The Real Villain in Toy Story 5 Isn't a Tablet. It's What We May Be Losing.
- Josephine Hunt
- Jul 10
- 5 min read
Updated: 2 days ago
I Thought I Was Attending a Webinar About Toy Story 5.
I Left Thinking About the Future of Childhood.
Yesterday afternoon, I logged into what I anticipated would be a discussion about Pixar's newest movie, Toy Story 5. Hosted by The Anxious Generation Movement at NYU Stern School of Business in partnership with The TAG Movement, the conversation featured Dr. Suskind, pediatric surgeon, Ms. Arnold, CEO of The TAG Movement, and Ms. Knox, Director of Online Safety Campaigns at ParentsTogether.
I expected to hear a movie review.
Instead, I experienced something much bigger.
I left thinking about our children.
About resilience.
About artificial intelligence.
About what it truly means to raise humans in a world increasingly designed by machines.
For nearly thirty years, Toy Story has reflected childhood. We've watched Woody, Buzz, Jessie, and their friends help children navigate growing up, friendship, imagination, loss, and change. But this newest installment introduces a very different villain.
Not another toy.
Not a bully.
Not a traditional antagonist.
The story's central challenge is a sleek, glowing tablet called the Lily Pad.
As I listened to the discussion, I realized the Lily Pad wasn't simply another character. It represented the digital tether that has quietly entered so many of our homes.
Andrew Stanton, the visionary director behind WALL·E, also directed Toy Story 5, and the parallels are impossible to ignore. Just as WALL·E warned us about environmental decline and physical inactivity, Toy Story 5 warns us about something equally concerning, the gradual erosion of our humanity.
The film beautifully, and honestly, illustrates this through Bonnie.
Bonnie isn't simply playing with technology.
Bonnie is slowly being pulled away from imagination.
We notice the bags under her eyes.
Bonnie’s blank stare.
Bonnie’s diminished curiosity.
Through Jessie's perspective, having witnessed childhood across generations, we realize this isn't just another toy entering a child's life.
It's a fundamental disruption of the human experience.
One idea from the discussion particularly resonated with me.
Ms. Arnold described what parents are experiencing as the "collective action trap."
Parents aren't giving children devices because they necessarily believe it's best.
Parents are giving children devices because they don't want their child to be the only one left out.
That hit me.
As both an educator and a mother of three daughters, I understand that pressure.
Parents aren't making these decisions from neglect.
They're making them from love.
From fear.
From wanting their children to belong.
Ms. Arnold said something that captured it perfectly.
"My heart breaks for these parents and for all of these kids."
Mine does too.💔
Then Dr. Suskind explained something that completely reframed the conversation.
"Dopamine isn't the pleasure chemical."
"It's the seeking chemical."
That distinction matters.
Technology isn't simply making children happy.
Technology is training the child’s brain to constantly seek the next reward.
The next swipe.
The next notification.
The next surprise.
The next hit of novelty.
Even more concerning, children's prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain responsible for impulse control and decision making, is still developing for many years.
In other words, we are placing incredibly powerful technology into the hands of children whose brains simply are not yet equipped to regulate it.
When a child melts down after a device is removed, perhaps we should stop asking, "What's wrong with this child?"
Instead we should ask, "What is this technology intentionally designed to do?"
Boredom is not the enemy.
Boredom is the birthplace of imagination.
How often do we hear children say, "I'm bored," and we immediately rush to solve the problem?
Yet boredom is exactly where creativity begins.
Boredom is where children invent games.
Build forts.
Create imaginary worlds.
Solve problems.
Negotiate with siblings.
Discover who they are.
Dr. Suskind reminded us that the human brain develops through something called serve and return, the continual back-and-forth interaction between people. Those ordinary conversations, shared laughter, disagreements, questions, eye contact, and moments of connection literally build children's brains.
She also shared what may become one of my favorite parenting principles.
The best toys are 90% child and 10% toy.
Think about blocks.
Legos.
Art supplies.
Dress-up clothes.
Cardboard boxes.
Nature.
The child supplies almost all of the imagination.
The Lily Pad, on the other hand, is nearly 100% toy.
It tells the story.
Creates the excitement.
Provides the stimulation.
The child simply consumes.
That distinction couldn't be more important.
The conversation then shifted toward artificial intelligence, and I found myself thinking about the work I've dedicated my own career to.
We're constantly talking about AI literacy.
How soon should children learn AI?
How can schools prepare students?
How do we integrate technology into education?
But perhaps we're asking the wrong questions.
Dr. Suskind introduced a concept that deeply aligns with what I practice.
Developmental AI Literacy.
Before children learn how to use artificial intelligence, they must first develop the human abilities AI can never replace.
Original thinking.
Empathy.
Reading facial expressions.
Navigating conflict.
Executive functioning.
Creativity.
Communication.
Resilience.
These aren't simply soft skills anymore.
They are becoming our children's greatest competitive advantage.
Perhaps the most unsettling part of the conversation came when the conversation turned to AI companions.
Dr. Suskind compared them to ultra-processed foods.
Artificial substitutes.
Easy.
Convenient.
Pleasurable.
But ultimately lacking the nutrients children truly need.
AI companions never disagree.
Never misunderstand.
Never require compromise.
They're frictionless.
They're sycophantic.
They always tell children what they want to hear.
Real friendships don't work that way.
Real relationships involve misunderstandings.
Conflict.
Repair.
Forgiveness.
Growth.
Those uncomfortable moments are not obstacles to healthy development.
They are the very experiences that create emotionally healthy adults.
As someone who has spent years teaching resilience, I couldn't help thinking about one simple truth.
Resilience has never been built through comfort.
Resilience grows through manageable struggle.
Through boredom.
Through disappointment.
Through waiting.
Through problem-solving.
Through repairing relationships.
Through being deeply, imperfectly human.
The most hopeful part of the webinar was realizing that change is already happening.
More than forty states have adopted phone-free school policies.
Families are beginning to realize they aren't alone.
Parents are rediscovering that childhood doesn't need to revolve around screens.
One small decision at a time, the collective action trap is beginning to reverse itself.
As the webinar came to a close, I found myself thinking that Toy Story 5 isn't really about technology.
It's about choice.
Will we allow technology to replace childhood?
Or will we intentionally protect the experiences that make children fully human?
The future isn't simply about raising children who know how to use AI.
It's about raising children whom AI can never replace.
That means protecting boredom.
Protecting play.
Protecting imagination.
Protecting face-to-face conversation.
Protecting healthy struggle.
Protecting authentic friendships.
Protecting childhood itself.
Perhaps that's the real story Toy Story 5 is inviting us to tell. And perhaps that story begins, not in a movie theater, but around our own kitchen tables, backyards, classrooms, and living rooms, one conversation, one game, one book, and one screen-free moment at a time.
And perhaps that's the greatest lesson Toy Story 5 has to offer us all.
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