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In the past when adults who owned cuddly creatures were fairly rare, weird even. All that has changed: the rise in popularity of toys including Squishmallows and Jellycat Amuseables has been connected with the expanding “kidult” sector, which represented nearly one-third of toy sales last year. On the whole, soft companions are items people display indoors, atop their mattresses or on display shelves. However, that’s evolving – soft accessory charms for example Labubus are now ubiquitous. Certain “Disney adults” (declared adult Disney aficionados who might, for example, go to the entertainment venues without accompanying children) have gone one step further: placing toys not just to their backpacks, but to their own shoulders.

“Shoulder sitters” (variously known as “shoulder toys”) are small toys made in the image of Disney personas. They have magnetic bases and come with a flat metal plate designed to be placed below your clothing, so the toy rests on your collarbone area. Since the first one, infant Groot from Guardians of the Galaxy, was brought out in 2018, these accessories have become a popular accessory at the Disney theme parks. There are multiple Reddit posts and TikTok content about how to locate the recent models (certain ones available at the Disney store, but additional ones are only accessible at designated locations within the parks). There will apparently be 45 official Disney shoulder pals for sale by the conclusion of the coming year, with characters including Peter Pan’s Tinker Bell to Anxiety from Inside Out 2. Additionally the numerous replicas found on the internet, as well as those sold by stores, or the DIY pals that some creative TikTok users have been crafting.

Day one

The blue alien and the bird are the initial deliveries, and are sweeter and more cuddly than I was expecting. Though it feels absurd to “sport” a toy, there is something very pleasing about the way that Stitch especially rests neatly on my shoulder – the Raven is harder to position, being weighed down by an inside energy cell that creates a birdcall and makes its eyes illuminate. It lacks a power button – to the delight, I’m sure, of anyone who has bought this toy for a child – but the sound effects do end after a sequence of three caws is complete, if it is left completely still. I place it on the window ledge where it a bit eerily observes me – but does at least quiet down. Stitch, at the same time, sits contentedly on the shoulder of my wife – Lilo and Stitch was a early years preferred of hers, and she is instantly taken with him (even if not, she stresses, enough to leave the house with him on).

Second day

Having acclimatised to my new plush companions in the safety of my home, it is time to take them out and about. Initial destination: the grocery store. No one reacts as I walk to my local store – has no one noticed I have a bright blue alien attached to me? My first exchange is with the shop security guard, whose face forms a huge smile as soon as he sees me. “How do you have Stitch on you?” he asks. I clarify about the magnet. “So cool!” he answers. 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 amazing.”

For a moment, I actually feel a somewhat cool. “It’s merely due to people love Stitch as a persona,” my wife says, reducing 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.”

Following 24 hours

Subsequent sunrise, I decide to try the magnet’s capabilities and attempt a jog with a shoulder pal mascot. It doesn’t work. Beyond the gentlest of jogs and the toy launches away – poor Stitch has to be pulled of a several puddles, and narrowly misses a soaking in the canal. Also, I get a lot of gazes.

My shoulder pals perform improved in the office – admittedly, more unusual sights have been witnessed on the features desk – where they seem to brighten the atmosphere. My teammates have amusement trying them on; the Raven (who is often mistaken as a crow) is a big success. But when I pop out for a coffee, I find that the bird also has the tendency to scare folks: “Oh my god, I thought that was real!” exclaims the person behind me in the cafe queue, after the Raven’s caw makes her leap.

The feedback continues to be frosty as I walk about 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 wide berth – only a doughnut seller (again, a young man!) responds well, and asks to try one on.

Getting together with pals 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 mind, despite the Raven squawking during the meal. One of my friends brings along someone I haven’t met before, which is embarrassing – it’s hard to come across as a friendly, average human when you are presented as the girl with a striped feline on her shoulder – but my new friend seems to find it amusing. One friend, who works mostly in China, thinks the rise of these toys is logical, given the popularity of south-east Asian toys and accessories – shoulder pals evoke China’s past plant-themed accessories.

Fourth day

Pascal the lizard has at last arrived, and I try to keep it on for most of the day. Though it’s vivid green, it doesn’t draw many looks, thanks to being partially obscured by my hair. “I assumed it was part of your bag,” one coworker says. Later that day, I end up taking it off – it feels irritating, and seems to be itchier than the others.

Post-office, 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 remaining pal to notice. She arrives and heads to the bar without realising – it’s not until she returns with her drink she asks: “Why does everyone have stuff on their shoulders?” After some beverages and she’s wearing one too.

Day five

Subsequent to wearing the toys around people who have never seen them before, it’s time to connect with a genuine Disney fan. I head to Wickford, Essex, to the home of 39-year-old Katherine Potten (AKA @happilykatherine) who shares content on Disney’s merchandise and resorts to her over 92 thousand TikTok followers.

Potten right away spots my Pascal toy as “not authentic” 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 multiple shoulder pals are the authentic items. She bought the majority from the theme parks – content in which she “searches” for the {latest release|newest