When I was in first grade, I remember meticulously placing all of my Pokémon cards in a white binder and throwing it in my backpack for school.
For the entire morning, my excitement would grow and when the bell rang, I would grab the binder from my backpack and show my friends my latest cards.
My friends and I would sit around someone’s desk, and look through each other’s binders, pitching trades and exclaiming when someone came across an especially rare card. I remember a good friend of mine having an especially rare card, and trading me for it.
Later, my friends and I repeated the same ritualistic exhibitions and trades with Squinkies. Squinkies were small rubber toys in the shapes of animals and fantastical creatures. I remember my favorites being the different colored horses and even more specifically, the brown one.
Once again, this type of behavior was resourced due to Shopkins, which like Squinkies, were small, multicolored toys aimed for the purpose of collection. Squinkies and Shopkins had little value in the sense of a game or play, but had larger values when it came to the act of collection itself.
This couples with the community it built between friends. I remember my cousins and I begging for Shopkins back when I was around 12 years old. If we were so lucky as to be indulged, there were a few possible outcomes: either a beautiful synthesis of trades and awe and pride with the toys that we so desperately wanted or a chaos of crying and fighting over who got the better toy.
Therein lies the greatest appeal of toys like Squinkies, Pokémon cards and Shopkins: It was a gamble. When purchasing a pack of cards, some Squinkies, or Shopkins, you could never be sure about what exactly you were going to get. There is a vast appeal in the blind bag, an appeal that still persists in the form of gambling, subscription boxes and even Tinder.
As a kid, after getting the toy or card you were so desperate for, there was immense exhalation, and of course, total disappointment when you indeed did not get the toy you wanted. The disappointment was magnified, if say your little sister or best friend got the Cupcake Shopkin you wanted.
More recently, I have noticed this sort of pseudo-toy collection hobby resurface here on campus in the form of Sonny Angels. Very “feminine” and girl-oriented, Sonny Angels are little cherub figures that wear different outfits and headgear depending on what collection it is from.
They were created to be a small companion for working women, something to brighten up your desk or make you smile. The phrase associated with these little angels is a bit on the nose, but captures the integrity of the toy holistically: “He may bring you happiness.” Of course, being a retired collector of small useless toys, I had to order some, because in my opinion, they are very cute and something I needed.
My absolute need for this little guy may have something to do with my being the target demographic of Sonny Angel figures, but when I opened up the blind bag to see which one I got (although I did not get the one I wanted) I was immediately filled with a real joy, a joy I used to get opening up my Squinkies when I was a little girl, excited to show them to my friends.
There is a large community dedicated to the collection and trading of the angels. Specific events revolving around the trades of the little dolls mirror that classroom connection of trading a Pokémon card or Squinkie. There is something so rewarding about indulging the child within you, and as a college student who is constantly thinking about preparing for the future, it was a delight to buy a toy for the first time in a long time.
Considering their great popularity, I can only imagine that lots of other people feel the same way. From the gamble and surprise to the community to the inherent value of the little angels, there is a lot of childlike excitement that could be obtained from the little toys.
It could also be intimidating to buy or enjoy something others perceive as childish or “unnecessary,” but I know you can be a serious scientist, engineer or journalist and still enjoy a little toy. I think this might just be one of those things: When you get it, you really get it.
