Every betch knows that anyone who was anyone collected Beanie Babies when they were younger. You may ask why we gave a shit about these random not-quite-stuffed animals that did nothing but take up so much space you had to ask your parents for a second walk-in closet, and the answer is honestly we don't fucking know. It was just like one day someone said you had to collect them and voila, the next day you knew the names and species of 100 stuffed pieces of crap.
At the height of the Beanie craze the only thing more upsetting in your life than having the red Ty tag fall off your bear (See dad! THIS is why I need the plastic tag protectors!!) was the fact that it wasn't physically possible to bring your entire collection with you to school every day. But how will I ever be able to trade for the tie-dye bear if people don't see their options?! Our parents maybe thought this was ridiculous, but we assured them that the return on their Beanie Baby investments would soon make us independently wealthy and then we would never have to ask for anything again.
Just like betches in elementary school, Beanie Babies had their own hierarchy and your third grade coolness was directly correlated to how many Beanie Babies you owned, and whether or not you had the special ones (the Princess Diana, the tie-dye bear, the white Valentino one, the purple one, the random platypus…). You knew which ones were special because it said so in your very own Beanie Baby Handbook.
So here's to your completely meaningless Beanie Baby collection. Sure they do nothing for your life now, but at least you will always have a large pile of neglected bean-stuffed bears to assure you that you were cool in third grade and your parents were happy to waste their money on worthless shit for the sake of your reputation. Betchy as fuck.