Collectible Captivation

We were fully behind the Sonny Angel trend. There’s something about a cherubic, winged baby in a fruit hat that speaks to us, as “women in their mid-20s dealing with the stresses of adulthood.” But recently, something a little more sinister has entered the purse-pal pantheon: Labubu.

Despite an initial repulsion of their sharp teeth, their wide grins, and their stocky bodies, I strangely found myself wanting to own one too. But why? They didn’t even suit my own ballet core plum wine deer eyes old money lavender milk nails aesthetic.

It all started with a scroll: I looked on as Sam Todd, an Australian influencer, documents her own Labubu obsession. In her TikToks, she routinely checks the Pop Mart vending machine at her gym before her regular pilates classes. Her acrylics click against the glass. Days pass, lululemon outfits change. Then—finally—a Labubu appears. She skips a pilates class to wait for the underpaid tender to restock the machine, and emerges with five Labubus under the watchful eyes of Labubu resellers and fanatics, who have already formed a queue.

Collectible captivation is not necessarily a new phenomenon. Humans have always collected things. From decorative Neolithic tools to 1800s trading cards slipped into cigarette packs, there’s always been something addictive about the hunt. Pop Mart, the company behind Labubu, understood this perfectly. Founded in 2010, it tapped into Chinese youth culture and rebranded nostalgia with a shiny plastic finish.

Their secret is the blind box. You don’t know what you’re getting until you open it. You wish for the cutest-looking collectible in the line-up, innocently printed on the back of the box. (Fittingly, the rarest Labubus are called “Secrets.”) You don’t get it, but there’s always next time!

As a 2000s kid, I still remember when Kinder Surprise toys were good. There was something sacred about cracking open the egg and pulling out that tiny leaflet. It was your introduction to the broader collectible universe, plus a quiet invitation to beg your parents for another chocolate.

But Pop Mart is different. It’s more… visceral. Everything about these blind boxes is tailored to our fried dopamine receptors. The crispness of the cardboard and the precise tab to rip it open. The satisfying crinkle of foil, and the easily digestible design of the toy inside it.

That’s probably why I want one. It’s indulgent. It’s fun. It’s late-stage capitalism. It speaks to the ego, free of rational thought. For now, I’ll probably hold off—I have enough landfill collectibles in my room.

I actually did end up buying one.