These Tiny Monsters Are Worth More Than Designer Handbags
Walk into any major city center right now, and you’ll probably see them. Attached to expensive purses, dangling from backpacks, pinned to luxury jackets—tiny plush creatures with pointed ears, mischievous grins, and nine sharp teeth that somehow became one of 2025’s most sought-after items on the planet.
They’re called Labubu dolls, and honestly, the first time I saw one, I didn’t get it. They’re not cute in the traditional sense. They’re weird. Kind of ugly, even. Yet here we are, with people camping outside stores overnight, dropping hundreds of dollars on mystery boxes, and treating these three-inch creations like investment portfolios.
So what’s the deal? Why is everyone obsessed with these plush monsters? The answer is more complicated—and more interesting—than you’d think.
Where Did Labubu Actually Come From?
The origin story starts with an artist named Kasing Lung, a Hong Kong-born creative who grew up reading Nordic folklore and fairy tales. Back in 2015, Lung decided to create his own world of characters inspired by those stories—creatures he called “The Monsters.” They were meant to be whimsical, slightly chaotic, vaguely creepy little beings. Think mischievous elves with an attitude.
For years, nobody really cared. Labubu existed in art circles and niche design communities. That should’ve been the end of the story. Then Pop Mart entered the picture.
Pop Mart is a Chinese toy company founded in 2010 by a guy named Wang Ning. It started as a tiny variety shop in Beijing selling designer toys. What set Pop Mart apart wasn’t the toys themselves—it was how they sold them. They pioneered something called blind boxes, which we’ll get to, and by 2019, the company had already built a massive following in Asia.
When Pop Mart and Kasing Lung partnered in 2019 to produce collectible Labubu figures, neither party was expecting what came next. Nobody was.
The Moment Everything Changed
Fast forward to April 2024. Lisa Manoban, the Thai member of BLACKPINK, was photographed with a Labubu keychain hanging from her designer purse. It was a casual photo. Nobody thought it would change anything.
But Lisa has something like 100 million Instagram followers. And her fans don’t mess around.
Within weeks, Labubu keychains that had been collecting dust in Pop Mart stores across multiple countries started selling out. Completely vanishing off shelves. The demand was insane. People couldn’t figure out where to buy them. Online resale prices started climbing.
Then other celebrities noticed. Rihanna showed up with one. Dua Lipa started posting about her Labubu collection. Kim Kardashian’s people got involved. Tennis champion Naomi Osaka appeared with custom modifications. Suddenly, having a Labubu wasn’t just about collecting—it became a fashion statement. A status symbol. A way to signal that you understood contemporary culture.
By late 2024 and into 2025, fashion magazines started covering Labubu seriously. Vogue-type publications. High-end photographers were shooting Labubu dolls. What had been a niche collectible toy completely transformed into a lifestyle accessory.
Understanding the Psychology of the Blind Box
Here’s where things get actually interesting from a consumer behavior standpoint. The entire Labubu empire is built on a simple but genius mechanism: the blind box.
You walk into a Pop Mart store. You pay about twenty-seven to thirty dollars for a sealed box. You have absolutely no idea what’s inside. Could be a standard Labubu. Could be a rare variant. The mystery is the entire point.
This isn’t new psychology. It’s the same reason people buy scratching lottery tickets. It’s the same reason unboxing videos get millions of views on TikTok. Our brains release dopamine when we experience surprise and anticipation. It’s a reward loop, and Pop Mart has basically weaponized it.
But here’s the thing that really drives the obsession: within each collection, there are “secret” variants. These appear in maybe one percent of boxes. They’re not advertised. You might open ten boxes, fifty boxes, or a hundred boxes without finding one. But that possibility? That possibility is everything.
The collecting communities online are filled with people documenting their hunts. Filming themselves opening twenty or thirty boxes at a time, hoping to hit that elusive secret variant. Some people cry on camera when they finally get the rare version they’ve been seeking. There’s genuine emotional investment happening here.
The Rarity Game and the Secondary Market
Pop Mart understood something crucial: scarcity creates demand. So they’ve been extremely strategic about controlling supply.
