Most kids go to Build-a-Bear or Toys”R”Us stores for new stuffed animals, but, as a child, my favorite destination was Costco. While my mom only went to Costco to buy food, I tagged along to stare at the two baskets next to the clothing sections — the home of the Squishmallows.
Squishmallows, first released in 2017, are soft, egg-shaped plushies. The original Squishmallows were mostly animals, but now there are over 3,000 different designs, including fruits, exotic animals, Pokemons and even characters from TV shows and movies. Costco had them all, from the tiny, 5-inch plush toys that came in packs of eight to the gigantic, 20-inch ones that were large enough to hog most of a twin-sized bed.
Elementary and middle school me was obsessed with these soft and — like their name suggests — incredibly squishy stuffed animals. I was ecstatic when my mom bought me an 8-pack of small Squishmallows for my birthday. I gave each both a small piece of real estate on my bed and a unique name — although I’ll admit I wasn’t the most creative 10-year-old, given that I decided “Dino” was the best name for the green dinosaur.
The next birthday, my collection grew twofold. My mom gave me another 8-pack of small Squishmallows, for a total of 16 to play with and rearrange on my bed. They formed a family and a social hierarchy based on cuteness and color — my favorite green Dino and dragon sat at the top, and the ugly, rainbow-colored ones at the bottom. Like with any medieval caste system, the cuter ones got to line up on my headboard, perched on their pillow throne. On the hand, the others lay randomly scattered on the sides of the bed.
My current favorite, however, is my 1-foot, teal, bearded dragon (who, up until a few days ago, I thought was a triceratops). I spotted his derpy smile and circular spikes from a stand inside Westgate mall, and knew I had to bring him home. On the car ride, I flipped open his name tag — all Squishmallows come with a factory name — and read “Abe.”
Now, the American way to pronounce “Abe” would be “ay-b,” but my older sister, who was in history teacher Kirk Abe’s AP Government class at the time, told me that her teacher pronounced it as “ah-bay.” So, I chose the Japanese pronunciation of “Abe” for my stuffy.
Now that I’m at my sister’s high school, I’ve had friends go through Mr. Abe’s class, and it’s a little awkward to think that I inadvertently named one of my favorite stuffed animals after him. I was still at Redwood Middle School when I picked the name, but I won’t be changing it: “Abe” is a unique name worthy of the cutest bearded dragon.
However, I’ve since realized that having 16 small and one big Squishmallow on my bed is fairly impractical. The small ones often got shoved in the cracks between my bed and the wall, probably suffocating until I finally realized their plight and pulled them back into the sunlight. So now, they’ve been relocated to other parts of my house: Six of them are packed into one of my hexagon shelves; one owl guards the piano from the top of its lid; and another reads books on my bookshelf. Abe, however, still sits on my bed.
I’ve also shifted from favoring the small squishmallows to loving the enormous ones. In elementary school, I loved the small ones for roleplay, but now I appreciate the larger ones because I can lay on them and hug them. For a side-sleeper like me who constantly fidgets in her sleep, hugging stuffed animals as I doze off helps me stay in place and stops me from rolling onto my stomach.
Even though I’m 16 now, my love for stuffed animals remains. Stuffed animals, like Squishmallows, bring me just enough joy to get through the last paragraphs of my English essays, and just enough comfort when I’m sad. They make my queen-sized bed less lonely and guard it from any possible intruders. My stuffies are here to stay.
