By Nicole Powell, MSW
Research Translation & Program Development Manager
I walked into Toy Story 5 expecting another story about toys competing with technology: the familiar narrative that screens threaten childhood and the solution is simply less technology.
At first, Lilypad (Lily), Bonnie’s new tablet, feels like a villain. When she arrives, Bonnie’s attention shifts, and suddenly it feels as though she’s replacing everything the toys have represented in Bonnie’s life. But as the story unfolds, that interpretation becomes harder to hold. Lily isn’t malicious. She’s doing exactly what she was designed to do.
Watching this unfold reinforced many of the conversations we have at the Digital Wellness Lab. As our research on problematic media use has evolved, we’ve moved beyond asking how much technology children use. We’re more interested in whether digital media is beginning to displace the relationships, routines, sleep, play, or responsibilities that support healthy development.
Viewed through that lens, the film becomes a story about developmental fit. The concern isn’t that Bonnie enjoys Lily. It’s what happens when one form of engagement begins crowding out imaginative play, family interactions, time outdoors, boredom, or opportunities to build confidence, solve problems, and discover who you are.
That’s when I realized I wasn’t really watching a story about “good versus bad” technology anymore. I was watching a story about childhood, and how the experiences that shape development are changing.
The toys represent developmental needs
What surprised me most was that by the end of the movie, the toys felt like developmental metaphors.
Jessie embodies attachment and the fear of being left behind. Woody represents consistency, trust, and showing up. Buzz reflects competence and confidence. Forky continues his search for identity and purpose.
Together, they remind us that toys have never been valuable only as objects. Developmental research has long shown that play is one of the primary ways children build social-emotional skills, creativity, self-regulation, and a sense of self (Yogman et al., 2018).
Lily becomes such an interesting character because she brings many developmental functions together within a single device—she is an ecosystem capable of entertaining, teaching, connecting, comforting, and occupying Bonnie’s attention all at once.
Watching Lily, I found myself wondering what roles she was beginning to serve in Bonnie’s life. It’s the same question that’s been shaping my own work: what developmental need is this technology responding to?
Childhood is happening in new places
The movie captures the idea that Bonnie’s childhood isn’t disappearing, it’s just that more of it is happening somewhere new. She is still playing, learning, connecting, and exploring. But many of those experiences are happening in a different place than they once did.At the Digital Wellness Lab, we’ve come to think about digital environments not as technologies, but as places. Physical play invites movement, negotiation, sensory experiences, unpredictability, and storytelling. Digital environments offer personalization, instant feedback, connection, and endless novelty. Neither environment is inherently better. But they afford different kinds of developmental experiences, and different developmental tradeoffs, and understanding those differences matters more than ranking them.
Who directs and shapes a child’s play is changing
Play never disappears in Toy Story 5. What changes is who, or in this case, what is shaping it.
Traditional play asks children to imagine the next chapter. Many digital environments anticipate what children might enjoy and generate the next experience for them. That distinction matters because it shapes agency.
It also reflects a different philosophy of design. Toys are generally designed to invite imagination and open-ended play. Many digital products are intentionally designed to be personalized, responsive, and engaging. Those qualities are what can make technology useful and enjoyable. But they also shape how children spend their time, where their attention goes, and how they move from one experience to the next.
At the Digital Wellness Lab, one question we continue to explore is: What kinds of experiences is the technology designed to encourage? Was it built to foster creativity? Learning? Connection? Or to maximize attention and continued engagement? Those design choices become part of the environments in which children grow and develop.
The movie leaves us wondering whether children are primarily creating experiences or consuming ones that have been carefully designed for them. As technologies become more personalized and adaptive, preserving opportunities for children to imagine, create, and author their own experiences may become one of the most important challenges, and opportunities, of growing up in a digital world.
No single factor explains a child’s experience
It’s tempting to look for a single explanation whenever we’re talking about children and technology. Was it the tablet? The parents? Bonnie herself?
The film resists that kind of thinking. Bonnie’s experiences aren’t determined solely by her personality, her parents, her friends, or her tablet. They’re shaped by all of these interacting together.
Developmental psychologist Urie Bronfenbrenner argued that children develop within interconnected systems from family and peers to schools, communities, culture, and the broader environments around them (Bronfenbrenner, 1979). Looking through that lens, Toy Story 5 becomes much more than a story about screens. It becomes a story about the world children are growing up in today. Rather than asking us to blame technology or blame parents, the film reminds us that children’s digital lives emerge from many systems at once: relationships, communities, technologies, and social expectations.
Good digital parenting is about relationships, not rules
Too often, conversations about children’s technology portray parents as either too permissive or not restrictive enough. Though subtle, Toy Story 5 offers something much more compassionate.
From the moment Bonnie receives Lily, it’s clear her parents are trying to be intentional. They explain that there will be expectations around when and how she can use the tablet while also giving her the space to explore it on her own that first day. At the same time, the film doesn’t portray them as perfect digital parents. Bonnie’s dad is frequently absorbed in his phone, and they introduce Lily hoping it will help their shy daughter connect with other children. That complexity felt honest to me. Like many parents, they’re navigating the same uncertainties and tradeoffs as the rest of us.
What I appreciated wasn’t that Bonnie’s parents always got it right. It was what they did once they realized something had changed. Rather than immediately blaming the tablet or reacting out of fear, they turned their attention to Bonnie. They noticed a change in her behavior, started a conversation, and tried to understand what she was experiencing. In doing so, the film models something I think we don’t see enough of: intervention that begins with curiosity rather than conclusions. At the Digital Wellness Lab, we emphasize that effective parent mediation isn’t just about monitoring devices or enforcing rules. It’s about maintaining the kind of relationship where your child feels comfortable talking about what’s happening in their digital lives.
Technology often becomes the place where developmental challenges show up, but that doesn’t necessarily make it the cause. In Bonnie’s case, the tablet became the place where a social challenge unfolded, and ultimately the window that helped her parents recognize what she needed. That’s what stayed with me most. The movie doesn’t ask us to see Bonnie’s parents as perfect. It shows that even imperfect parents can model something incredibly valuable: noticing when a child is struggling, staying curious, and responding to the child before reacting to the technology.
Good digital parenting isn’t about getting every decision right. It’s about building the kind of relationship that helps you recognize when your child needs you—and responding with conversation, support and, when needed, thoughtful boundaries.
Nostalgia can get in the way of the present
Jessie and the other toys spend much of the movie trying to save Bonnie from Lily. By the end, they recognize that they were really trying to preserve the version of childhood they understood.
Watching the toys, I realized many of us are doing something similar. It’s easy to compare today’s childhood with our memories of riding bikes until dark, building forts, or spending afternoons outdoors.
But nostalgia can sometimes keep us focused on recreating the past instead of understanding the present. The film doesn’t push us to choose between “then” and “now.”
As childhood changes, what developmental experiences are too important to lose?
To me, that’s the question Toy Story 5 leaves us with, and it’s one that’s increasingly shaping our work. Rather than debating whether AI is good, TikTok is bad, or screens are harmful, we’re interested in something more fundamental: what developmental functions do children need, and how can digital environments support or undermine them?
The technologies will continue to evolve. Children’s developmental needs won’t. Perhaps that’s what Toy Story 5 understands best. Childhood has never stood still. Every generation grows up with new tools, new challenges, and new ways of playing. Our task isn’t to preserve childhood exactly as we remember it. It’s to make sure children continue to have the relationships, play, agency, and experiences they need to flourish, whatever form those take.