The night the glass shattered at Poké Court in Manhattan, the robbery itself lasted minutes. Three masked men stormed the flagship store, held more than 40 people at gunpoint, smashed display cases and walked away with six-figure haul of rare cards.
What made the scene surreal wasn’t only the speed of the theft — it was where it happened. The room was a bright, DIY oasis full of people opening packs, decorating “top loaders” and trading memories. By morning, the same neighborhood that hosted the crime had turned toward repair: carpenters offering free repairs, strangers dropping off donuts, and the voice actor for Ash Ketchum showing up with pizza. The store’s account of the night, told by employee Peter Du, became less a story about a market heist and more a snapshot of a subculture that refuses to be defined only by price tags.
But the price tags are real, and they’re changing how criminals, collectors and small businesses behave.
Why Pokémon cards attract thieves
Cards that used to trade hands on playgrounds now sell for sums that would make many collectors dizzy. Celebrity moments — Logan Paul wearing a Pikachu Illustrator card on national stages, blockbuster sales into the millions — have amplified an existing trend: nostalgia-day traders (millennials who grew up with Pokémon) plus speculative buyers chasing quick returns. Research and Markets valued the trading-card industry at $7.8 billion last year and projected it could reach roughly $11.8 billion by 2030.
That combination of high value and high liquidity is the core problem. As Nick Jarman, CEO of the Certified Trading Card Association, told reporters, Pokémon cards have become "high value" and "highly liquid" — and very hard to trace once they move through online resale platforms. Cards are small, portable and lack unique serial numbers, so a stolen Charizard can disappear into a secondary market within hours. Criminals, according to criminologists, are adapting: rather than opportunistic shoplifters rifling candy shelves, some are now "shoplifting entrepreneurs" — coordinated, targeted actors who know exactly what to grab and where to sell it.
Retail crime statistics underline the trend. In England and Wales shoplifting offenses were up 13% in the year to June 2025, and police in places like Nottinghamshire reported a cluster of break-ins targeting trading-card stores and warehouses — from smashing through brick walls to grab boxes worth thousands, to raids on small hobby shops where entire collections vanished.
Internationally the pattern repeats. In recent months U.S. stores reported robberies with losses ranging from tens to hundreds of thousands of dollars. A single New York raid took more than $100,000 in cards; in other states, suspects have been arrested after pawned or listed cards led police back to stolen hoards.
The market dynamics behind the headlines
Several forces converged to turn cardboard into currency. The pandemic boosted collectible markets as people sought small joys and speculative investments. Influencers and viral unboxing videos turned pulling a rare card into online theater. New set drops — like the Surging Sparks release late in 2024 — can send short-term prices soaring, with scalpers and secondary markets tightening supply for everyday buyers.
At the same time, grading firms that authenticate cards (PSA, BGS, etc.) have introduced a pseudo-art-market layer: cards graded as "10" command outsized prices, and graded singles are easier to resell internationally. But grading doesn’t solve the traceability issue; it only amplifies value. As one dealer put it, cards are being treated "like stocks": traded, hoarded and flipped.
For collectors who just want to enjoy the game, the new economics are messy. Some stores have struggled to keep product on shelves, resorting to raffles and limits for new drops — systems that quickly become arms races of their own as determined buyers find workarounds.
What stores and communities are doing about it
Responses vary. Smaller shops that center community nights and casual play — the pack bars and crafting evenings that make the hobby social — have leaned into security: automatic locks, doormen, and in some cases hired security at big drops. Others quietly refuse to participate in certain product releases because the risk of theft or scalping is too high.
Community responses have been unexpectedly robust. After the Poké Court robbery, local artists, tradespeople and fans rallied to repair the shop and replace stolen displays. That outpouring is a reminder that while a Charizard can be worth thousands, what keeps many people collecting is connection. A personal GoFundMe campaign years ago saved a Brooklyn employee’s family from financial ruin; that same network showed up when the store’s glass was broken.
Law enforcement faces an uphill battle. Prof. Emmeline Taylor, a criminologist, describes an evolving retail-crime landscape where offenders specialize in goods that can be stolen in bulk and sold quickly. Online marketplaces lower the friction for resale and cross-border movement, complicating recovery.
Some recovery does happen: police have traced and recovered rare items listed online; arrests in the UK and U.S. show that a mix of CCTV, seller tip-offs and platform cooperation can work. But many stolen cards remain untraceable, changing how dealers think about inventory and insurance.
Collectors, meanwhile, are adapting their habits. For those trying to keep costs down or simply play the game, strategies include buying common packs during quieter drops, pooling purchases among friends, or hunting for reliable stock through trusted sellers. If you’re keeping an eye on where to score real deals or manage expectations during feverish drop windows, our guide on where to find the best Pokémon TCG deals can help orient you.
The franchise itself is far from stagnant. New games and anniversaries keep interest high; Pokémon’s continued cultural presence — from video games to anime and merchandising — means demand is likely to stay buoyant. That momentum is visible in broader gaming trends too, where hardware and software forecasts point to resurgent markets for beloved IPs, as seen in coverage of Nintendo’s sales momentum for the next-gen console and fresh Pokémon titles that keep the universe in headlines (/news/pokemon-legends-za-mega-dimension).
You can securitize a rare card — slab it, photograph it, list it — but you can’t force the human relationships bound up in the hobby. The very scenes targeted by thieves — community nights, pack bars, grandparents teaching kids to trade — are what many collectors say they would protect at any cost. That tension between cardboard’s market value and its emotional worth is now the industry’s central paradox: a piece of nostalgia that can fund a mortgage at auction is also a half-ounce object you can jam into a coat pocket and disappear with.
As hobbyists and shopkeepers adjust to new risks, the hobby’s answer so far has been pragmatic and stubbornly social: better locks, smarter drop mechanics, and a readiness to sweep the glass together when it breaks.