Oh, Baby!

While listening to the latest news about psychotic people paying ginormous amounts of money for the X-Box 360 this holiday season, I found myself snickering at the memories of a similar “must-have” craze that I succumbed to: the never-ending Quest for Beanie Babies. It’s true, there aren’t many similarities between the self-proclaimed King of Video Game Systems and the mini bean-filled plush creatures, but there is one undisputed common denominator, and that is that in the height of the craze each had a limited supply and a HUGE demand.

For me, it all started innocently enough. Actually, my brother inadvertently started the ball rolling by getting Lexie a little white stuffed seal. This was back in 1995 when few people had even heard of the Ty Corporation, let alone Beanie Babies. Since Lexie was just a baby, like a good mom I tore off all the tags (gasp!) and let her chew on it and drool on it and gurgle happily.

One day my mom asked, “Isn’t that a Beanie Baby?” I said I had no idea. We took the wet lump of fur out of my daughter’s chubby little hands and examined it. “Yeah, I guess it is,” I replied, after checking what I soon learned was known as the “tush-tag.” “Oh, those are so CUTE!” my mom exclaimed. “All the ladies at work are talking about them. They have them in the hospital gift shop. I think I’m going to buy some more.”

And so it began. Over the course of the next two years, my mother and I became beanie fanatics. It started very slowly, with her or I picking up the random “cute” beanie here and there. I actually even bought a spider beanie for the guy I was dating at the time (he was kind of a spider freak) (I was going to say “he was a spider man” but that made me giggle). We had teddies, and dinosaurs, and dogs, and cats, and butterflies, and bees, and birds, and bulls… the list was endless. Initially, we had no idea WHY we kept buying them, it was like a sickness. Until we found out that people were paying BIG MONEY for certain beanies.

It was early 1997 when this astounding fact was brought to our attention. The newspapers were LOADED with dealers willing to pay “TOP DOLLAR” for beanies. Skeptically, I contacted one of the dealers and asked him what he was paying for beanies. “Whattdya got?” he snarled over the phone. I started rattling off some of the older creatures, and I could tell he was hooked. “Come out to my shop at (whatever the address was). I’ll be there tomorrow night until 8:00. Bring the beanies, and we’ll talk.”

I felt like I was part of some covert operation, and I informed my mom that we had an appointment to meet with a beanie buyer. “Is this legal?” she asked me with worry tingeing her voice. I rolled my eyes. “Mom, they’re STUFFED ANIMALS, for God’s sake.” “Well, I know, but I mean, we only paid like $5 apiece for them, isn’t this like scalping?” The dollar signs were already dancing in my head and I scoffed at her fears. “You can’t scalp stuffed animals. Only tickets. Anyway, just think – even if he pays like $20 each, we’re making four times our money!”

Eventually, she was just as excited as I was. We carefully put Chops the Lamb, Bumble the Bee, Flutter the Butterfly, Steg the Stegosaurus, and Tabasco the Bull into a large shopping bag and set off to find our Destiny. When we arrived at the store, the proprietor greeted us with a serious expression. Then he took out a board covered in black velvet and told us to “put the goods on there.”

One by one, I placed the beanies on the board. I tried to watch his expression, but he kept it blank. His eyes narrowed as he picked up first one, then the next, and on down the line as my mom and I nervously waited. Finally, he spoke. “Well, this here Tabasco has no hang-tag,” he began, “so I can’t even use him. But the rest seem to be in pretty good condition. Of course, the bee has a small wrinkle in the hang-tag, but I’d be willing to take it anyway. So I’d be willing to take those four off your hands for you.”

I waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, I asked, “Ok, but for how much?” He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, like I said, with the bend in the one tag, I could probably give you only (drum roll, please) $500 for the four of them.”

My first instinct was to check my mom and make sure she hadn’t fainted. After that, I quickly said, “DEAL!” and took the cash and ran. In hindsight, I realize I jumped too quickly, but $500 for four stupid stuffed animals we paid a total of $20 for? Who WOULDN’T take it?

On the ride home, we gloated and laughed and talked about how we would pay Lexie’s college tuition with Beanie Babies. In the months that followed, we became even more sucked in. We bought the Beanie Baby magazines to check market value (turns out we could’ve held out for way more on the four that we sold, but live and learn). In one magazine, I found out that the spider I had given to my now-ex-boyfriend was selling for a cool $1200. When I called him up and casually asked, “Hey, remember that spider I gave you for Valentine’s Day?” I learned a valuable lesson – NEVER give a guy anything cutesy that you think he’d like. He’s a guy, and he won’t like it. He’ll pretend he does, and then do what this guy did with the now priceless stuffed spider – lose it. “WHAT????” I yelled. He couldn’t understand why I was so upset, after all, it was only a stuffed spider. Since I had no intention of telling him I had inadvertently given him a $1200 gift, I lied and said Lexie missed it and wanted it back, and if he ever found it… “Yeah, ok.” Of course, he never did.

We bought every new beanie that came out, and put all the older ones in ziploc bags to protect their quality. Lexie wasn’t allowed to play with ANY beanies anymore. The seal she had gotten from Uncle Bob? $800. But since I cut off the tags and she chewed on it for a few months, it was now essentially worthless. My mother and I became lunatics when it came to beanies. I’d call her from my cell while on my way to work downtown and inform her “My guy says they’re getting a new shipment in today. They’re charging $7.50 apiece and only giving one style per customer, but I say we do it.”

We called my aunts in California and asked them to find the styles we couldn’t. Had I been blogging back then, I probably would’ve been begging all of YOU to find me unattainable beanies as well. It was a horrible, horrible disease.

We staked out Beanie Conventions with our shopping bag full of rare Beanies. Other addicts would follow us nonchalantly, finally sidling up to us and mumbling, “What’s in the bag?” This would then lead up to knowing smiles and careful bag openings. “I’ve got a Righty the Donkey here, see? And he’s mint. I can do you for $250.”

“No way, he’s not worth more than $100!”

“That guy over there? He just offered me $300, but I like you better. $275.”

“$275? You just said $250!”

“Changed my mind. Take it or leave it.”

With the defeated look of the addict who can’t help herself, the buyer reached into her large pocketbook and adjusted her bifocals before counting out the money. She adjusted her grey wig and took the prized donkey, but not without muttering “Thief” as she hobbled away on her cane. My mother and I loved every minute of it.

Then one day it happened. We were still buying, but no one else was. The conventions started dwindling, and the magazines were no longer in print. Ebay was getting no bids higher than $2 for ANY style beanie. And we knew it was over.

Did we get rich off beanies? Hell, no. Sure we made a killing selling SOME of them, but we probably spent most of the proceeds buying more. And more. And more. As it stands now, my mom has about four huge tupperware containers FULL of the horrid beasts. And Lexie still has a couple Hefty bags full as well. Sometimes when I am feeling extra nostalgic, I will find a beanie and tell Lexie about Mom and Grandma’s adventures. But not that often, because now I feel pretty stupid.

But boy, if they ever make a comeback, I’ll be ready!!