Buzz
Consider the lifespan of traditional toys. Icons like Barbies, G.I. Joes, Hula Hoops, and Teddy Ruxpins have entertained children for hours on end, but eventually, the excitement fades, and kids seek new experiences. But what if there was a toy that required a child’s undivided attention, day in and day out? What if they were so devoted to this toy that being separated from it became unbearable? Even the slightest beep would halt everything they were doing, like a Pavlovian reaction to a digital pet? And what if this toy was so addictive that when it stopped working, the child burst into tears?
If you’re a parent, that would present quite a challenge. But if you’re a toy manufacturer, you’ve just ensured a lifetime of profits. Enter Tamagotchi—small, egg-shaped gadgets with a screen barely larger than a postage stamp. These devices captivated millions by letting kids manage the lives of blob-like creatures in a virtual environment. By feeding them, playing with them, and tending to their needs, kids could nurture them into thriving beings. But neglect them—forgetting to clean up their digital mess—and they would perish. Who invented this stark, portable lesson in life and death, anyway?
Pet Sounds
To truly grasp the charm of Tamagotchi, you must turn back the clock to 1997. The iPhone was still a decade away, personal computers were not ubiquitous, and artificial intelligence hadn’t yet entered our daily routines.
This is where Akihiro Yokoi and Aki Maita step into the story. Yokoi was the president of WiZ Company, a Japanese toy design firm that created products to license or sell to major toy manufacturers. Maita, on the other hand, worked in the sales and marketing division of Bandai, a well-known Japanese toy company that had already found success with their Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers franchise.
The origins of Tamagotchi’s concept are a bit murky, with some conflicting accounts of who exactly came up with the idea—Yokoi or Maita. The most widely accepted version suggests the spark came from a television commercial about a boy who wanted to take his pet turtle on a trip, but his mother wouldn’t let him. This prompted the duo to explore the concept of a portable pet.
It certainly helped that Yokoi was an animal enthusiast. Throughout his life, he had cared for various animals, including dogs, cats, a parrot, beetles, a chameleon, owls, and yes, a turtle. He was also responsible for coming up with new handheld games.
Yokoi envisioned a digital pet displayed on a small screen attached to a wristwatch. In Japan, aquarium software where users could care for digital fish was gaining popularity among PC users. Additionally, handheld devices that let people look after virtual dogs and cats existed. But these were mostly light-hearted distractions, which is what Yokoi aimed to change. As a pet lover, Yokoi knew that pets require real care—attention, food, health monitoring, and guidance. He once remarked that pets were cute only about 20 to 30 percent of the time; the rest of the time, they were a lot of work.
Yokoi’s main focus was the responsibility of pet ownership. He envisioned that anyone who bought his digital pet would have to tend to it in real time. The creature would sleep at night and beep when it was hungry during the day. It would require discipline if it misbehaved and medicine if it fell ill. If neglected, the pet would meet the ultimate fate: death, turning into a ghost and hovering over a tombstone. Yokoi believed that without this consequence, an owner couldn’t truly experience the full weight of responsibility.
Yokoi named the invention Tamagotchi. The word Tamago means egg in Japanese, while -tchi is derived from either the English word watch or its Japanese counterpart, uotchi. Initially, Yokoi envisioned setting Tamagotchi on a wrist device, but he and Maita ultimately opted for an egg-shaped keychain case with three buttons, making it portable. After all, if kids were going to care for their Tamagotchi, they’d need to take it everywhere.
Tortoise Power
Although Tamagotchi was the first major handheld device to feature a life-or-death pet simulation, the idea of a dependent with artificial intelligence dates back to the late 1940s. British neurophysiologist William Grey Walter created Elmer and Elsie, two small motorized devices used to explore the concept of autonomous robots. Each had two sensors, designed to react to light and touch, allowing them to navigate spaces. They even had a designated kennel for recharging. Walter affectionately dubbed them tortoises. These devices are often regarded as among the first robots with a genuine scientific purpose, in this case, demonstrating how robots could mimic the human nervous system.
Yokoi and Maita were also influenced by Petz, a series of personal computer games developed by PF Magic in 1995. In Petz, players could interact with a dog or cat that ran and played on the user’s desktop. But unlike Tamagotchi, Petz couldn’t travel with its owners, nor did it face the eventual fate of crossing the rainbow bridge. Both Petz and Walter’s tortoises were early attempts at virtual caregiving, but Tamagotchi pushed the concept to new heights.
It’s unclear whether Yokoi and Maita were familiar with William Grey Walter or Petz, but they were certain Tamagotchi would become a massive hit. Maita had done thorough market research on their target audience—junior high school girls—who adored the name Tamagotchi and the design of the pet itself. The creature started as a vague blob of tissue from the planet Tamagotchi and gradually evolved into something cherished by teenage girls in Japan, embodying the concept of kawaii, or cuteness. But it only became truly lovable if it was played with and cared for. If neglected, it could turn into a virtual troublemaker, misbehaving, or worse—dying.
