Like many, aimless social media scrolling led me to an unexpected discovery: an advertisement for a “Mysterious Doctor Plague.” It was a plush toy depicting a historical plague doctor, complete with the iconic beak-nosed mask and a glow-in-the-dark lantern. The initial reaction was a mix of repulsion and fascination, a feeling many seemed to share. Posting a screenshot with “I mean …. I don’t NOT want this” online unleashed a wave of responses, revealing a surprising number of people already owned or desired this peculiar plush. Intrigued by this phenomenon, I impulsively ordered one myself, seeking to understand the odd appeal of a Plague Doctor Plush in our modern world.
In a year marked by global uncertainty and anxieties, the plague doctor plush emerged as a strangely fitting symbol. But what exactly draws people to this toy? My own interest initially stemmed from a fascination with medical history and the plush’s intriguing blend of macabre, cuteness, and dark humor. However, the widespread appeal suggested something deeper at play. In pre-pandemic times, such an ad might have been dismissed with a chuckle and a scroll. But the pandemic forced a collective confrontation with mortality, prompting a reevaluation of our relationship with death. Could the fascination with the plague doctor plush reflect a need to engage with the reality of death in a safe, even adorable, way?
If the phrase “beak-nosed mask” immediately conjures a specific image, it’s because the plague doctor is a potent cultural symbol. The mental picture is typically of a figure cloaked in black, sporting a wide-brimmed hat and that distinctive birdlike mask. Ask someone to place this figure historically, and they might say “medieval” or link them to “the Black Death.” However, the reality is more nuanced. While the image evokes a dark chapter in medical history, the plague doctor as we visualize them isn’t strictly medieval, nor directly related to the Black Death. Popular media often perpetuates these inaccuracies, such as a Netflix tweet listing a plague doctor as a “real-life horror from the world of Medieval medicine.” Yet, despite these misconceptions, the bird-faced harbinger of disease holds a prominent place in our collective imagination, and now, in plush toy form.
The recognizable plague doctor outfit originated in the seventeenth century, the creation of Charles de Lorme. Estelle Paranque, an early modern historian, describes de Lorme as a “talented physician who treated thousands of people during the reigns of three different French kings” in Art UK. This places the iconic costume centuries after the medieval period and the Black Death of the 14th century. While designed for doctors treating bubonic plague patients, it’s crucial to distinguish it from the earlier pandemic. But was de Lorme’s design truly as primitive as often portrayed?
A detailed illustration of a plague doctor in their 17th-century protective suit.
In fact, de Lorme’s plague doctor suit demonstrates a surprisingly forward-thinking approach to personal protection, pre-dating germ theory. Designed to combat disease-causing “miasmas” (bad air), rather than bacteria or viruses, many elements align with modern preventative measures. The waxed leather or canvas coat and gloves offered a barrier to the skin. The mask, often a balaclava style, covered the mouth and nose and included glass eye coverings. A long cane was part of the ensemble, allowing doctors to examine patients while minimizing physical contact. Paranque notes, “the beak-shaped mask…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.” While the mask’s scented stuffing differs from our modern understanding of virus protection, the overall intent of creating a barrier and minimizing contact shows a parallel to twenty-first-century hazmat suits.
Although primarily used in 17th and 18th century France and Italy, the de Lorme plague doctor outfit has evolved into a broader symbol of deadly disease outbreaks, almost a grim reaper figure specifically for pandemics. This is likely due to the mask’s unsettling, dehumanizing effect and the association of the wearer with severe illness and mortality. As Paranque explains, “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.” This enduring, somewhat unsettling image is what Squishable tapped into when they created their plague doctor plush.
Despite the costume’s grim associations, the “Mysterious Doctor Plague” plush evokes a desire to cuddle, a reaction echoed across social media. My own hesitation initially centered on whether Squishable, a US-based company, was capitalizing on the COVID-19 pandemic. However, their website revealed the plush was originally conceived for Halloween 2020, predating the pandemic’s full global impact. Speaking with Squishable cofounder Zoe Fraade-Blanar revealed the unexpected significance of this fluffy plague doctor for the company.
