A few Saturdays ago, I received a text from a friend asking me to sleep over at her house. She was going through a rough time. So, I hastily packed an overnight bag. In went the requisites, and then came decision time. Would he come with me? Or the more accurate question was: could I fathom leaving him behind?
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The ‘he’ in question is not a husband, a baby, or even a dog, but my teddy bear – who doesn’t have a name for a reason I’ve never really understood. He has been my constant companion since my dad bought him at the hospital shop and gave him to me the day I was born. Three decades on, he’s starring in his first fashion shoot (see above and in ELLE's June issue).
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Staring at him, neatly tucked against a pillow on my bed where he spends most of his days, I considered whether it was too much to take him for the one-night visit to my friend’s marital home, where conversations would be about ageing parents, new jobs and financial pressures. All very adult topics that don’t naturally precede cuddling up to a plushie.
When I settled into the spare room that night – of course, I took my teddy with me – his role as my comforter and joy-giver came into full force, his presence most gratifying when he is cosied against my chest. I’ve come to understand since writing this piece that he is my ‘transitional object’: an item that I’ve become attached to and often rely on for emotional security. He is my sense of stay in a world of change. Hyperbole, you say. That’s not how we ‘teddy girls’ see or feel it. Because my friendship with a teddy bear in adulthood is far from unique.
While the luxury market continues to decline, the toy industry thrives. The ‘kidult’ phenomenon, which takes its name from adults buying toys for themselves, contributes billions to the global economy. The European toy market as a whole was valued at approximately £3.5 billion in 2023, with kidult sales making up 28.5%. And the collect-them-all approach ensures that these figures will rise even higher.
During fashion month, Labubu charms – with their toothy grins, wide eyes and pointed ears that give them the appearance of a baby-doll-monster-teddy-bear hybrid – have become commonplace, dangling from four-figure handbags, while celebrities such as Lady Gaga and Bella Hadid have proudly aligned themselves with the kidult movement by sharing their collections: Gaga has snapped selfies from her bed filled with stuffed toys, and Hadid has lined up her Sonny Angels for social media.
Plushies even made their way onto the catwalk for AW25. At Kenzo, Nigo sent guests a rabbit-toy invitation and showed looks including floppy-eared jackets made of teddy-bear faux fur, while Simone Rocha’s models carried resin tortoises and fluffy hares as an ode to Aesop’s fable.
But nothing illustrates the enthusiasm for this trend more than a visit to Selfridges in London. If you go past the floors of designer labels to the toy department at the top of the store, you’ll find a queue of adults (and, yes, some children too) waiting to claim the latest Jellycat, the soft-toy brand of choice, for themselves. The department store has seen a 196% year-on-year increase in Jellycat sales, with bestsellers coming mainly from the ‘Fish & Chips’ shop. This month, the offering is expanding its ‘menu’ to include a fluffy sausage, a pickled onion and a mussel.
‘The popularity of Jellycat is incredible,’ says Gregory Krum, Selfridges’ home buyer. ‘The soft, cute designs have always been popular with children, but their quirkier creations have captured the imagination of Gen Z customers, who enjoy buying them for their collections.’
Jellycat Amuseables Eggetha Egg and Lance Soldier Soft Toy
Jellycat Amuseable Lemonade Soft Toy
Jellycat Amuseable Peanut Soft Toy
The runaway success of the Jellycat has led to Selfridges expanding its kidult space, adding Hadid’s favourite – the cult Sonny Angels dolls – to its offering, as well as including a section from Chinese toy companies Pop Mart and Miniverse, which make miniatures of everything from Harry Potter potion sets to build-your-own burgers that are no bigger than the tip of a finger. It’s a stark contrast to the luxury handbags and runway collections that sit elsewhere in the department store.
Buying toys in adulthood is something older generations might not understand. I know, because if there’s one person who rolls their eyes (in jest) the most at my reliance on my teddy bear, it is my mother. She can’t quite get her head around the fact that her two adult daughters – my sister, nearly 30, won’t go anywhere without her Jellycat giraffe Jeffery (he has a name!) – are dependent on a material possession. She was never a fan of us having dummies as babies, and yet here we are, self-soothing into our thirties.
‘I think if our mothers were allowed to, they might have held onto their teddy bears,’ says Dr Louise Goddard-Crawley, psychologist and chartered member of the British Psychological Society, when I ask her why this feels new for my generation. ‘It’s not that they chose not to, but more they weren’t allowed to. We live in a world now where we can preserve our feelings of safety and stability.’