Over three hundred different Labubu variants have been released. Different aesthetics, different styles, different collaborations. Some wear tiny designer clothes. Some are pirate versions. Some are artistic reinterpretations. Each series drops on specific dates, and when they do, they sell out within minutes online. In physical stores, people camp outside overnight.
Here’s where it gets wild. A standard Labubu from a regular collection might cost thirty dollars retail. But take a rare variant from a limited series, and resale prices start climbing into the hundreds. Sometimes thousands.
In June 2025, a four-foot-tall giant Labubu sculpture went to auction in Beijing. It sold for over one hundred seventy thousand dollars. One hundred seventy thousand dollars for a plush toy.
Serious collectors treat this like an investment strategy. They study which figures are likely to appreciate. They trade and buy on secondary markets like StockX and eBay the same way someone might trade stocks. There’s even speculation and analysis about which upcoming releases might be good investments.
The Handbag Hook
What actually separates Labubu from every previous collectible craze is how it merged with fashion culture. People aren’t displaying these on shelves gathering dust. They’re attaching them to luxury handbags. To designer backpacks. To five-thousand-dollar purses as premium accessories.
This matters because it changed what Labubu represents socially. A standard luxury handbag costs a fortune and signals wealth. But a rare Labubu attached to that handbag signals something else: you’re plugged into contemporary culture. You understand trends. You have taste. You know things.
The customization community took this further. Artists started creating tiny outfits for Labubu dolls. Custom accessories. Sunglasses. Miniature handbags. Professional modifiers offer services like custom face paint, tattoos, and hair modifications. People genuinely commission bespoke Labubu artworks.
Major luxury brands noticed. High fashion houses started collaborating with Pop Mart on limited editions that blended design world credibility with collectible appeal. The line between toy and fashion accessory completely blurred.
The Celebrity Effect Was Real, Not Manufactured
Here’s something worth noting about how this went down. Unlike most celebrity product endorsements, the Labubu wave didn’t feel manufactured. Lisa wasn’t paid to carry a Labubu. Rihanna wasn’t in a sponsorship deal when she first posted about it. This was organic cultural adoption by influential people, and that authenticity mattered.
That changed how corporations responded. Suddenly, everyone wanted to associate with the trend. United Airlines posted videos of Labubu dolls on airport conveyor belts. Olive Garden made content jokes about breadsticks and Labubu. Even politicians got involved—San Francisco’s mayor posted about Pop Mart opening a store in the city, clearly trying to seem culturally relevant.
South Park did an entire episode called “Wok Is Dead” that featured Labubu dolls in their satirical commentary about tariffs and consumption. Labubu got an official float in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. This thing went mainstream in ways that usually take decades to happen, not months.
Why People Actually Buy This Stuff (The Real Reason)
The psychology here is worth examining seriously. What’s actually driving the obsession?
First, there’s the addictive nature of the blind box model. It genuinely triggers behavioral patterns similar to gambling addiction. People spend hundreds, sometimes thousands, trying to get specific rare variants. They describe it as compulsive. Many acknowledge it’s become a spending problem.
Second, there’s something called “kidult” culture—adults who maintain interests in toys and collectibles. This demographic has legitimacy now. There are entire communities dedicated to designer toys, and the stigma of adult toy collecting has basically disappeared. It’s now a lifestyle choice people openly embrace.
Third, Labubu offers what psychologists call “affordable luxury.” The economy is rough. Real estate is impossible. Luxury goods are out of reach for most people. But you can buy a blind box for thirty dollars and get the psychological experience of exclusivity and status. You can own something rare and culturally significant without spending six figures on a handbag.
There’s also genuine community. Collectors bond with each other. They trade figures. They discuss rare finds. They participate in collector forums and Discord servers. It creates belonging and social identity in ways that many people find genuinely meaningful.
The Global Explosion
The crazy part is how fast this went global. For years, Pop Mart was primarily an Asian phenomenon. Then 2025 happened, and suddenly Pop Mart stores were opening across North America and Europe.