Tamagotchi was launched in Japan in November 1996 and quickly became a sensation. Within less than a year, 10 million units were sold. Parents camped outside toy stores waiting for stock to arrive. Scammers peddled fake coupons to desperate buyers claiming they could be exchanged for Tamagotchis. Bandai had to increase production to 3 million units per month just to keep up with demand. When they offered a free Tamagotchi to anyone with at least 1000 shares of Bandai stock, the value of each share jumped by 60 yen—about 60 cents in today’s money—and saw four times the usual trading volume. Across Japan, millions of kids—and even teenagers—tended to their Tamagotchis, responding to its beeps and hoping to nurture it into a unique creature.
Adults weren’t immune to the Tamagotchi craze either. Japanese businessmen who became absorbed in their Tamagotchis were known to cancel meetings to ensure they had enough time to care for their virtual pets. In Tokorozawa, a Tokyo suburb, a driver caused an accident when his Tamagotchi started crying for attention.
Bandai knew that millions of eager children awaited Tamagotchi in the United States. In May 1997, they brought it to American audiences. F.A.O. Schwartz sold 30,000 units—priced between $15 and $18—in the first three days. QVC sold 6000 Tamagotchis in just five minutes. On the black market, they were fetching hundreds of dollars. Toys ‘R Us predicted virtual pets would be the hottest toy of the year. By mid-June, over million Tamagotchis had been sold in the U.S. Some even saw Tamagotchis as a way to teach kids responsibility before getting a real pet.
The problem? Kids were investing a little too much of their responsibility in their digital pets.
Grave Matters
Tamagotchi was a virtual pet that demanded attention constantly. While it rested at night, during the day it required constant care and attention. Neglecting its cries for even a few hours could lead to its demise.
The first version of Tamagotchi released in the United States didn’t have a pause button. This meant that kids desperate to keep their pets alive had no choice but to bring them to school. Teachers soon became frustrated with students checking their devices every few seconds. At Greenville Elementary in New York, third-graders were even caught pausing their timed standardized tests to tend to their Tamagotchis.
When students were told they could no longer bring them to school, many turned to their parents to care for their virtual pets during the day. But eventually, someone would forget to feed or clean up after the little creature. Or, the Tamagotchi might simply die of old age—which, in some cases, could occur in less than a month, though the Japanese models could sometimes live up to three months. And when that happened, the beeping would stop.
One thing Bandai didn’t import to America was the image of a dearly departed Tamagotchi as a ghost floating above its grave. Instead, a neglected Tamagotchi would sprout wings and, according to the product packaging, fly back to its home planet, millions of miles away.
That’s true, but those wings were often perceived as angelic. No matter where the Tamagotchi went, it was gone for good. Pressing the reset button could begin a new life cycle for a different creature, but the old one would never return. This left some kids distraught. Parents reported children grieving the loss of their digital companion. School nurses were even called upon to comfort kids whose Tamagotchis had expired. The same kids who had developed nurturing skills by caring for their pet had also formed a strong emotional attachment to it. When it passed away, they felt a profound sense of loss.
In response to backlash from parents and child psychologists, Bandai eventually added a pause button to reduce distractions. More notably, in 1998, online cemeteries—and in some cases even real-life burial grounds for the physical devices—became popular. While this may have provided some solace for the grieving, it remained difficult for kids to accept the reality of a toy with such a short lifespan. Imagine owning a Barbie and then receiving a message that she had died because you didn’t play with her enough. The whole concept was kind of disturbing.
Low Battery
So, what do you do after you've introduced children to the ideas of death and neglect? You teach them about reproduction. In 1997, Bandai released gender-specific Tamagotchis in Japan. The Osutchi (male) and Mesutchi (female) came as separate units that could be paired together to mate. The devices would emit a sound to indicate the mating, and then the female Tamagotchi would give birth. Each of the two Tamagotchi owners would care for one of the offspring, providing a sort of early lesson in joint custody.
As with most toy crazes, Tamagotchi saw a spike in popularity before being overshadowed by the next big thing. In this case, it was Furby, the talking robotic creature that could “learn” English and speak Furbish to other Furbys. And best of all, parents didn’t have to worry about Furbys suddenly dropping dead... at least not during regular play.
Tamagotchi remained a beloved staple in Japan, with Bandai eventually selling over 82 million units globally. Today, Tamagotchi enthusiasts convene online on platforms like TamaTalk, where they organize virtual memorials or compose obituaries for their lost pets. Bandai has continued to innovate with updates, including one in 2019 that let owners check their pets into a virtual hotel, and another in July 2020 featuring a color screen, mobile app connectivity, and new features like travel, marriage, and even raising offspring. There have also been imitations, such as the Giga Pet by Tiger Electronics and Digimon, which was also released by Bandai and included pet battles.
So why did Tamagotchi capture the imagination of millions of kids? Akihiro Yokoi and Aki Maita were right. Children wanted to experience responsibility, even through something as simple as a handheld virtual pet. Unlike most video games, pressing the reset button didn’t revive the pet they had grown attached to, and in a strange way, that might have made the experience all the more compelling.
In a 2019 article for Digital Trends, Luke Dormehl suggested that Tamagotchi and similar devices were ahead of their time, preparing us for a future where we would constantly carry devices that beeped for our attention, rewarding us for engagement day and night, every day of the week. Sound familiar?
This story has been adapted from an episode of Throwback on YouTube.