For me, that safety and stability brought by the teddy feels most important – and, equally, most out of place – when I’m travelling for work. On a recent trip to an overseas fashion show, he came in my Prada hand luggage (it gets so cold down there in the hold!) as he always has done, nestled among possessions less precious, yet more essential to adulthood: laptop, chargers, house keys, tampons, migraine tablets.
He has, thus far, joined me on every press trip: for countless visits to New York, a dozen Paris Eurostars, a particularly memorable trip to Tokyo and more, he’s been there with me, lying on a much bigger bed than he lords over at home, his presence acting as a reminder of how far I’ve come, both literally and figuratively. He was there when I attended my first girlhood sleepover, and that sentimentality is comforting to me now.
I’ve often wondered what a psychologist would make of my dependency, as it does sit at odds with how I otherwise navigate life. I’m fiercely independent and have never been the type to gush over a kitten or a newborn baby, as you might imagine a woman so attached to a teddy would be inclined to do. I save that sort of enthusiasm for Miu Miu shoes.
‘Having a teddy bear is indicative of having a strong sense of self, but it’s also about not denying something that does bring you comfort and meaning,’ says Goddard-Crawley. I hard relate. ‘We connect independence to self-sufficiency, resilience and emotional strength, but that often means there’s a cost to softness or vulnerability. Having a teddy allows us to keep a connection to that softer side of ourselves.’
We now know that to be independent doesn’t mean that you have to operate coldly or harshly to find success in all areas of life, and having a teddy bear is proof. ‘Young women today can live a more self-assured independence that allows that. Having a teddy isn’t about regressing into childhood, it’s more about preserving a connection to the feelings of safety and consistency.’
Of course, there have been times when I’ve left him at home – Glastonbury, for instance (he didn’t love the look of the line-up) – and I’ve slept fine. But I find myself missing him. A companion who doesn’t judge my misgivings or look over my shoulder during conversations. There is something so soothing and calming about his presence that comes from nothingness. Perhaps his greatest quality is that he expects and gives nothing. It’s a relationship that is so one-sided, yet I get so much out of it. I lost him once on a family holiday when I was 22, during which he spent a painfully long (mainly for my parents and the reception staff) 48 hours among the hotel laundry. I can’t imagine what would have happened had he been lost forever.
It’s why I’ve often contemplated what on earth will happen to my teddy when I decide to permanently share my bed with someone else. Where does he go?
It’s usually at this point that I think of Jessie being abandoned in Toy Story 2, singing ‘When She Loved Me’, the only song, for all its relatable sentiment, that can have me sobbing before the third chord. We all know how it feels to be replaced; imagine having a bird’s-eye view of it.
Ahead of – let’s call them, more temporary – cohabitations, I have gone through some sort of ritual of heavy apologies as I cosy him into my knitwear drawer; the equivalent of a five-star isolation chamber. I feel disloyal, uncaring – and, quite honestly, desperate to get him out. I was surprised and reassured during recent conversations with friends that even some of those who are married snuggle up to a third party. ELLE contributing editor Nellie Eden has a Jellycat rabbit that’s been with her for eight years. ‘She’s called Margie and my now-husband bought her for me when we first got together,’ says Eden. ‘For me, it’s very much about having my husband with me when I’m abroad. I still take her on long-haul flights with me, and two industry pals, who I shan’t name, have the same make and model of rabbit, and I know they travel together, too.’
Another, Molly Doherty, a PR who represents some of the world’s biggest fashion brands, is just like Eden and me. ‘I nearly missed my Eurostar back from Paris Fashion Week because I realised I’d left mine, a little Eeyore, behind,’ she admits. ‘To me, it’s a form of comfort, a reminder to not take myself so seriously. He acts like a stress ball and his presence is reminiscent of my carefree childhood.’ I think my friend and Doherty’s PR colleague Lianne Hattersley has her teddy-meets-boyfriend situation well sussed: ‘He has one too, they’re like the mini versions of us!’
What I’ve not said yet on the unbridled joy of being a ‘teddy girl’ is the tactility of it all. A soft touch in a hard-wired world. From the news cycle to the global climate, life seems set on serving so many sharp edges right now, and a cuddle with a teddy is the antithesis. It’s a comforting reset that awaits me every night when I get home, or just before I finally silence my alarm. Having my teddy bear to make it through all of life is my sweet spot. I hope he gets along with my husband.
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