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In the past when adults who collected plush animals were relatively uncommon, eccentric even. That’s shifted recently: the rise in popularity of figurines including Squishmallows and Jellycat Amuseables has been connected with the expanding “kidult” industry, which made up almost 30% of plaything purchases the previous year. On the whole, soft companions are something people keep at home, atop their mattresses or on show ledges. Yet now it’s shifting – plush toy keyrings such as Labubus are now ubiquitous. Certain “Disney enthusiasts” (self-professed grown up Disney aficionados who might, instance, go to the amusement centers without accompanying children) have taken it further: fixing toys not just to their purses, but to their own shoulders.

“Shoulder pals” (also called “shoulder companions”) are small toys made in the image of Disney characters. They have attractive undersides and come with a flat metal plate intended for placed beneath your top, so the toy sits on your upper arm. Since the first one, infant Groot from Guardians of the Galaxy, was brought out in 2018, these accessories have become a common accessory at the Disney parks. There are various Reddit discussions and TikTok videos about how to track down the newest releases (certain ones available at the Disney store, but others are only available at specific locations within the parks). There will apparently be 45 licensed Disney shoulder pals available by the conclusion of the coming year, with personalities including Peter Pan’s Tinker Bell to Anxiety from Inside Out 2. That’s not to mention the numerous imitations available online, as well as those sold by shops, or the homemade versions that some inventive TikTok users have been crafting.

Day one

Stitch and the Raven are the earliest to show up, and are sweeter and more cuddly than I was imagining. Although it seems ridiculous to “sport” a toy, there is something very enjoyable about the way that Stitch in particular rests neatly on my shoulder – the Raven is harder to position, being pulled downward by an built-in power source that creates a birdcall and makes its eyes illuminate. It lacks a power button – to the delight, I’m sure, of anyone who has acquired this toy for a child – but the audio features do cease after a cycle of three caws is finished, if it is left completely still. I set it on the window ledge where it a bit eerily keeps an eye on me – but does at least shut up. Stitch, at the same time, perches happily on the shoulder of my wife – Lilo and Stitch was a childhood favourite of hers, and she is instantly taken with him (although not, she stresses, enough to go outside with him on).

Next 24 hours

After getting used to my new plush companions in the safety of my home, it is time to bring them along and about. Opening place: the food shop. Not a soul notices as I walk to my local shop – has nobody noticed I have a vibrant blue creature affixed to my shoulder? My first interaction is with the shop guard, whose face forms a broad beam as soon as he sees me. “What’s with Stitch on you?” he asks. I describe about the magnet. “Really neat!” he replies. I get another praise as I leave the store – from a customer, who, like the security guard, is a youth. “Lilo & Stitch!” he exclaims. “That’s sick.”

Temporarily, I actually feel a tiny bit cool. “It’s merely due to people love Stitch as a character,” my wife says, reducing my enthusiasm. If I had been wearing the Raven rather than Stitch, she says, people would just think: “you’re the weirdo with a crow.”

Third day

Subsequent sunrise, I decide to check the magnet’s capabilities and attempt a run with a shoulder pal buddy. It fails completely. Beyond the gentlest of jogs and the toy launches away – poor Stitch has to be pulled of a number of puddles, and almost has a soaking in the canal. Additionally, I get a lot of stares.

These tiny figures do considerably better in the office – honestly, odder occurrences have been seen on the editorial team – where they seem to brighten the atmosphere. My coworkers have enjoyment trying them on; the Raven (who is commonly confused as a crow) is a particular hit. But when I step outside for a coffee, I find that the bird also has the ability to scare folks: “Oh my god, I thought that was real!” shouts the person behind me in the cafe queue, after the Raven’s caw makes her leap.

The feedback continues to be frosty as I wander around King’s Cross, this time with a shoulder pal on each arm. I try to look as nonchalant and unthreatening as possible, but still people give me a broad distance – only a pastry vendor (once again, a guy!) answers favorably, and asks to try one on.

Getting together with pals for lunch, I am nervous about taking the toys into a dining environment, 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 didn’t know, which is awkward – it’s hard to appear as a friendly, average human when you are presented as the girl with a tabby creature 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 seems reasonable, given the fame of south-east Asian toys and accessories – shoulder pals evoke China’s past plant-themed accessories.

Day four

Pascal the lizard has finally been delivered, and I try to wear it for most of the day. Though it’s bright green, it doesn’t gain significant notice, thanks to being partly covered by my hair. “I thought it was part of your bag,” one associate says. Mid-afternoon, I end up detaching it – it feels uncomfortable, and seems to be more irritating 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 additional companion to notice. She comes and heads to the bar without seeing – it’s not until she returns with her drink she asks: “What’s with all the stuff on their shoulders?” Once we’ve had a round and she’s wearing one too.

Fifth day

Following a period wearing the toys around people who have never seen them before, it’s time to visit a genuine Disney fan. I head to a town in Essex, to the home of 39-year-old Katherine Potten (AKA @happilykatherine) who discusses Disney’s merchandise and theme parks to her 92.4K TikTok subscribers.

Potten instantly identifies my Pascal toy as “not authentic” when I show her my collection. That clarifies why it’s so itchy. She shows me her softer, smaller-eyed Pascal to show the variation – all of her twenty-three shoulder pals are the genuine articles. She bought most of them from the theme parks – videos in which she “looks” for the {latest release|newest