What’s up with the Plushies?

Whenever I walk through a store or visit a friend’s house and see plushies, my heart melts, and I feel warm and fuzzy. My mind goes back to a childlike state — free from the pressures of life, and I feel comfy.

Growing up, I’ve always had my fair share of plushies. That’s an understatement — I had a closet corner full of plushies. You kind of had to see it for yourself. Imagine a walk-in closet where in one corner of the space, on the floor, there exists a triangle pile of plushies. Plushies of varying sizes: a good number of elephants (Dumbo or generic elephant), a few Webkinz (I had 6 on my account), a very wacky yellow and green-spotted giraffe with a long narrow neck that was built with a metal wire inside, among many others. I never liked dolls. Their human-like nature was very uncanny to me, and they weren’t cuddly either. I also didn’t spend too much time imagining worlds and roleplaying, so I never understood the appeal of dolls.

Now with these plushies, I would often just let them sit in my closet. Sometimes, I’d grab one for emotional support. A select few were chosen as travel companions or as buddies who lived on my bed. Otherwise, these plushies just contained memories of the times I shared with them. Some of these plushies were gifts, and I’d look back fondly on the memories I shared with the person who gifted me the plushie.

As I grew up, that joy that I felt around my plushies never subsided. I didn’t find any issue with this, but it seemed like my family took notice as I entered my teenage years and into adulthood.

I’d hear my parents comment about and question my never-ending affinity for plushies. It felt as if I were supposed to grow out of them. One distinct memory that I remember was coming home after my first semester in undergrad and crying out when reuniting with my favorite plushies. My parents once again commented on the emotional attachment I had fostered with my plushies. They would say that this continued affinity for plushies would negatively impact how others would view me. I ignored this as I could feel the cultural tide was shifting to be more accepting.

Plushies are a source for comfort

Plushies bring me comfort. They brought me comfort as a kid and continue to bring me comfort. I have a few small ones sitting on my dresser and some larger ones who live with me on my bed. I recently bought a Capybara Squishmallow because it felt like a good investment and was aptly sized for hugging. Much like how a cat will still “make biscuits” despite growing past its kitten life, I continue to reach for my plushies even though I am an adult.

Still an Adult

I’m fortunate to have met friends who fully embrace me and my love of plushies. I know others who have not been so fortunate. Some people will have their plushies in their room and have potential partners judge them for their childlike interests. It’s not an issue to enjoy or not enjoy plushies; however, it is an issue when two people disrespect each other’s interests and sources of joy. Maybe one day, people like me will grow out of our plushies, maybe we won’t.

However, I’ve noticed that plushies have recently become more acceptable in the mainstream as there are now very large plushies that are more aptly sized for adults. Even my parents have turned around to accepting that plushies will exist and be fun for certain adults. Plushies are now seen as “cute” and are often given as gifts. I’ve seen them in TV shows and the backgrounds of content creators’ video sets. One of my cousins came back from a date with his current wife, then girlfriend, many years ago, supposedly carrying home a large plushie. It’s become a lot more commonplace for adults to openly enjoy plushies.

I am a fully functioning adult who doesn’t need plushies to survive. I, and probably others like me, like to embrace a childlike joy to make the pressures and responsibilities of life more enjoyable. There are times when I’m at home and feel the urge to hug something — instead of hugging a friend or a partner who might be busy or otherwise unavailable to consent, I’ll reach for a reliable plushie.