Build-a-Bear Workshops are like crack dens for five-year-olds

13 March 2010

Toby Young suffers from Status Anxiety

Caroline and I had what we thought of as an ‘enlightened’ approach to these keepsakes. Basically, if our children showed signs of becoming too attached to them, we threw them away. But this policy ran aground when Sasha was invited to a Build-a-Bear party last year. We innocently let her go, not knowing we were opening Pandora’s Box. She returned later that afternoon with a hideous anthropomorphic teddy dressed in a kung fu outfit. Since then, wherever Sasha goes, ‘Alfie’ must come too.

Ludo was consumed with jealousy, particularly when Sasha saved up enough pocket money to buy Alfie a pink tiara. In the end, our nanny took pity on him and decided to buy him his very own Build-a-Bear for Christmas. I’m not exaggerating when I say ‘Snuggles’ has become part of the family, with Ludo insisting he must be tucked up every night in his own Build-a-Bear bed. This ritual is extremely important. If Snuggles can’t be found, Ludo refuses to go to sleep. Needless to say, being four, he can never remember where he’s left him, so I now spend half an hour every evening turning the house upside down. Thanks to this and other inconveniences I loathe Snuggles with a passion and fantasise about creating a Blow-up-a-Bear Workshop in which disgruntled dads can bring in their children’s teddies and insert fireworks up their bottoms. I would pay considerably more than £9 for the opportunity to get medieval on Snuggles with a pair of pliers and a blowtorch.

The irony, of course, is that we’re about to turn several more children in Ludo’s class into zombie-like addicts. These Build-a-Bear Workshops are like crack dens for five-year-olds — once they’ve sampled the high, all they want to do is ‘re-dose’. Each child at the party will leave with their very own customised teddy, and I guarantee that they’ll use pester power to force their parents to return as often as possible. Caroline and I should be on some sort of commission.

Why are we inflicting this torture on our friends? Because Ludo is insistent it’s what he wants. The poor, snivelling addict wants another of these monstrosities so Snuggles can have a friend. The awful thing is, it means I’ll now have to find two bears if I want Ludo to get a night’s sleep.

Before I go completely over the top in my condemnation of this fad, I should confess that I was very attached to a creature called Roo when I was Ludo’s age. I remember being on a train one day, speeding across France, when Roo flew out the window. My mother had to physically restrain me from pulling the communication cord. I don’t think I’ve ever really recovered.