There was a time when adults who owned collections of stuffed toys were relatively uncommon, weird even. All that has changed recently: the rise in popularity of toys such as Squishmallows and Jellycat Amuseables has been linked to the growing “kidult” market (adults buying toys for themselves) which accounted for almost 30% of toy sales last year. On the whole, cuddly toys are something people keep at home, on their beds or on display shelves. But that’s changing too – plush toy keyrings such as Labubus are now everywhere. And some “Disney adults” (self-professed grown up Disney fans who might, for example, go to the theme parks without taking children with them) have gone one step further: attaching toys not just to their bags, but to themselves.
“Shoulder pals” (variously known as “shoulder plushies”, “shoulder toys” and “shoulder sitters”) are small toys made in the likeness of Disney characters. They have magnetic bases and come with a flat metal plate designed to be placed under your shirt, so the toy perches on your shoulder. Since the first one, baby Groot from Guardians of the Galaxy, was brought out in 2018, these toys have become a common accessory at the Disney theme parks. There are multiple Reddit threads and TikTok videos about how to track down the latest ones (some are sold at the Disney store, but others are only available at specific locations within the parks). There will apparently be 45 official Disney shoulder pals on offer by the end of next year, with characters ranging from Peter Pan’s Tinker Bell to Anxiety from Inside Out 2. That’s not to mention the many, many knockoffs available online, as well as those sold by Primark, or the DIY pals that some creative TikTok users have been making.
What is it about these toys that makes them so appealing? And what’s it like to actually wear them? As a plush toy novice – the only one I own is my beloved childhood teddy bear, Freddie, who was banished to a box under the bed with the Christmas decorations some time ago – I ordered two from the Disney store: Stitch from Lilo & Stitch, and the Raven from Haunted Mansion, plus three that I tracked down on eBay: the Cheshire cat from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Pascal (Rapunzel’s lizard friend in Tangled) and Ratatouille’s Remy, the most popular shoulder pal to date. I spent more than £100 in total: the Disney store price was £21 per toy, and though I managed to get Remy secondhand for slightly less, the Cheshire cat, which is one of the newer releases, cost me just over £30. Being a Disney adult, it turns out, is not cheap.
Day one
Stitch and the Raven are the first to arrive, and are cuter and softer than I was expecting. Though it feels ridiculous to “wear” a toy, there is something very pleasing about the way that Stitch in particular sits flat on my shoulder – the Raven is trickier to balance, being weighed down by an internal battery that produces a cawing sound and makes its eyes light up. There is no off switch – to the delight, I’m sure, of anyone who has bought this toy for a child – but the sound effects do stop after a cycle of three caws is complete, if it is left completely still. I set it on the window ledge where it somewhat creepily watches over me – but does at least shut up. Stitch, meanwhile, perches happily on the shoulder of my wife – Lilo and Stitch was a childhood favourite of hers, and she is instantly taken with him (though not, she stresses, enough to leave the house with him on).
Day two
Having acclimatised to my new soft toy friends in the safety of my home, it is time to take them out and about. First stop: the food shop. Nobody bats an eyelid as I walk to my local Asda – has nobody noticed I have a bright blue alien attached to me? My first interaction is with the shop security guard, whose face splits into a massive grin as soon as he sees me. “How do you have Stitch on you?” he asks. I explain about the magnet. “So cool!” he responds. I get another compliment as I leave the store – from a customer, who, like the security guard, is a young man. “Lilo & Stitch!” he cries out. “That’s sick.”
For a moment, I actually feel a tiny bit cool. “It’s only because people love Stitch as a character,” my wife says, dampening my high spirits. If I had been wearing the Raven rather than Stitch, she says, people would just think: “you’re the weirdo with a crow.”
Day three
The following morning, I decide to test the magnet’s limits and attempt a run with a shoulder pal mascot. It’s hopeless. Anything more than the gentlest of jogs and the toy goes flying – poor Stitch has to be fished out of a number of puddles, and narrowly misses a dip in the canal. Plus, I get a lot of stares.
My shoulder pals fare much better in the office – admittedly, stranger things have been seen on the Guardian features desk – where they seem to put everyone in a good mood. My colleagues have fun trying them on; the Raven (who is frequently misidentified as a crow) is a particular hit. But when I pop out for a coffee, I find that the bird also has the capacity to give people a fright: “Oh my god, I thought that was real!” exclaims the person behind me in the cafe queue, after the Raven’s caw makes her jump.
