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Once upon a time when adults who possessed stuffed toys were somewhat unusual, odd perhaps. All that has changed: the rise in popularity of toys such as Squishmallows and Jellycat Amuseables has been associated with the growing “adult-toy” industry, which accounted for around 30 percent of toy sales the previous year. Typically, soft companions are objects people display indoors, resting on pillows or on display shelves. However, that’s evolving – stuffed figurine clips like Labubus are now ubiquitous. And some “Disney enthusiasts” (declared grown up Disney aficionados who might, for example, go to the amusement centers without taking children) have advanced even more: attaching toys not just to their purses, but to their persons.

“Shoulder plushies” (variously known as “shoulder companions”) are miniature characters made in the image of Disney personas. They have attractive undersides and come with a thin metallic pad intended for placed under your shirt, so the toy perches on your shoulder. Since the first one, infant Groot from Guardians of the Galaxy, was introduced in 2018, these toys have become a popular adornment at the Disney parks. There are multiple Reddit posts and TikTok clips about how to locate the recent models (certain ones available at the Disney store, but the rest are only obtainable at designated locations within the parks). There will apparently be 45 licensed 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 imitations offered digitally, as well as those sold by stores, or the custom creations that some inventive TikTok users have been crafting.

First day

Lilo’s friend and the haunted raven are the first to arrive, and are more adorable and plush than I was expecting. Though it feels silly to “wear” a toy, there is something very enjoyable about the way that Stitch in particular sits flat on my shoulder – the Raven is trickier to balance, being pulled downward by an internal battery that produces a cawing sound and makes its eyes illuminate. You can’t turn it off – to the amusement, I’m sure, of anyone who has acquired this toy for a child – but the sound effects do cease after a round of three caws is done, if it is left totally motionless. I place it on the window ledge where it somewhat creepily watches over me – but does at least shut up. Stitch, in the meantime, sits contentedly on the shoulder of my wife – Lilo and Stitch was a youthful beloved of hers, and she is instantly taken with him (even if not, she insists, enough to leave the house with him on).

Day two

Having acclimatised to my new plush companions in the safety of my home, it is time to take them out and about. Opening place: the grocery store. Nobody bats an eyelid as I walk to my local store – has not anyone noticed I have a vivid extraterrestrial affixed to my shoulder? My first encounter is with the shop security guard, whose face breaks into a broad beam as soon as he sees me. “How did you get Stitch on you?” he asks. I describe about the magnet. “Awesome!” he answers. I get another compliment as I leave the store – from a customer, who, like the security guard, is a guy. “Lilo & Stitch!” he shouts. “That’s sick.”

Temporarily, I actually feel a somewhat cool. “That’s just since people love Stitch as a figure,” my wife says, reducing my excitement. If I had been wearing the Raven rather than Stitch, she says, people would just think: “you’re odd with a crow.”

Day three

Subsequent sunrise, I decide to try the magnet’s limits and attempt a jog with a shoulder pal buddy. It’s hopeless. Exceeding the gentlest of jogs and the toy launches away – hapless blue guy has to be fished out of a multiple puddles, and narrowly misses a soaking in the canal. Plus, I get a lot of stares.

My shoulder pals do considerably better in the office – honestly, more unusual sights have been seen on the editorial team – where they seem to put everyone in a good mood. My colleagues have amusement trying them on; the Raven (who is commonly confused as a crow) is a major favorite. But when I pop out for a coffee, I find that the bird also has the ability to give people a fright: “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 response continues to be distant as I stroll through King’s Cross, this time with a shoulder pal on either side. I try to look as relaxed and friendly as possible, but still people give me a ample room – only a doughnut seller (once again, a youth!) reacts positively, and asks to try one on.

Meeting friends for lunch, I am nervous about taking the toys into a eating establishment, but I had no reason to fret. If the staff notice, they don’t seem to object, despite the Raven calling all through the meal. One of my friends brings along someone I was unfamiliar with, which is humbling – it’s hard to seem like a pleasant, regular individual when you are described as the girl with a stripy cat on her shoulder – but my new contact seems to see the funny side. One friend, who works mostly in China, thinks the rise of these toys seems reasonable, given the popularity of Eastern toys and accessories – shoulder pals evoke China’s past plant-themed accessories.

Subsequent 24 hours

Pascal the lizard has finally been delivered, and I try to keep it on for most of the day. Though it’s vivid green, it doesn’t attract much attention, thanks to being partly covered by my hair. “I assumed it was part of your bag,” one associate says. Later that day, I end up detaching it – it feels irritating, and seems to be more scratchy than the others.

Once finished working, 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 arrives and heads to the bar without noticing – it’s not until she returns with her drink she asks: “What’s with all the things on their shoulders?” A few drinks later and she’s wearing one too.

Next 24 hours

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

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 twenty-three shoulder pals are the authentic items. She bought most of them from the theme parks – clips in which she “searches” for the {latest release|newest