Squishable, launched in 2007, built a dedicated online following with its whimsical plush toys. Customer suggestions fueled new designs through contests, with fan-created designs now constituting about a quarter of their inventory. From a plush Cthulhu to a smiling avocado toast, their range is delightfully quirky. Squishable typically releases limited-edition runs of several hundred designs annually, restocking popular items. The Mysterious Doctor Plague has proven exceptionally popular, requiring multiple restocks and becoming a surprising bestseller.
The “Mysterious Doctor Plague” plush toy, showcasing its cuddly design.
Interestingly, the plague doctor plush wasn’t fan-sourced but originated from Squishable’s in-house illustration team. Designed in fall 2019 for a Halloween 2020 release, it was temporarily forgotten until prototypes arrived unexpectedly early during the first COVID-19 wave. Initially concerned about the toy’s appropriateness given the global crisis, Squishable turned to social media for feedback. The overwhelmingly positive response was immediate, with pre-order launch traffic crashing their website. By year-end, Mysterious Doctor Plague products accounted for 32 percent of Squishable’s web sales, contributing to a 200 percent overall sales increase from the previous year.
Fraade-Blanar attributes the plush’s popularity to “dark humour.” Based in New York City, an early epicenter of COVID-19 in the US, Squishable staff experienced the pandemic’s anxieties firsthand. “There were sirens every night. I had friends and coworkers who got sick. 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.” This “dark humor” angle resonates with a wider cultural trend of using humor to cope with difficult situations, particularly during times of crisis.
The plague doctor plush isn’t alone in this category of illness-related toys gaining traction during the pandemic. GiantMicrobes, specializing in cute, plush versions of microbes and medical phenomena, released a COVID-19 virus plush. Customer reviews on their website reveal buyers include healthcare workers, those gifting to virus survivors, and microbe enthusiasts, with many expressing comfort in seeing the virus rendered harmless and huggable. This reflects a broader desire to gain a sense of control or levity in the face of overwhelming and often frightening health concerns.
Susan Cadell, a grief literacy expert and social work professor at the University of Waterloo’s Renison University College, supports the idea that the plague doctor plush’s appeal connects to managing our fear of death. The historical distance of the plague doctor image, combined with its current relevance in a pandemic context, may aid in processing complex emotions. “Talking about death and grief is so taboo,” Cadell notes. “There are obviously more of these conversations happening during the pandemic, and I’m curious if things like [the Mysterious Doctor Plague] 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.” The plush can serve as a tangible representation of historical pandemics, reminding us of human resilience and medical progress.
From a broader cultural perspective, the plague doctor plush aligns with the kimo-kawaii trend from Japan, translating to “creepy-cute” or “gross-cute.” This aesthetic subverts traditional cuteness, blending unsettling or dark imagery with adorable elements. Patrick St-Michel, writing for The Atlantic in 2014, describes kimo-kawaii as “offer[ing] an alternative to the traditionally child-like definition of ‘cute.’” Squishable’s toys, including the plague doctor plush, fit within this framework, challenging conventional notions of what is considered appealing and desirable.
The push-pull dynamic of something frightening made cute is undeniably captivating. It blurs the lines between attraction and repulsion, like and dislike. For me, the Mysterious Doctor Plague plush highlighted this internal conflict, revealing unexpected facets of my own preferences. Ultimately, the plague doctor plush serves as a reminder of history’s cyclical nature. Pandemics, however devastating, do eventually end. The symbols of past horrors can, with time and distance, even become sources of comfort. This plush toy is a testament to the idea that even the grotesque can possess a certain sweetness, offering a quirky companion through challenging times. And, undeniably, it is remarkably soft and huggable.
