one of those rare Pokémon where every piece snaps together neatly—the typing, the lore, the silhouette—nothing feels wasted. It’s the total package.

Fairy/Steel is already a knockout combo, but the design is what seals it. Mawile looks cute at first glance, and then you notice the massive, monstrous jaws behind its head. Suddenly it’s not just cute—it’s dangerous. That contrast is exactly what makes it sing.

Its origins make it even better. Mawile likely draws from the Japanese legend of the futakuchi-onna—a woman with a second mouth at the back of her skull, hidden beneath her hair. That’s some folklore-level nightmare fuel, echoed perfectly in this sort of Venus flytrap–meets–goth-lolita creature design. The mega evolution only sharpens that concept, taking “cute + horrible” and turning the dial all the way up.

Gen 3 was packed with hits, but Mawile has always been my standout. It’s the little Pokémon that brings beauty and teeth to the table—and somehow makes that combination feel effortless.

#3 - Snorlax

To understand how much these final three mean to me, you’ve got to know: it genuinely hurt to put Snorlax at #3. I'm talking actual, physical, pain.

But math is a cold, unforgiving bitch, and somebody had to land here. I’m still mad it ended up being Snorlax.

This dude is literally lounging on my couch right now. There’s an enamel pin of him sitting on my desk. If the stars align and my bank account stops crying, I’ll eventually own that life-size Snorlax beanbag chair. My own fan-region even has its own Snorlax variant. I adore this Pokémon—way more than a third-place ranking can convey.

Catching your first Snorlax in Gen 1 felt like an achievement. Having the biggest, heaviest monster on your team just meant something. He oozed personality in the anime, his design was simple but iconic, his colors just worked.

Snorlax embodies the life most of us secretly want: cute, lazy, hungry, always sleeping, always eating, yet somehow still the toughest presence in the room.

For me, he’s the definitive Gen 1 Pokémon. When I think back to Red and Blue, he’s the one that surfaces. Some days, he is my favorite Pokémon of all time. Every other day, he’s still comfortably in my top three.

The final two only barely edge him out—and only because someone had to.

#2 - Gengar

There are 87 Ghost-type Pokémon now if you tally every generation, alternate form, and regional remix. But once upon a time, there were only three.

Gastly. Haunter. And Gengar.

And Gengar wasn’t just the best—he was the hardest to get.

Design-wise he was already the standout, but he also came with a social requirement: you needed friends. Not just any friends—friends with a Game Boy, a link cable, a copy of Pokémon, and a Haunter they were willing to trade. I did not have an abundance of these. Like Machamp, Gengar lived behind that link-trade wall, and in those early days that made him feel rare, coveted, almost mythic.

But the real magic wasn’t just in his design—it was the personality the anime gave him, and the lore that sprouted around him. Fan theories claimed he was a dead Clefairy, brought back as a mischievous shadow. Playground whispers and magazine scraps helped build his legend. For a while, he was everywhere—nearly as iconic as Pikachu.

Time only fed that fire. A Mega form, a Gigantamax form, hundreds of plushes and figures… he never left the spotlight. His popularity has never dipped, and honestly? It shouldn’t.

Ghost/Poison typing. A timeless silhouette. Buckets of charm. A presence that still feels a little dangerous.

Gengar isn’t just a classic—he’s one of the greats.

#1 - Donphan

It’s November 10, 1999. I’m 11 years old.

There are only 150 Pokémon in existence—officially. Rumors of more are spreading across lunch tables and crinkled gaming magazines. We’ve seen glimpses of “Pikablu” (Marill), Togepi, and Mew, but nothing concrete. The future feels hazy and electric.

After an hour in line at the movie theater, I finally get my ticket. I get my limited-edition hieroglyphic Mew card. I sit down—buzzing—to watch the first Pokémon movie. There’s a cute Pikachu short before it, teasing new creatures: Snubbull, Marill, Togepi. Our collective brains detonate quietly.

Then the actual movie starts, and after a cold open, we slam into a rocked-out version of the theme we all knew by heart.

A pirate-looking trainer steps forward. He throws a Pokéball.

And this…heavy-treaded tire-elephant bursts out.

No typing. No encyclopedic breakdowns. No Pokédex entry. No context at all.

Just…tire-elephant.

Instant obsession.

Donphan instantly became the coolest thing I’d ever seen. The games he would belong to—Gold and Silver—were still a year away. Until then, we lived off scraps: a blurry magazine scan here, a rumor there.

But I didn’t need anything else. That tiny moment in that movie gave me everything. He looked tough. He looked strong. He rolled and spun to attack—peak perfection for my 11-year-old brain. He became one of my two imaginary friends, always by my side. (We’ll talk about the other someday.)

Decades later, he’s still my number one. If he had more merch, more spotlight, more love…there wouldn’t even be a debate.

I wish the world loved Donphan the way I do. I wish everyone could feel what I felt when he started spinning in that opening scene—when tire-elephant changed my life.

The Final Honorable Mention

HM 0 - Mew

Mew isn’t in my top ten Pokémon.

But the feeling surrounding its arrival? That’s easily top ten experiences of my entire life.

It was seismic—pop-culture-defining for me.

This was the late ’90s: barely any internet, no global fanfeeds, just rumors passed around like contraband. The whispers of “#151.” The mystery of the truck (if you know, you know). Lunchroom debates. Grainy magazine leaks. That final reveal. The hieroglyphic Mew card you only got by going to the movie. The Burger King gold plates.

Mew wasn’t just a Pokémon—it was a haunting. A rumor that felt alive, slinking around the edges of our little world. For a long stretch, no one even knew if it was real. That uncertainty was magic.

It’s funny looking back. They didn’t roll Mew out with a polished marketing plan. They let it slip into the culture like a myth—something you had to chase. There was a genuine mystique to it all, like the universe was giving us a secret.

I talk a lot about “Goku moments”—those flashes that solder themselves to our sense of wonder forever. For me, one was watching Goku go Super Saiyan for the first time. But the Mew era—those rumors, that slow reveal—that sits right beside it.

It was the beauty of a pre-internet fandom: chaos, whispers, excitement, and the thrill of not knowing.

I hope everyone gets to experience something like that at least once.

In closing

Pokémon was, is, and always will be magic—no matter what Nintendo does to it or how much they stumble over their own legacy.

Fan games and ROM hacks like Pokémon Infinite Fusion will keep breathing new life into this world, generation after generation, handing down that indescribable thrill of being ten years old, stepping beyond your front door with nothing but a backpack and your very first partner at your side.

We all have our favorites. Some swear by Dunsparce or Stunfisk, others summon the power of Metagross or Rayquaza. But in the end, we all love Pokémon. There’s something here for everyone—every design, every typing, every memory. These creatures catch us in different ways and at different times, and that’s exactly why it works.

That’s what makes lists like this so fun to build. I know most people won’t agree with mine, and honestly, that just makes me love my picks even more. Our favorites say something about us—where we were in life when we met them, what we needed, what we were dreaming about.

Sometimes in life, a thing arrives at the exact moment you’re ready for it. Pokémon did that for so many of us. And then, beautifully, it just… stayed. It grew with us—through school, heartbreak, work, marriages, moves, loss. Like the best stories, it became not just entertainment, but a companion. A quiet anchor.

For me I think Pokemon—just like the creatures in game—meets you and stays with you forever, a best friend, by your side, with you all the way through the adventure we call life.