With a round, furry body, pointy ears, and a set of sharp teeth curled into a mischievous grin, Labubu looks like a tiny elven creature pulled from Jim Henson's Creature Shop. She’s not traditionally cute like most plush toys — more of an ugly-cute gremlin with chaotic charm. And yet, this little monster has become the ultimate accessory for Gen Z and millennial collectors.
Once a niche character from China-based toy brand Pop Mart, Labubu is now a social media darling, a $27.99 keychain clipped to designer bags and belt loops, featured in unboxing videos, and posed next to matcha lattes on Instagram. While the keychains are especially coveted, Labubu's image also appears on figurines, bags, phone cases, hair accessories, and other merch, fueling a thriving collector's market.
On TikTok, the #Labubu hashtag has racked up tens of millions of views, turning the impish character's cult following into a global obsession. New releases sell out in seconds and spark bidding wars, with consumers often paying double or triple the retail price on third-party sites. Limited-edition variants, especially seasonal drops or collaborations, can fetch hundreds on resale platforms like StockX. Not to mention, people wait for hours in line outside of Pop Mart brick-and-mortar stores and the company's automated Robo Shops to cop one. Even her dupe, Lafufu (aka "fake Labubu"), has an ardent fan base.
Labubu figures are typically sold in blind boxes — sealed packages that keep the exact design a surprise until you open them. I bought my first Labubu at a Pop Mart store in New York City and ended up pulling Sisi, a squinty yellow plush from the Have a Seat series. It was sheer luck. I had no way of knowing what was inside until I tore the foil open. Each series usually includes several different figures; Have a Seat features six known characters, plus one ultra-rare "Secret" Labubu hidden in circulation.
Every other time I’ve been to a Pop Mart, the Labubu display has been wiped clean, a testament to just how in-demand the little creatures are. Now Sisi lives on my bag, alongside all of my other charms and a mushroom baby from Pop Mart’s Pucky Forest Party collection.
How a quirky collectible became a global obsession
Hong Kong artist Kasing Lung introduced Labubu as part of the Monsters picture book series in 2015, creating a whimsical and slightly eerie cast of characters inspired by the folklore and mythology he absorbed growing up in the Netherlands. Drawing from European fairytales and his own imagination, Lung crafted a world that felt both nostalgic and strange: familiar like a bedtime story, yet edged with mischief and mystery.
The turning point came in 2019, when Lung struck a licensing deal with Pop Mart. His partnership with the Chinese toy powerhouse brought Labubu and the rest of The Monsters — Zimomo, Tycoco (aka Labubu's skeletal beau), Spooky, and Pato — into mass production, transforming Lung’s illustrations into wildly collectible designer toys.
Labubu stands out because of its slightly grotesque charm and wide emotional range.
It's all part of Pop Mart’s broader line of designer "art toys," blind box collectibles that blend the exclusivity of streetwear with the cuteness of Japanese and Korean toy aesthetics. While Pop Mart offers a variety of characters — like Peach Riot, SKULLPANDA, CRYBABY, and Hirono — Labubu stands out because of its slightly grotesque charm and wide emotional range. It's uncanny, in the best way, a kind of subversion of the kawaii aesthetic that still dominates much of East Asian pop culture and beyond.
On platforms like the Chinese app Xiaohongshu, TikTok, and Instagram, fans document their Labubu collections, film "Labubu hauls," and post hyper-specific memes about which version best matches their personality. Entire Reddit threads dissect the psychological profile of a Labubu owner. One viral X post joked, "I thought labubu was new internet slag [sic] for lobotomy. like delulu."
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"Much of this momentum is fan-driven," Emily Brough, Pop Mart's head of IP licensing for the Americas, tells Mashable via email. "People are genuinely excited to share their collections and personal connections to the character."
That momentum translates into serious revenue. "Labubu is currently Pop Mart's top-selling IP in the U.S. and one of the strongest globally," Brough says. In 2024 alone, Labubu generated more than $419 million USD, outperforming all other IPs in the company’s catalog.
And the fandom isn’t just internet-deep. Celebrities like Rihanna, Dua Lipa, Hilary Duff, and Bretman Rock wear their Labubus proudly. BLACKPINK’s Lisa, one of the most globally followed pop stars in the world, is a known Labubu enthusiast. She’s been spotted with multiple versions, helping catapult the toy from niche collectible to full-on status symbol. "Labubu is my baby," she told Teen Vogue last month. When someone like Lisa makes Labubu part of her personal brand, the ripple effects across fashion, fandom, and resale markets are instant and global.
