If they aren’t sitting unabashedly on your bed, then chances are they’re squirreled away in a dark closet—somewhere where light and heat cannot blanch their tender flesh.

They are the ubiquitous confidantes of children everywhere: they hold within them countless secrets, witness everyday transgressions and yet never utter a word. They are the sponges of a million tears, provide unyielding succor and serve dutifully as loyal companions as we battle invisible enemies from living-room forts made of blankets and sofa cushions, or real demons that come in the shape of loud voices emanating from our parents’ bedroom, or, as it was in my case, sometimes accompanied by dishes shattering and even chairs colliding with an old, wooden piano. These unsung heroes are stuffed animals, and they, as light as they are, are worth their weight in gold.

Wilco knows what’s good: Two stuffed friends sit on an amp while the band plays McCarren Park in Brooklyn last August.

My close friends know that I have a menagerie of stuffed friends littered around my room—and yes, sitting quietly on a shelf in my closet: Monroe, Eldin and Lenny, the lobster brothers; a sock monkey dressed in a “Punk’s Not Dead” t-shirt; and Engelbert, who also goes by the moniker ”The Holy Hammerhead,” as well as countless others. As an adult, I have been loathe to relinquish their presence in my life. I’m certain my friends think I’m crazy, perhaps chalking up this eccentrism as a regressive expression, some sort of Freudian longing for a childhood now gone. I can’t argue against these explanations. In my defense, it’s not exactly like I bring them out to parties and tote them around as they “mingle” with party-goers, querying them in a high-pitched voice:

“Hi, I’m Englebert, also known as the Holy Hammerhead. Where can a guy get a decent shrimp cocktail around here? By the way, nice shoes!” (Furry fins flail about in wild gesticulation.)

What I can say is that stuffed animals have played–and continue to play–a fairly significant role in my adult life, however more subtle and in the shadows than they did when I was a child.

First, stuffed animals can be an invaluable tool for the ladies—a great way to gauge whether a guy is worth his mettle. My time-tested, thread-bare teddy bear, Bobby, often sat atop my bed, wearing a knitted bee sweater, his eyes cracked and dulled partly by time, and partly as a result of my older sister slapping him against the hallway wall as I danced around her in tears. Whenever I brought guys home, all I had to do was see how my male suitor would react to Bobby. If the guy picked him up, made fun of Bobby, it was pretty much a sure thing that the guy would eventually prove to be a total ass. One guy actually threw Bobby across the room—and I never saw him again.

In a relationship, stuffed animals are also worth their stuffing. Many times they have “intervened” in an argument, pulling together the sparring factions and even nudging a smile or two. You’d be surprised at how men—suit-wearing, briefcase-toting professionals by day—can deftly make use of a fuzzy unicorn to call a truce or make amends: “(Boyfriend’s name here) says he’s sawwwwy! He wuvs you so bewy bewy much!” (Boyfriend waves stuffed unicorn’s front legs, making a “heart shape” in the air.) Who can’t eek out a smile for that? C’mon!

Not everyone empathisizes with my stuffed love. Some friends nod in a “you’re off your rocker, but I love you anyway” sort-of way. Others just ignore them, and that’s fine with me. And then there’s my friend Drew–one of my dearest buddies from NYU and a fellow blogger. We wre chatting last week about my love of stuffed animals. Our conversation went something like this:

Clare: Do you have a favorite stuffed animal?
Drew: Do I have a favorite what?
Clare: Stuffed animal?
Drew: Oh, no.  I fucked all of mine. I tore a hole between it’s legs and humped the stuffing out of it. Yeah, I think it was a bear. And it might have been male, so I very well might be gay
Clare: Great, can i put that in my blog?

Although he did make out with my twin sister once, Drew will never be allowed near my stuffed friends.