I didn’t have an army of plush toys when I was a kid. Nothing fancy or collectible. But I was a fan.

I’ve always been a touch-hungry bastard. My parents weren’t the most physically affectionate people, but Growler, my stuffed German shepherd, would tolerate any amount of hugging. I was told that I was having “trouble making friends,” but there was zero turbulence in my friendship with Growler. It’s better to have no friends than garbage friends, and it’s best to have one friend who’s down for whatever, whether it’s being cast in your inscrutable one-act plays, dancing to the Beastie Boys, or taking a severe beating without complaint.

Stress balls are for amateurs. It’s better to have a stuffed critter on hand. You can beat the crap out of it, really give it the business, and realize, in a humble and victimless way, the capacity for violence that gives force and meaning to your survival instinct. You might feel a twinge of guilt, but one look in its happy, peaceful, idiotic eyes will let you know that you are forgiven. You were always forgiven. You’re not a bad person. And if you were, the stuffed critter would still love you because it doesn’t know any better. You shouldn’t have sex with it because it’s more fun to have sex with people, but if you did, it wouldn’t kink-shame.

It might be a matter of concern if all your friends are like this, but having one is okay, although it can easily lead to having a half-dozen.

Squishables came on the scene in 2007, appearing in the niche toy stores that also sell paperback copies of The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck. They’re designed to be extra-huggable, which also makes them extra-punchable. And they’re extra-collectable.

They come in various sizes, from “micro” versions that fit on keyrings to enormous ones that, if you’re an urban apartment-dweller, may not be worth the ongoing costs of storage. They’ve got your basic dogs, cats, and avocados, and also limited-edition Squishables, some designed by members of the large and vibrant collector community, that appear for a limited time and then theoretically fetch handy sums on eBay. These include a Plague Doctor and Plague Nurse (in celebration of COVID-19), a Squishable UFO, and a slice of Squishable French Toast, complete with a dapper mustache. 

When I hit a health scare a few years ago, I acquired a Squishable Cactus to keep me company on stressful medical appointments. These things don’t like to be alone, and a few more arrived, although I barely remember ordering them. They served as buffers for my failing marriage and infinitely patient companions during my subsequent scorched-earth depression. Although their performances in my plays lacked a certain gusto I wanted, they showed up on time and didn’t actively resent the material. They are delightfully, addictively easy to hug, and can take a punch with the best of them.

The downsides to Squishables are few, but they’re not insignificant. A little quirkiness can go a long way – my tolerance for cuteness goes in cycles, and the more adorable something is now, the more irritating it can be later. More importantly, I find it hard to relax around valuable objects. I can’t fully commit to beating the tar out of anything that could snag three figures on eBay next time my car breaks down.

If I were going to administer a beatdown to a plush toy, with the full force of my unconditional love, I would go with a Squishmallow.

If Squishables are XTC, Squishmallows are OMD or maybe Tears For Fears. They’ve got their own artistry and a surprisingly deep catalog, but most people know them from the ubiquity of their hits, and that’s fine. They’re For The People.

Squishmallows are made from a polyester spandex blend, which makes them feel cheaper than Squishables, but at the same time more distinctive and velvety. They keep it simple. They’re utilitarian in design, they’re supposed to be stackable, they make good pillows on airplanes, and you can beat the shit out of one without wondering if you’re sacrificing your golden lotto ticket.

Although Squishmallows have their own over involved fan community, they’re more mainstream – you can get ‘em at CVS – and they don’t present themselves as an artistic medium. They come with built-in personalities, like that of Sunny the Bee, who’s fascinated by weather. They’re released in “Squishmallow Squads,” pre-existing friend groups solidified by the blood-in-blood-out beatings they’ll gladly accept from you after you whiff a job interview or fail to talk your way into a credit-line extension. They show no signs of taking themselves the least bit seriously.

Squishables’ endless line-extension allows them to venture toward the extremes of anthropomorphism, which I appreciate. I suspect a Squishmallow Panda or Octopus, by virtue of its relative resemblance to my species, is more likely to wound or betray me than a Squishable Latte or Squishable State of California wearing sunglasses and a star where Sacramento would be.

I’m currently out of the game, having given most of my previous plush-toy collection to the children of friends and relatives and donated the rest to the cool-down room at a local BDSM dungeon. Nevertheless, I’m putting this out there because I’d like to keep traditional stuffed toys in the mix, as far as future generations of kids are concerned. New lines of toy companions are likely to include interactive AI features that make them more like “real friends” and thus more psychologically challenging to beat up nine ways to Sunday. I think that freedom is worth preserving.

Recommend If You Like is not owned or funded by a billionaire or even a millionaire. We do have a Patreon. If you can’t afford to become a patron, please sign up to our mailing list. It’s free and we’re asking here instead of a pop-up. Pop-ups are annoying.