Men increasingly are turning a once-niche collectible into a conspicuous accessory, and they say the attraction is sincere: design, nostalgia, social currency and the enjoyment of a small, portable conversation starter.
When Bobby Solez goes out in public, he often hears the same reaction: some people stare, others ask where he got his Labubu. "I'll go to the mall and ... I've definitely had people look at me sideways. Like, 'What the hell?'" said Solez, a Westchester, N.Y.-based fashion influencer who has gone viral on TikTok for his Labubu unboxing videos. "But then a lot of the times ... younger people will be like, 'Oh my God, you have a Labubu. Where'd you get that?'"
Labubu figures were designed in 2015 by Hong Kong artist Kasing Lung and became widely known after Chinese collectibles retailer Pop Mart bought the rights in 2019 and sold them through its blind-box strategy. The creatures — small, fuzzy monsters with mischievous smirks, fang-like teeth and bunny-like ears — have been spotted on celebrities and athletes, including K-pop star Lisa of Blackpink and tennis player Naomi Osaka, helping spread their visibility.
The toys' aesthetic and distribution model have helped fuel a crossover from niche collectible to mainstream accessory. Buyers often do not know which figure is inside a blind box until they open it, a surprise mechanism that owners describe as evoking childhood excitement. "You open it, and you're like, 'Ah, I wanted this one,'" Solez said. "It makes you feel like a kid again."
Some public reactions to men carrying Labubus have been dismissive or mocking. When then-Houston Rockets forward Dillon Brooks walked into an NBA playoff game with a peach-colored Labubu hanging from his bag, announcers laughed. "Is that a damn bunny on his hip?" Charles Barkley said on air. Other critics argue that some men adopt Labubus as a performative gesture aimed at appearing trendy or appealing to fans without genuinely enjoying the toys; images of men carrying the keyrings have even appeared as tongue-in-cheek props in contests labeling contestants as insincere.
Owners and collectors push back against the notion that male interest is merely performative. They describe Labubus as fashion accessories, conversation starters and collectibles that fit into adult lives in a way that some traditional plush toys do not. "This thing is kind of ugly, but it's kind of cute," Solez said. "I'm just trying to have fun in this life. I don't take life too serious. And these things are a way to keep things not as serious."
Experts who study fandoms and collectibles say design and scarcity are central to Labubu's appeal. Zoe Fraade-Blanar, co-founder of toy brand Squishable and co-author of the book "Superfandom: How Our Obsessions Are Changing What We Buy and Who We Are," said the creatures function more as design objects than comfort items. "You're not buying a Labubu to hug it. You're buying it to show it off," she said. She also noted that price exclusivity and limited availability can turn an object into a status symbol in ways that mass-market plush toys cannot.
Scarcity has had real economic effects. Some rare Labubu figures sell out quickly at Pop Mart retail events, and high-demand variants can fetch large sums on the secondary market. The blind-box format and unboxing videos have produced monetizable content for creators who film their reveals, further amplifying the trend.
Individual owners describe different appeals. Roland Austria, a government employee in Japan, said he wears a Labubu on his bag because it fits his color palette and draws positive attention: "They look good and fit the colors of what I wear." Quentin Protsenko, a regulatory affairs manager in France, said he and his wife initially bought a starter set to resell but kept several figures for themselves after being drawn in by their "scary-cute" quality. "I'm 39 years old ... and put Luck on my work bag daily," he said. "All I [have] ever experienced is a weird look, or a positive ... 'I saw it on TV!'"
The trend also intersects with broader patterns in adult nostalgia and the social acceptability of carrying childhood objects. A 2017 survey commissioned by Build-A-Bear found many adults retain childhood stuffed animals; 40 percent of respondents said a childhood stuffed animal slept by their side. Fraade-Blanar suggested that packaging a comfort object in an ironic or countercultural design makes it more socially acceptable for a wider range of people, including men who might otherwise avoid traditionally "cute" plush items.
For some owners, Labubus serve as low-stakes social tools that can reduce feelings of isolation. Austria said people sometimes approach him to gush about his figures, creating spontaneous connections. "It's become this fun shared hobby that gives us something to bond over around the world," he said.
Not all reactions are positive, and owners acknowledge occasional ridicule. But many say the criticism reveals more about others' assumptions than about their own motives. "If you're going to own a Labubu as a straight man, I would say, own it," Solez said. "It's almost a way to build confidence ... It’s always been a conversation starter. And for the most part, it is always a positive thing." Protsenko offered similar advice: "Be proud of what you like, and if it's a stuffed monster, just be happy with it."
As collectibles and small accessories continue to blur fashion, fandom and commerce, the Labubu phenomenon reflects shifting cultural boundaries around what objects are considered appropriate for adults and for men specifically. Whether on a bag at a mall, dangling from an athlete's gear, or unpacked in a viral TikTok video, the tiny creatures have become one more way people are negotiating identity through the things they choose to carry.