The mischievous, rabbit-eared figures known as Labubu have moved from Hong Kong graphic novels to Louis Vuitton handbags, viral TikTok unboxings and red-carpet appearances, turning Pop Mart into a global sensation while triggering safety warnings, counterfeit seizures and social pushback.
What began as a modest character created by Hong Kong-born artist Kasing Lung in 2015 has been transformed into a mass-market phenomenon since Chinese toy giant Pop Mart introduced collectible Labubu figures in 2019 and released plush keychains in late 2023. The company’s use of sealed “blind boxes,” combined with celebrity endorsements and a deliberate scarcity model, has helped the toys achieve rarefied demand: each series typically includes a single, hard-to-find “secret” figure with odds often cited as one-in-72.
Pop Mart’s sales and market profile have surged alongside the craze. The company reported a nearly 400 percent jump in net profit in the first half of 2025, and its shares have climbed more than 200 percent this year, outpacing established toy firms. Pop Mart now operates 571 stores and roughly 2,600 robot vending machines in 18 countries, and CEO Wang Ning has publicly predicted Labubu sales could top 10 million units per day.
At $20 to $30 each at retail, Labubus are affordable impulse purchases. Resale prices tell a different story: rare figures can sell for hundreds or thousands of dollars, and in June a human-sized, mint-green Labubu reportedly fetched more than $170,000 at a Beijing auction. The secondary market has generated both fortune and fraud. Resellers and opportunists have been linked to price gouging, online scams and even thefts, including a reported California store robbery in which roughly $30,000 worth of dolls was taken to feed the resale trade.
The marketing mechanics have produced predictable social dynamics. Videos on social platforms show children and collectors frantically tearing through blind boxes seeking the rare figures; anti-consumption forums argue purchases are driven less by affection for the objects than by herd behavior. "Every purchase becomes a small gamble," said Dr. Jing Wan, a consumer psychologist at Canada’s University of Guelph. "The uncertainty and randomness of the reward triggers a dopamine response." Academic and social-media critics have framed the phenomenon as emblematic of disposable consumer culture.
Regulators and safety experts have flagged additional risks. The U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission has warned about counterfeit imitations, sometimes marketed as “Lafufu,” that reportedly fall apart and release small parts capable of choking young children. Chinese authorities, confronting a wave of knockoffs in factories and on the street, have carried out raids, seized shipments and detained manufacturers. Markets in several jurisdictions, including Russia, Iraq’s Kurdish region and Indonesia, have moved to ban or restrict sales over a mix of safety and cultural concerns.
The craze has also produced public disorder. Limited releases have provoked scuffles and stampedes at retail drops in London, Tokyo and Los Angeles, and police in some cities have been called to intervene. Social commentators and some influencers have framed the figures in darker terms: viral videos have compared Labubu to Pazuzu, the Mesopotamian demon sometimes invoked in horror films, and at least one influencer described purchases as "buying something that's very dark." Those claims have fed bans and restrictions in multiple countries, alongside more conventional consumer-protection actions.
China’s leaders have been ambivalent. The state-run People's Daily recently called for tighter controls on blind-box retailing, warning of "irrational consumption" and a youth addiction problem. At the same time, authorities have moved to protect the domestically grown brand by cracking down on counterfeits and policing chaotic retail scenes. The response reflects a broader tension: a desire to cultivate a successful cultural export while limiting the social and regulatory fallout at home.
Analysts say Labubu’s global reach signals more than a fad. For some observers, the figures are a case study in Chinese soft power — a homegrown cultural product exported worldwide in the way Japan exported Hello Kitty and the United States exported Barbie. "China sees Pop Mart's rise to fame, particularly through Labubu, as a form of soft power — a charm offensive," said Kelly Kasulis Cho, a journalist based in South Korea. Economists also note the dolls serve as an accessible indulgence in strained economies; David Lang, an economist at California State University, Sacramento, called them an "affordable luxury" for shoppers seeking a small, affordable treat amid wider financial pressures.
Environmental critics add another layer of concern. The figures are typically manufactured from plastic and polyester, contributing to hard-to-recycle waste. Consumer advocates and environmentalists warn the blind-box model amplifies disposable consumption by encouraging repeated purchases in search of a rare variant.
Pop Mart’s executives and collectors portray Labubu as creative merchandise and a new kind of pop-culture icon embraced by celebrities from Rihanna and Dua Lipa to Naomi Osaka. But for critics, the smiling goblin’s ascent highlights how viral marketing, controlled scarcity and influencer culture can turn a simple toy into a global industry rife with economic distortions and social costs. The debate now centers on how to balance commercial success, consumer protection and cultural influence as the craze continues to spread.