A plan that promised a bank loan or admission to a business school would likely fail to deliver. A decorative stone at home cannot guarantee smooth interactions or reciprocal comfort. Yet a calmer, more reflective checkout of the idea reveals benefits: no allergies, no veterinarians, and a hopeful lifespan that alleviates worries about loss. Could it be an alignment issue in society? The same country, South Korea, shows pop stars apologizing to fans for pairing up with someone in the spotlight.
No stone is suitable for everyone. The preferred ones are rounded, flat, and polished, offering comfort when a hug might be needed. Their typical price ranges from seven to ten euros, and they usually come with a small box and accessories, but there is room for creativity in how they are presented or customized.
More and more young people are adopting stones as pets. They name them, sketch facial features, cover them with blankets in charming little beds when night falls. They tell them about their day, sharing traumas, secrets, and dreams. They become the friends who never leave, the partners who won’t betray. Stones bring a sense of certainty in a world that keeps changing. This is not a small thing. Many owners note a sense of calm and solace in exchange for their affection for the rocks.
Rocks have also become a source of light therapy and support in the celebrity world, with components from famous K‑pop groups playing a part and none more than Jeonghan. The Seventeen singer and dancer finds balance with a grayish stone, topped with a straw hat, helping him handle stress and the anxiety that comes with life under bright lights. The ritual includes warm baths, melon treats, and a living-box that holds a plasma screen, a guitar, and a tiny grand piano. After Jeonghan, the craze surged. Other celebrities have talked about their pet rocks on television, and the trend appears in short videos on social feeds and even in film scenes featuring the Minions.
A spark of inspiration rests in the publicist’s story. The seed was planted in a bar argument about the sacrifices dogs demand, and a quick, playful impulse turned into a plan. Small stones with faces were placed on a bed of sawdust inside a perforated cardboard box to let them “breathe.” They came with a certificate of noble lineage and a simple manual with dog-like commands. The best seller was the one that did not move.
“When training ends, the rock becomes a loyal, obedient, affectionate pet that stays by your side whenever you want,” the pitch promised. The launch happened in San Francisco in 1975. A year later, as the craze cooled, more than a million stones had been sold for four dollars each, and life was mapped out. Newsweek later called it one of the most ridiculously successful advertising campaigns in history.
Several factors explain the return of pet stones in today’s Asia. There is a long-standing cultural bond with ornamental rocks, rooted in Taoist ideas. Wealthier households often decorate spaces with suseok stones—minerals shaped by wind and water over millennia. One of these stones even appeared in scenes from the Oscar-winning film Parasite as a symbol of family finances rising and falling.
Loneliness and work stress also fuel the trend, especially in East Asia. Single-person homes are now common in Korea, according to official statistics. A rising isolationist impulse among many young people has prompted government measures, including subsidies to encourage social reintegration. The workplace culture that helped build a dynamic economy also demands long hours, a reality that has drawn scrutiny and occasional reform attempts.
There is no lighthearted joke in a society that seeks refuge and understanding in a simple, unassuming stone. The idea endures as a reminder that comfort can come from unexpected places, and that even a small object can offer companionship in an ever-changing world.