The reception continues to be frosty as I wander around King’s Cross, this time with a shoulder pal on each arm (Remy and the Cheshire cat). I try to look as nonchalant and unthreatening as possible, but still people give me a wide berth – only a doughnut seller (once again, a young man!) reacts positively, and asks to try one on.
Meeting friends for lunch, I am apprehensive about taking the toys into a restaurant setting, but I needn’t have worried. If the staff notice, they don’t seem to care, despite the Raven cawing throughout the meal. One of my friends brings along someone I haven’t met before, which is humbling – it’s hard to come across as a nice, normal person when you are introduced as the girl with a stripy cat on her shoulder – but my new acquaintance seems to see the funny side. One friend, who works mostly in China, thinks the rise of these toys makes sense, given the popularity of south-east Asian toys and accessories – shoulder pals remind her of China’s 2015 sprout hair clip trend.
Day four
Pascal the lizard has finally been delivered, and I try to keep it on for most of the day. Though it’s bright green, it doesn’t attract much attention, thanks to being partly covered by my hair. “I thought it was part of your bag,” one colleague says. Mid-afternoon, I end up taking it off – it feels uncomfortable, and seems to be itchier than the others.
After work, I head to the pub. The three of us who get there first decide to each wear one of the pals and see how long it takes our other friend to notice. She arrives and heads to the bar without realising – it’s not until she returns with her drink she asks: “Why’s everyone got shit on their shoulders?” A few drinks later and she’s wearing one too.
Day five
After days wearing the toys around people who have never seen them before, it’s time to meet up with a bona fide Disney fan. I head to Wickford, Essex, to the home of 39-year-old Katherine Potten (AKA @happilykatherine) who posts about Disney’s products and theme parks to her 92.4K TikTok followers.
Potten instantly identifies my Pascal toy as “a fake” when I show her my collection. That explains why it’s so itchy. She shows me her softer, smaller-eyed Pascal to demonstrate the difference – all of her 23 shoulder pals are the real deal. She bought most of them from the theme parks – videos in which she “hunts” for the latest release in the parks have proved extremely popular.
She tells me about “Disneybounding” – the practice of wearing clothes in the colours of a particular character (full costumes aren’t allowed for park-goers aged 14 and over, because that might cause confusion between guests and the staff members dressed as characters). Wearing the shoulder pal that is the sidekick of the character you’re trying to nod to – so, Pascal, if you’re wearing all-lilac in a nod to Rapunzel – “is perfect to finish that off,” she says.
Potten hasn’t yet worn her shoulder pals outside of Disney events and the parks, but she does gamely agree to put on Emile from Ratatouille (to match my Remy) and walk to her local high street with me. Nobody pays us much attention until a woman calls out to let us know that Emile has fallen off Potten’s shoulder. Coincidentally, she knows exactly what shoulder pals are, and tells us she has two of her own at home. “They’re lovely, aren’t they?” she says. Who knew all these shoulder pal fans were hiding in plain sight?
Day six
To get the most brutally honest reaction, there’s only one place to go: to see my family. We’ve planned a weekend in the Cotswolds, the first family trip away for my baby niece. “I hate it,” my brother says when I arrive with the Cheshire cat on my shoulder. His nine-month-old daughter is more keen, pulling Remy’s chef hat towards her mouth. But, then again, that’s her reaction to most objects at the moment.
Day seven
For my final shoulder-pal-wearing day, I’m off to the Moreton-in-Marsh country show (when in the Cotswolds …). I offer to push the buggy whenever possible to make the tiny mouse on my shoulder seem less out of place – and my brother, correctly, accuses me of using his daughter as a prop to hide my own shame. I feel more confident after the two young adults staffing the RSPB stall call out to compliment Remy – one of them even says she is going to order one as soon as she gets home. Remy gets a shout out in the food and drink tent, too: “I love your Ratatouille,” a farmer says, as he hands out samples of locally grown apples.
I’m relieved when I finally take Remy off. I’ve never felt fully relaxed while wearing a shoulder pal – partly out of self-consciousness, and partly out of concern that it might fall off. But I can’t deny that the responses I’ve had to Remy and his friends have been much more positive than I thought they were going to be. Wearing something so silly and unexpected has invited conversations with strangers, made my friends laugh and created, as Potten puts it, “a little bit of joy in a hard world”.