Wise Guy 1:
I’d like to preface by saying I fully intend to be an active member of the workforce, building my credit score, filling my stock portfolio, and living in my giant house all while cuddling my stuffed monkey to sleep every night. Anybody who would dare criticize me for being “childish” is childish themselves for attempting to wrench me from my childhood bestie. Seriously, why does it bother you so much? I will carry cute, fuzzy friends around on the daily, because adulting is hard enough already. It is my professional opinion that engaging in the quirks and hobbies we enjoy shouldn’t end when we turn 18, start college, or get our first job. These quirks make up unique parts of our personalities and identities, adding seasoning to a well-cooked meal. Who eats bland chicken, after all? It tastes so much better when cooked with marinades, sauces, herbs, and spices. In the same way, bland people uninteresting and interacting with them feels like chewing overcooked steak, but people with special interests offer tasteful conversation and flavorful experiences. So, if other people shine through their passions for board games, ancient mythology, or 19th century composers, then I see no problem in my personal sparkle being fueled by my love for Big Bear, Moose, Baby Doggie, and Monkey.
Wise Guy 2:
I have no qualms with owning a few stuffed animals. The key term there is “a few.” The issue therein lies when you walk into someone’s room and it’s covered wall to wall with stuffed animals, dolls, and other horrific creatures. At that point it’s no longer “it just brings me comfort”; it’s a problem and a big one at that. I don’t wanna hear “but they’re investments!” Everyone said that about Cabbage Patch Kids and look where all those stuffed dolls ended up, either in a dusty box in someone’s basement or in a landfill. The most disgusting part is that I know for a fact that no one is washing those things nearly as often as they should. I know exactly what you do with that horde of stuffed petri dishes when it comes time to wash sheets. You shove them all into a neat pile in a basket, or the floor if you’re barbaric enough, and then put them back on top of the sheets you just washed. That’s an entire collection of “cute” fabric abominations collecting grease, your body oils, and bacteria, then being left to ferment for who knows how long. If I walk into someone’s room and see a pile of those disgusting grease sponges, it will take ten men to hold me down and force me out the door, else I torch it to the ground.
Wise Guy 3:
As a high schooler who drives, works a job, and files their taxes, I do not think that owning stuffed animals makes me any less mature. Stuffed animals offer comfort and are just fun to use as decoration in your room, making it feel more lived in and less like a soulless room by IKEA. It’s funny how people consider owning stuffed animals “immature” when plenty of adults are willing to pay thousands of dollars on pieces of paper with a picture of their favorite athlete. There are literally tons of adult swaddle blankets on amazon for adults who want to feel hugged, so why is it “immature” for teens to seek comfort from stuffed animals?
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