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Once upon a time when mature individuals who possessed cuddly creatures were somewhat unusual, eccentric even. That’s shifted recently: the increased fame of playthings including Squishmallows and Jellycat Amuseables has been associated with the growing “adult-toy” industry, which represented around 30 percent of gaming item revenues last year. Generally, soft companions are objects people keep at home, atop their mattresses or in cabinets. But that’s changing too – stuffed figurine clips like Labubus are now ubiquitous. Certain “Disney adults” (self-professed mature Disney aficionados who might, for example, go to the amusement centers without accompanying children) have taken it further: attaching toys not just to their bags, but to their persons.

“Shoulder sitters” (variously known as “shoulder friends”) are miniature characters made in the image of Disney icons. They have magnetic bases and come with a smooth steel disc meant 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 launched in 2018, these accessories have become a frequent add-on at the Disney resorts. There are numerous Reddit discussions and TikTok clips about how to locate the newest releases (certain ones available at the Disney store, but others are only obtainable at specific locations within the parks). It’s said that soon 45 authentic Disney shoulder pals for sale by the conclusion of the coming year, with figures ranging from Peter Pan’s Tinker Bell to Anxiety from Inside Out 2. Additionally the many, many knockoffs available online, as well as those sold by shops, or the DIY pals that some artistic TikTok users have been producing.

Day one

Stitch and the Raven are the initial deliveries, and are cuter and softer than I was expecting. Although it seems absurd to “sport” a toy, there is something very enjoyable about the way that Stitch in particular perches evenly on my shoulder – the Raven is harder to position, being made heavier by an internal battery that produces a cawing sound and makes its eyes illuminate. It lacks a power button – to the amusement, I’m sure, of anyone who has bought this toy for a child – but the audio features do end after a sequence of three caws is finished, if it is left utterly undisturbed. I put it on the window ledge where it slightly spookily watches over me – but does at least stop making noise. Stitch, in the meantime, perches happily on the shoulder of my wife – Lilo and Stitch was a youthful beloved of hers, and she is instantly taken with him (although not, she insists, enough to leave the house with him on).

Second day

After getting used to my new plush companions in the security of my home, it is time to take them out and about. First stop: the supermarket. No one reacts as I walk to my local store – has not anyone noticed I have a bright blue alien clipped on me? My first interaction is with the shop safety officer, 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. “So cool!” he responds. I get another positive comment as I leave the store – from a patron, who, like the security guard, is a young man. “Lilo & Stitch!” he shouts. “So cool.”

Temporarily, I actually feel a slightly cool. “It’s only because people love Stitch as a figure,” my wife says, diminishing 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

The following morning, I decide to check the magnet’s capabilities and attempt a jog with a shoulder pal mascot. It’s hopeless. Beyond the slowest pace and the toy goes flying – hapless blue guy has to be fished out of a number of puddles, and almost has a plunge 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 features desk – where they seem to brighten the atmosphere. My coworkers have enjoyment trying them on; the Raven (who is frequently misidentified as a crow) is a major favorite. But when I step outside for a coffee, I find that the bird also has the tendency to scare folks: “Goodness, I thought that was real!” exclaims the person behind me in the cafe queue, after the Raven’s caw makes her startle.

The response continues to be frosty as I wander around King’s Cross, this time with a shoulder pal on both shoulders. I try to look as relaxed and friendly as possible, but still people give me a ample room – only a doughnut seller (again, a youth!) reacts positively, and asks to try one on.

Getting together with pals for lunch, I am concerned about taking the toys into a eating establishment, but I needn’t have worried. If the employees notice, they don’t seem to mind, despite the Raven calling all through the meal. One of my friends brings along someone I was unfamiliar with, which is awkward – it’s hard to seem like a nice, normal person when you are described as the girl with a stripy cat 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 fame of Eastern toys and accessories – shoulder pals remind her of China’s past plant-themed accessories.

Fourth day

Pascal the lizard has at last arrived, and I try to display it for most of the day. Though it’s vivid green, it doesn’t gain significant notice, thanks to being partly covered by my hair. “I thought it was part of your bag,” one colleague says. In the afternoon, I end up taking it off – it feels awkward, and seems to be more scratchy than the others.

Once finished working, I head to the pub. The group who get there first decide to each wear one of the pals and see how long it takes our remaining pal to notice. She comes and heads to the bar without noticing – it’s not until she returns with her drink she asks: “Why does everyone have shit on their shoulders?” After some beverages and she’s wearing one too.

Fifth day

After days 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 items and theme parks to her 92,400 TikTok followers.

Potten right away spots my Pascal toy as “a fake” when I show her my collection. That accounts for 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 real deal. She bought the bulk from the theme parks – content in which she “hunts” for the {latest release|newest