Labubu is more than cute — she's a status symbol
What makes Labubu different from other toys that have caught fire online (like Squishmallows or Sanrio characters) is how explicitly it functions as a status marker, not just a source of comfort or nostalgia. The plush versions, especially, are carried almost like handbags. They’re photographed on café tables, shown "chilling" in passenger seats, and dressed up in miniature outfits.
"Many treat Labubu keychains and figurines as both collectibles and style accessories," Brough explains. And that fuels the character’s presence at major fashion events like New York Fashion Week. "We’re also seeing notable growth among male fans, particularly those who follow streetwear, sneaker culture, and design-led collectibles."
...having a rare or trendy Labubu signals cultural fluency. It says you know where the hype is, and you got there first, or paid the resale price to catch up.
In this way, Labubu becomes part of a curated digital identity. Much like wearing a limited-edition sneaker or owning a Stanley cup in every color, having a rare or trendy Labubu signals cultural fluency. It says you know where the hype is, and you got there first, or paid the resale price to catch up.
"I used to be kind of a Labubu hater — or not even a hater, I just didn’t get the hype," Em, also known as @vanillamace on social media, tells Mashable. "But the more I kept seeing them, the more I was like, 'OK, fine, I’ll try one.' I actually got my first Labubu last weekend and… yeah, I kind of love her now. What really sold me was the tiny outfits they make for them. I bought one immediately. That’s when it clicked for me. I finally got it."
While Pop Mart doesn’t officially sell clothes for Labubu, a robust market has sprung up around styling them. Entire storefronts on AliExpress, Shein, and Etsy are dedicated to miniature fashion — from tiny hoodies and denim jackets to costumes and accessories — often priced anywhere from $5 to $30 per item. Dressing up Labubu has become its own form of creative expression, with some fans building full wardrobes or custom outfits to match their own looks.
It’s not just about dressing Labubu; it’s about showing her off. "A lot of these blind boxes double as keychains," Em adds. "It’s not just something you keep on a shelf. You can take it with you, clip it to your bag or keys, and other people see it too. Lately, I’ve been specifically looking for blind box keychains because I love the idea of decorating my bags with a bunch of quirky trinkets. It’s very Jane Birkin — like how she used to cover her bag in random charms and wear it into the ground. It made the bag hers. Now people are too scared to touch their Birkins, but I’m all about throwing on keychains and making it personal."
Status isn't just about exclusivity anymore. In a post-pandemic world shaped by economic uncertainty and emotional burnout, Labubu fits into a broader shift creator Janet Lin calls the "lipstick effect": the idea that when times are tough, people seek out small luxuries instead of splurging on big-ticket items. A $20 toy that makes you smile suddenly feels like a reasonable indulgence.
"It’s a small luxury. You’re not buying a $4,000 bag — you’re buying a $20 toy that brings you joy," said creator Gina Alva, whose TikTok bio reads "crazy Labubu lady." "That’s what everyone’s doing right now. Like, burgers are $20, too. So why not get a Labubu?"
"I don’t have children, so this is how I play," Alva added. "And now it’s accepted, because so many other people are doing it too. There’s no shame in it."
For some, Labubu collecting goes beyond aesthetic and enters the realm of emotional care. "It’s very much inner child work for me," Em says. "I couldn’t have stuff like this growing up, but now I can give that joy to myself. It’s healing in a weird, silly way."
Alva has helped foster that sense of agency and community by creating tutorials that show people how to DIY clothes and accessories for their Labubus, from fully customized outfits to viral car seats. "It’s not just the doll," she says. "It’s the accessories. I bought my Labubu little Louis Vuitton purses — dumb stuff we probably shouldn’t be spending money on, but we do. I even bought my Labubu a Lululemon outfit so I could do a TikTok with that Lululemon rap sound. She has to be on theme."
That parasocial relationship between user and plush adds a layer of emotional texture that traditional status symbols lack. Labubu isn’t just a thing you own; it’s a companion, a co-star, a mood.
Inside the blind box craze
Pop Mart’s genius lies in turning toy buying into a ritual. The blind box format — where you don’t know which character you’ll get — makes every purchase a gamble. It’s part toy, part lottery, part dopamine rush. Pair that with limited drops, frequent collabs, and ultra-rare chase figures, and suddenly you’ve got a global community hooked on a miniature monster with a grin.
"It’s girl gambling," Em explains, where the high of pulling the Labubu you really want is potent. "You sometimes get the good ones, and it makes your whole day," she says. "And then you get the one you don’t want and it’s like... 'OK.'"
