Title: "Cubby: An Essay on Inanimate Objects"

Class: English 325

 

I rarely sleep alone in my bed. My roommates, best friend, or boyfriend may be cuddled up in my sheets, but the one thing that is always nestled in the cracks between the walls and bed is my stuffed bear, Cubby. I have had this stuffed toy since I was seven years old, which seems to be a bit older than when average children get their first cuddle buddy. He’s about the size of a small dog, and has a red and gold ribbon around his neck that was originally wrapped up in a tidy bow, but now is now frayed on the edges and looks more like a tidy knot. When I first got Cubby, he had the softest, shaggiest fur, and now after years of lugging him around on family trips, sleepovers with friends, the college dorms, and countless other places, his fur is now matted, a dingy off-white, and coming off in some places, leaving empty patches. There’s nothing remarkable about this little stuffed bear when anyone else looks at him, but to me, he represents a whole lot more than just a childhood toy.

 

I remember the exact day that I got Cubby, as he’s acted as an object of safety for me ever since. It was almost a week before Christmas and my dad had asked me to come with him to the mall and help him finish up the Christmas shopping. Being a daddy’s girl, I knew that if I could get him into one of my favorite stores, I could definitely con my way into getting some kind of prize. To my dismay, however, we arrived at what looked like a war zone, and my dad quickly yanked my hand through the treacherous holiday-shopping frenzy, and crushed any hope I had of getting an early present. After my dad had finished shopping, I stood next to him patiently waiting in the checkout line. Like at most cash registers during the holiday time, the store was offering a free gift with a donation to a local charity. He finished paying; slipped money into the canister, and the lady reached behind the counter to reveal the plushest stuffed teddy bear I had ever laid eyes on. My dad laughed, probably at the thought of him walking around the mall with a stuffed animal, and handed me the toy. He had perfect white fur and a gold and gold bow tied around his neck. Before we even had time to leave the quiet sanctuary of the store, I had already physically and emotionally attached myself to Cubby.

 

The idea of people, myself included, being so attached to objects has always been a strange puzzle for me. For what reason do people charge objects with so much meaning that they become dependent on the physical object itself? I didn’t know why I was so attached to Cubby when I first got him, and I’m not sure I have the answer now, but I do know that there is something deep within us that invokes a real emotional connection to certain objects that a lot of people can’t logically explain why. I have pieced together a part of the puzzle, and I know for sure that the attachment began for me as a feeling of safety that my stuffed animal brought me.

 

Now that I have grown up, the need for a security object should seem to fade, yet I still feel almost incomplete when I do not have him tucked away somewhere in my bed. I have rationalized that it is just out of habit, and any break in my nightly ritual subconsciously triggers anxiety. At 2 o’clock in the morning I can spread my arm beneath the cold pillowcase and be certain that I will find Cubby. And if for some reason he has been knocked off the bed due to a swift kick from me in a fit of sleepless rest, there is an immediate onset of guilt, as if he would never be able to forgive me for the reckless abandonment that I put him through that night.

 

Trust me, I know that sounds crazy, but I also know that Cubby doesn’t only represent a cute childhood toy that protected me from monsters in my closet, and he also doesn’t only represent an object that I attribute special memories to. It is not enough to say that the reason people are attached to items is because of what these things may represent. If it were the case that I was just attached to the things that Cubby represented then I wouldn’t need the Cubby. I should, by this logic, be fine with just any old bear that I could look at to remember all of the feelings and emotions that Cubby made me feel. However, that is not the case – our memories or feelings associated with a specific object contribute to its value as a physical item, almost independent from the meaning that we’ve assigned to it. Over time, the meaning of the object becomes valuable to you, and you become attached to the physical item. These objects, as I find with Cubby, are an extension of us, and we feel committed to and almost responsible for their physical protection and preservation.

 

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Until the 1970’s psychologists saw these attachments to inanimate objects as a reflection of a child’s failing mother. In several studies, researchers found kids who had their beloved toy with them at the doctor’s office experienced less distress, as measured by blood pressure and heart rate. Maybe security blankets really do live up to their name. The phenomenon of deep emotional attachment to objects, and the idea that they are more than just their physical properties, is what psychologists call essentialism. Imagine the feeling that a Michael Jackson fanatic would get from being able to put on his famous glove, or the repulsion we might feel about wearing a shirt worn by a serial killer, or how my mom feels wearing her grandmother’s wedding ring. Simply put, objects are emotional, and because we allow for the physical object to embody these emotions, just touching or holding the object triggers physical reactions in us.

 

I don’t have to imagine how my mom feels about her grandmother’s wedding ring, because I’ve heard and seen first-hand the emotional charge that she attaches to it. My great-grandmother passed away several years ago and left the ring to my mom, and ever since, I’ve always heard my mom say how she wants to meld together her wedding ring and her grandmother’s to make a new ring – one that would continue to be passed down to me. Now, I don’t mean to sound apathetic about the value of her ring, but I do not feel any emotional attachment to it like my mom does – all I know is that I like the way it sparkles. I don’t remember my great-grandmother, and I never met my great-grandfather, so why would a ring that symbolized their commitment to each other be of any importance or value to me one day? I know now that it has to do with, again, the idea of essentialism.

 

People experience the phenomenon of deep emotional attachment to objects and the feeling that these objects are more than just their physical properties. It is only then, once those attachments are established, that it’s value as a physical object increases. Since I have not charged my great-grandmother’s ring with any emotional importance, I don’t see the physical value of it rising like my mom does. I would bet that if you offered my mom an exact replica of her wedding ring or my great-grandmother’s, she would turn it down in a second. She, like most other people, is attached to the tangible object, not just the thought and feeling that she knows is behind it.

 

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In 2007 Cognition Journal published a study done on the topic of essentialism. The researcher and his colleagues offered 3-to-6-year-olds the chance to place their most favorite toys in a “copy box,” and it would exchange them for indistinguishable duplicates. When given this opportunity, over 25 percent refused, and those who did agree to duplicate their beloved toy demanded that they had the original one back right away. The kids in the study had an emotional connection to that blanket, or that teddy bear, not one that looked just like it.

 

Even into adulthood, the researchers found, these emotions don’t fade. When they asked participants to cut up photographs of a cherished item, they measure of changes in sweat production on the skin increase – the more sweat, the more agitated the person. Their results showed that participants had a significant stress response to cutting up pictures of their beloved object compared with cutting up a picture of a neutral item, or one of no value to them. People even became distressed when researchers had them cut up a picture of their cherished item that was blurred beyond recognition. It still is not enough to say that the reason people are attached to items is because of what these things represent. Sure, that is a huge part of it, but if that were a sufficient enough reason, then children, and even adults, wouldn’t feel so deeply attached to the tangible object itself, and wouldn’t have such negative physical responses to the destruction or loss of the item. I really believe that as one grows with an object, the memories and meaning that grow as well start to foster a sense of magical commitment. Human beings gain no evolutionary or survival advantage by becoming attached to inanimate objects, but perhaps it is just a “bonus” part of our psychology – adding a little more wonder to life.