When stores opened, people actually lined up around blocks. In the UK, reported crowds at Pop Mart openings became so intense that physical altercations occurred between collectors fighting over limited stock. That’s not hyperbole. That actually happened.
The financial numbers are staggering. Pop Mart reported 1.9 billion dollars in revenue for the first half of 2025, with year-over-year growth exceeding two hundred percent. Labubu and related Monsters products generated 418 million dollars of that in just six months.
Pop Mart’s company valuation surpassed forty-three billion dollars. That’s more valuable than Mattel, Hasbro, and Sanrio combined. The company’s founder, Wang Ning, is now in his late thirties and already worth over eighteen billion dollars. One of China’s youngest billionaires, built almost entirely on selling tiny mystery creatures to people worldwide.
The Counterfeit Problem Nobody Talks About
Success at this scale creates opportunities for counterfeiting, and the fake Labubu market is massive. People call the knockoffs “Lafufus,” and they’re everywhere. Gas stations sell them. Black market dealers have entire operations. Some legitimate retailers unknowingly stock counterfeits.
Collectors have learned to authenticate by looking for specific markers—exactly nine teeth, matte peach-toned faces, properly positioned ears, valid QR codes. Fake versions usually have errors in these details, but many are convincing enough to fool casual buyers.
Pop Mart has filed lawsuits. They sued 7-Eleven in California for selling counterfeits. They’re taking this seriously. But the counterfeiting problem continues because the margins are enormous.
The counterfeits issue creates another problem: consumer frustration. People who want to buy authentic Labubu often can’t find them because inventory vanishes instantly. The scarcity that drives the trend also creates legitimate anger and disappointment.
The Controversy and the Pushback
Not everyone is happy about this phenomenon. Some observers argue the blind box model exploits psychological vulnerabilities and encourages reckless spending, particularly among younger consumers. They’re not entirely wrong about that concern.
There’s been actual international criticism. In July 2025, authorities in Iraq’s Kurdistan Region banned Labubu sales, with reports claiming concerns about behavioral problems in children and assertions that the dolls contain “demonic spirits.” About four thousand dolls were seized.
In Russia, federal council members proposed bans, citing cultural concerns about imported trends. Editorial critics have questioned whether this represents healthy enthusiasm or reflects deeper anxieties about materialism and consumer culture. Fair points all around, honestly.
The counterargument from collectors is that this is just a hobby, harmless fun, and a way to connect with a community. And that’s also true. Like most things, it exists on a spectrum—some people enjoy it healthily, others develop genuinely problematic spending patterns.
The End of the Boom Is Coming (Eventually)
Pop Mart executives have been surprisingly honest about uncertainty. CEO Wang Ning has acknowledged that nobody can predict when the Labubu craze will fade. It will fade eventually. Trends always do.
Previous collectible manias—Beanie Babies, Squishmallows, whatever comes next—all followed the same arc. Explosive growth, peak obsession, then inevitable decline as consumer attention moved elsewhere. Labubu will probably follow that same pattern.
Pop Mart is preparing for this reality. They’re developing other characters and intellectual properties to diversify revenue streams. They’re planning anime adaptations, theme parks, lifestyle brand expansions. They’re trying to become more than just a collectible toy company.
But the core Labubu product will eventually hit a market ceiling. The question isn’t if it declines, just when.
What This All Actually Means
Labubu isn’t really about the dolls themselves. It’s a window into how culture actually moves in 2025. One celebrity’s casual fashion choice can shift global markets. A blind box mechanic can create genuine psychological addiction. Scarcity and status combined can make people spend money on things that serve no practical purpose.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with any of that. People have always collected things. Fashion has always been about status signaling. The difference is speed. What used to take years now happens in months.
For collectors, Labubu creates genuine joy and community. For skeptics, it exemplifies overconsumption and materialism. Both perspectives are simultaneously true.
One thing’s certain though: whether you think the whole thing is brilliant or ridiculous, 2025 will be remembered as the year when tiny plush monsters with nine teeth somehow became the defining status symbol of a generation.
It’s weird. It’s fascinating. It’s utterly modern. And it’s happening right now.
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