Kayce and her mother drove up from San Diego. It took them nearly three hours and for most of the journey they talked about which Jellycat they were going to buy when they got here.

‘Most of all I want the peanut,’ 14-year-old Kayce tells me, meaning the Peanut Après Ski plushie in Jellycat’s Amuseables range, which retails at £23. You might think that is a lot for a 12cm high nugget of polyester, even if he does have a cute smile, a cosy winter hat and tiny little snow boots on his tiny little feet, but Kayce doesn’t care.

For this treat she has saved up her pocket money, which is right there in her Jellycat Peanut Penguin Pouch purse inside her Jellycat Smudge Rabbit backpack. Along with hundreds of other Jellycat fans she has been waiting in this walk-up queue for than two hours, with another hour of waiting ahead. ‘It will be totally worth it in the end,’ she shrugs, exhibiting the zen attitude of the true disciple.

For we are gathered here today to worship at the shrine of Jellycat, the phenomenally successful British cuddly toy brand which has just opened a Christmas pop-up at The Grove in Los Angeles. The Jellycat Ski Club is situated inside a purpose-built outlet, a faux glacier slap bang in the middle of one of the most upscale retail spaces in all of America – certainly the only shopping mall I’ve ever been to which has valet parking, uniformed porters and even a dancing fountain.

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Here in these glitzy paved avenues where Hollywood stars come to shop, Jellycat has set up for the holiday season surrounded by the giants of American retail, including Apple, Nike and Sephora. However, no one is queuing up to get through their doors, are they?

Here in the heaving Jellycat throng fans are busy comparing their vast collections of plushies, and hope to get their hands on the new Jellies in the exclusive, only-available-here collection and the limited-edition seasonal range, most of which has already sold out online in both America and the UK. So if you want to buy Bartholomew Bear in his darling alpine outfit (£68), Timmy Turtle strapped into his ice skates (£50) or a snowboarding Peanut Penguin (£25), you had better get behind Kayce in the queue. ‘How much longer to go now?’ pipes an anxious little voice, which I’m afraid to say is coming from me.

For, having spent most of my life oblivious to the lure of the Jellycat oeuvre and snorting at those ‘kidults’ who buy the teddies and the bunnies and convince themselves they are investing in collectibles instead of what they are really doing – surrendering to infantilism – I am beginning to understand the deadly charm of it all. I mean, have you seen the Toastie Pink and White Marshmallows (£33) or Sheldon Shrimp (£23) or – my favourite – the Munro Scottie Dog bag charm (£23)? They are so squishy and irresistible it’s almost as if sorcery is involved in their design.

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‘It is an emotional connection, it’s nostalgia, it’s love,’ explains one of the Jellycat team as I am finally ushered into the hallowed Glass Box pop-up space, little than a brightly lit neon cube with shelves displaying samples of the different models on sale and staffed by energetic young people in Jellycat gilets who take your order on iPads. Now let me get this right. After queuing for hours for the privilege of handing over piles of cash for these fluff-stuffed pups, each customer is given a brisk ten-minute slot in which to fondle their favourites and make their choice, while being limited to a maximum of seven Jellycats each. Bish, bash, bosh, hand over your dosh.

The toys may be soft, but the commerce is as hard as nails. The tweens, teens and grown-ups in the cube dig out their credit cards with something approaching joy, spending £200-£300 and beyond without blinking. Once upon a time it was the indigenous American people who were famous for scalping. Now the Jellycat tribe are in town and it almost makes you proud to be British.

Indeed, Jellycat is one of the greatest British business success stories of recent times. It was launched in London in 1999 by brothers William and Thomas Gatacre. William, now aged 68, left behind a career in the US oil industry, while his older brother, Thomas, 71, had previously worked in the toy sector but with limited success.

In the early days their goal was straightforward. Believing that the soft toy market had become ‘too taxidermy’, they set about designing a huggable cutie who would bring comfort to even the smallest baby. Enter Bashful Bunny, a lop-eared creature who was an instant hit and is still, in its many slightly sappy iterations, a bestseller today.