It's a feeling Em knows well. In one of the most relatable unboxing videos to go viral, she chronicles her descent into blind-box-induced "despair." In the clip, she opens a SKULLPANDA blind box, hoping for any figure but "that fuck-ass Christmas tree" — not because it was unpopular, but simply because, to her, it just wasn't as cute as the others. And, of course, she pulls the Christmas tree. Undeterred, she goes back into Pop Mart, buys another box...and pulls the exact same one again. The video, which has accumulated 12 million views on TikTok, is a perfect encapsulation of the heartbreak and hope that fuels blind box culture.
"The video itself was kind of doing normal numbers," Em tells Mashable. "But then somebody made this edit... they put dramatic music over it and everything. That was what really made it turn into this whole thing."
Since then, the saga has spiraled, and Em went from celebrating 400,000 followers on her TikTok account to 1 million in just over a week. The phrase "fuck-ass Christmas tree" has entered the online lexicon, and people tag her in videos anytime they pull their unfortunate blind box find, or, of course, their own SKULLPANDA Christmas tree. "So many people [are] just being like, 'I didn't even really want this one, but I just have to get it for the gag,'" she laughs. "I love it."
In the age of TikTok, this moment of disappointment becomes performance, drama, and, unexpectedly, community. Everyone watching has either been there or will be.
There’s a reason her story resonated: The blind box experience is built on a delicate balance of luck and longing, of personal taste clashing against pure randomness. In the age of TikTok, this moment of disappointment becomes performance, drama, and, unexpectedly, community. Everyone watching has either been there or will be.
"It’s a serotonin booster for sure," Alva says of the blind box experience. "You want a certain one, but at the end of the day, you’re just happy getting anything. And if you don’t get what you want, your brain just goes, 'Oh well, we’ll try again.' That’s how they get you."
For collectors like Encito, the draw of blind box culture is more than just the thrill of the mystery. It’s a lifestyle. "It’s like that Hermès effect," he explains. "It’s something rare, hard to get, and once you get it, you feel like you've won."
Encito has spent over $10,000 this year alone in pursuit of the elusive "ugly-cute" figure. "I’m a collector at heart," he says, explaining that his background is in luxury fashion — think 100-plus designer bags and over 130 pairs of designer shoes in his collection. "But I was looking for accessories that matched my bags, and a coworker introduced me to Labubu."
The obsession took root fast. "I waited three hours in line at a store in London, only for the Labubus to sell out two people ahead of me. I was offended." Determined, Encito made a TikTok account just so he could shop for Labubu on Pop Mart livestreams.
Since then, Labubu has taken him from North Carolina (where there are no Pop Mart stores) to Paris, London — even on 12-hour round trips for museum-exclusive releases. "I don’t support resellers. I'd rather buy a first-class ticket and go to the city myself," Encito says. His travel itinerary has grown to include stops in San Francisco, New York, and potentially Barcelona, all for the sake of adding to his growing collection. When Encito couldn’t find the "Angel in Clouds" Labubu in New York City, he ended up snagging it online from his hotel room. He still considers the trip a win for the thrill of the hunt.
More than a toy, Labubu brings people together
But the satisfaction of tracking down Labubus is only part of the appeal. For many collectors, Labubu is more than a cute accessory or quirky trend — it’s a gateway into a tight-knit, surprisingly emotional global community.
"What started as something fun to clip onto my designer bags has turned into something way deeper," says Encito, who frequently shares unboxings and hauls with his followers. "I’ve sent rare Labubus to people who couldn’t get them." One follower returned the favor in a major way by sending him the Secret Labubu from the Exciting Macaron collection. "She wasn’t even trying to get the Secret item. She just wanted a full set. But when she ended up pulling the Secret, she sent it to me without saying anything," he recalls. "I opened the package on livestream, saw some random Hello Kitty stuff, and thought, 'Oh, cute.' Then I pulled out the Secret Labubu… and I just started crying. It was a real moment."
That kind of generosity is common in the world of blind box toys, where chance brings people together, and community keeps them connected. "That’s the cool thing about trinkets as a whole," says Em. "There’s a huge trading culture. You open your box, and sometimes people will just trade."
She tells the story of a girl who spent nearly $300 on a Sanrio Mega Space Molly box, hoping to get Kuromi — and instead pulled Cinnamoroll. "Across from her, another girl opened a box and got Kuromi, but she wanted Cinnamoroll. So they traded right there. It was like fate. A match made in heaven."
The scene is increasingly social and IRL. "There’s this whole community that comes out to these events in parks or cafés where people meet up and trade," Em says. "I've made so many friends just from that alone. The community is what almost keeps you wanting to go back."
"At the end of the day, it’s more than a toy," Encito says. "It's a connection. It's joy. It's a little creature that brought all these people, people I now call my besties, into my life."
Alva agrees: "I love when I see someone else with a Labubu. There’s this instant connection — like, you know."
