Last July, during one of my routine social media scrolls, an advertisement stopped me in my tracks. It was for something called the Mysterious Doctor Plague. Intrigued, I clicked, and found myself looking at a plush toy depicting a historical plague doctor. Complete with the iconic beak-nosed mask and a glow-in-the-dark lantern, this Doctor Plague Plush was a bizarre yet captivating object. I felt a strange mix of revulsion and attraction, a feeling I captured in a tweet: “I mean …. I don’t NOT want this.” The response was immediate and vast. Hundreds replied, echoing my sentiments, either already owning the doctor plague plush or suddenly feeling the urge to acquire one. On a whim, I too, ordered one.
In the context of an already surreal year, the popularity of a doctor plague plush seemed like a particularly odd phenomenon. I was compelled to understand why this toy resonated so deeply with so many. My own fascination was partly due to a long-held interest in medical history and the doctor plague plush’s uncanny ability to blend the macabre, the cute, and the humorous. But I suspected there was more to it. In pre-pandemic times, I might have chuckled at the ad and moved on. However, the pandemic had forced a global reckoning with mortality, prompting many, including myself, to reconsider our relationship with death. Could it be that the allure of this doctor plague plush tapped into a deeper need to confront the reality of death, but in a safe, even adorable, way?
For many, the term “plague doctor” immediately conjures a specific image: a figure cloaked in black, sporting a wide-brimmed hat and, most strikingly, a bird-like mask. Ask someone about the plague doctor, and they might associate him with the “medieval” era or “the Black Death.” In reality, this perception isn’t entirely accurate. While the image undoubtedly evokes a dark and unsettling period in medical history, these associations are often amplified, sometimes inaccurately, in popular culture. Even Netflix, in a recent tweet, listed a plague doctor as a “real-life horror from the world of Medieval medicine.” Despite these inaccuracies, or perhaps because of them, the bird-masked figure of the doctor plague looms large in our collective imagination.
The iconic plague doctor outfit, as we recognize it today, emerged in the seventeenth century, thanks to Charles de Lorme. Estelle Paranque, a historian specializing in the early modern period, describes de Lorme as a “talented physician” who served three French kings. De Lorme’s creation, therefore, postdates the medieval period by centuries, and while designed for doctors treating bubonic plague patients, the “Black Death” specifically refers to the fourteenth-century pandemic. Contrary to popular belief, the outfit wasn’t simply crude or haphazard.
In fact, de Lorme’s plague doctor suit can be seen as a precursor to modern personal protective equipment. While germ theory was still centuries away – the suit was designed to ward off “miasmas” (bad air) rather than microbes – many of its features align with contemporary infection control practices. The waxed leather or canvas coat and gloves offered a barrier for the skin. The mask, often a balaclava style, covered the nose and mouth and included glass eye coverings. A long cane was part of the ensemble, enabling doctors to examine patients while minimizing physical contact. Despite these parallels to modern hazmat suits, the beak-shaped mask stands out as a design element rooted in pre-scientific understanding. Paranque explained that the beak “was due to the fact that they put in it lots of different ointments and spices in order to mask the bad odours of the patients affected by the plague. So obviously, on that front it is quite different from the masks we are wearing to make sure COVID doesn’t spread.”
Though the de Lorme plague doctor attire was specific to 17th and 18th century France and Italy, it has evolved into a broader, more sinister symbol of death, particularly during epidemics. This is likely due to the mask’s grotesque, dehumanizing effect and the plague doctor‘s association with mortality. Paranque notes, “When at the time people saw a doctor with the costume, they knew that someone was suffering from the plague and therefore that they might not survive, so ultimately the costume is linked to death and this is why it still intrigues and is remembered in our popular culture today.”
The Unexpected Charm of the Doctor Plague Plush
Despite the grim historical context, the Mysterious Doctor Plague Plush evoked a desire to cuddle, a sentiment shared by many online. My initial hesitation stemmed from concerns that Squishable, the toy’s US-based producer, might be capitalizing on the COVID-19 pandemic. However, their website clarified that the doctor plague plush was originally conceived for Halloween 2020, predating the pandemic’s peak. Speaking with Squishable co-founder Zoe Fraade-Blanar revealed the surprising significance of this fluffy doctor plague plush for the company.
Squishable, launched in 2007, quickly gained a devoted online following for its unique plush toys. Customer suggestions became a key part of their design process, with fan-made designs comprising about a quarter of their inventory. Their range includes everything from a plush Cthulhu to a smiling avocado toast, and even a corgi dressed as a football. Squishable typically releases hundreds of limited-edition designs annually, restocking popular items. The doctor plague plush has proven exceptionally popular, requiring multiple restocks.
Interestingly, the doctor plague plush was not a fan creation but originated from Squishable’s in-house design team. Developed in fall 2019 as part of a Halloween collection, it was almost forgotten until prototypes arrived unexpectedly early during the first COVID-19 wave. Unsure about its appropriateness given the global crisis, Squishable turned to social media for feedback. The overwhelmingly positive response was immediate, with preorder traffic crashing their website. By year-end, Doctor Plague Plush products accounted for 32 percent of Squishable’s web sales, contributing to a 200 percent overall sales increase.
Fraade-Blanar attributes the doctor plague plush’s popularity to “dark humour.” Based in New York, a city heavily impacted early in the pandemic, Squishable employees experienced the crisis firsthand. “There were sirens every night. I had friends and coworkers who got sick,” she recounted. “The Mysterious Doctor Plague helped us laugh at the situation and laugh at ourselves. Sometimes, these cute mascots help us humanize serious concepts or soften scary things.”
The doctor plague plush is not alone in its pandemic-era appeal. GiantMicrobes, a company specializing in plush microbes and medical items, released a COVID-19 virus plush, which has garnered almost 200 positive reviews. Customers, including healthcare workers, coronavirus survivors, and microbe enthusiasts, cite finding comfort in the virus rendered harmless and cuddly.
Susan Cadell, a grief literacy expert at the University of Waterloo’s Renison University College, believes the doctor plague plush’s appeal connects to our need to process fear of death. She suggests that the plague doctor’s historical distance, combined with its current relevance, might aid in navigating complex emotions during the pandemic.
“Talking about death and grief is so taboo,” Cadell explains. “There are obviously more of these conversations happening during the pandemic, and I’m curious if things like [the Mysterious Doctor Plague Plush] are helpful. It might also feel emblematic of how much our knowledge has advanced, especially when it comes to medical science, so that might be comforting.”
Kimo-Kawaii and the Comfort of the Grotesque-Cute
From a broader cultural perspective, the doctor plague plush aligns with the kimo-kawaii trend, a Japanese aesthetic that blends “creepy” or “gross” elements with “cute” aesthetics. This “creepy-cute” style, as Patrick St-Michel described in The Atlantic, offers a subversive alternative to traditional, overtly saccharine cuteness, like Hello Kitty. Squishable’s toys, including the doctor plague plush, fit within this tradition.
There’s a definite allure in the push and pull of something simultaneously unsettling and adorable. It challenges our preconceived notions of attraction and repulsion, blurring the lines between what we desire and what we reject. This internal dissonance, this questioning of personal preferences, was a key part of the doctor plague plush’s fascination for me. The toy serves as a tangible reminder of pandemics’ eventual conclusion. History shows us that even the most horrific periods fade, and symbols of past terrors can transform into sources of comfort. The doctor plague plush embodies this transformation, proving that even the grotesque can be endearing, offering a quirky, soft companion through challenging times. And, undeniably, he is exceptionally huggable.
By Anne Thériault