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In the intervening years, Jellycat became a global phenomenon, fuelled by brilliant, quirky designs but also by luck. It was one of the few companies who boomed exponentially during the Covid-19 crisis, when customers who wanted a bit of lockdown comfort found it in the arms of Bashful Toffee Puppy, Gordy Guinea Pig and the rest of the gang. In addition, the Amuseables collection of everyday items turned into plushies – such as cauliflowers, boiled eggs, cups of coffee and croissants – reached cult status on social media as fans posted and reposted their favourites, creating another big boom in sales.

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I can’t quite get my head around the allure of a plush pickle or fabric stuffed fish and chips but, here in America, the brand is particularly popular with Gen Z consumers – those now aged between 13 to 28, who experienced lockdown at a formative age and now put mental health, work-life balance, personal comforts and the benefits of a daily cuddle from Ricky Rain Frog at the top of their agenda. Well, it sure beats growing up.

All this has led to some astonishing figures. Jellycat revenues last year topped £333 million, while the company’s pre-tax profit doubled to £139 million in the same period. The Gatacre brothers are in line to receive £110 million in dividends – enough to make Bashful Bunny’s ears twirl with joy.

Everyone seems to love this brand. Its range currently includes around 900 soft toys and than 60 books. Indeed, Jellycat is one of the few things on the planet which unites Prince William and Prince Harry – their respective children are all big fans of the Jellies. At a garden party in May, William was gifted some Jellycat toys and said: ‘These are like gold dust. My children go crazy for these things. This is a children’s currency.’ When she was six years old, Princess Charlotte was photographed by her mother, smiling and holding the Jellycat Fuddlelewuddle Puppy. Meanwhile, in an Instagram post shared by the Duchess of Sussex this summer, her daughter Princess Lilibet is seen carrying an Amuseables Rainbow bag.

Celebrities love them, too. Kylie Jenner keeps a Jellycat Vivacious Vegetable Pea Soft Stuffed Plush in her Birkin handbag. ‘My little friend, I really love him he makes me happy, I don’t know why. I love when he comes around, he comes out of his pod, he makes my day,’ she burbled, getting all mushy over her peas and sounding like a two-year-old than a 28-year-old. Victoria Beckham has a Large Amuseables Croissant – that’s probably why she walks so funny – while suave actor Bill Nighy is a self-confessed ‘big, big Jellycat customer’. Not only does he buy them for his grandchildren, but he also took a Jellycat rabbit to the Oscars one year and recently happily posed on the red carpet hugging a Bashful Fox Cub Jellycat.

Of course, no heritage brand can achieve such incredible success without controversy. Jellycat came under criticism this year for ending its relationship with over 100 UK retailers, sending out curt emails saying they would no longer supply them with toys. Some of the smaller shops were devastated, feeling that they had helped build the brand from the beginning and were now being jettisoned in favour of – well, exciting buyer experiences such as this winter wonderland theme here at The Grove. And perhaps they have a point.

Here there is fake snow, hot drinks and a giant Bartholemew Bear in a ski-lift providing a selfie opportunity for fans who pre-booked their buying slots online, thus avoiding the queues. Jellycat’s explanation that the move was necessary for ‘brand elevation’ will have brought little comfort to those small shopkeepers who now find themselves Jellies-less and feeling rather used.

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Then there are the prices, which some consumers feel have risen from an affordable treat to a luxury item. Can that be true, I ask myself, heading off into the California sunshine with my wintry Jellycats in my bag as I try to process the hallucinogenic weirdness of it all. Skating turtles. A plushie egg. Cute shrimps. A bear in a chair. But let’s focus on the positives, shall we? Charlotte’s got her Fuddlelewuddle. Lilibet’s got her Rainbow bag. Kayce got her peanut. I got my marshmallows. Which, at the end of the day, makes us all little princesses, in a plushie kind of way.