Have you seen a troll-shaped keychain clipped to a backpack or dangling from a purse? It may have been a Labubu — or, just as likely, its knockoff — the Lafufu.
Labubus, with their wide eyes and pointy ears, seem to be everywhere. Videos of collectors opening Pop Mart boxes rack up thousands of views. Photos of people accessorizing them fill social media. They have become a global craze, traveling quickly from Asia to North America and Europe.
It’s crazy to think these little creatures that can fit in the palm of your hand sell upwards of $100 for the rarest kinds. And like most microtrends we see on social media, it feels like everyone you see online has one while you’re still trying to figure out how or why they became popular.
When shopping for a Labubu, the fashion girls — from Rihanna to Dua Lipa — are not just looking for the toothy grinned monster they think is the cutest.
Instead, what unites them all is that they are getting the most exclusive, most unique and most expensive version of this tiny toy in order to separate themselves from the rest of us who could only ever dream of possessing a wonky looking, fake, “Lafufu.”
Labubu designer Kasing Lung’s creations blend cultures with mystical fairytales. They draw inspiration from The Smurfs and Where the Wild Things Are, pulling from Lung’s childhood across Hong Kong, the Netherlands and Belgium. That blend produced something both eerie and oddly comforting.
But beneath the whimsy is a booming market. Pop Mart, the company behind the toys, saw revenue climb over 200% in the first half of 2025. Its Hong Kong stock jumped 650% in one year, and limited-edition drops sell out in minutes, with themed collections ranging from cottagecore to beach.
Collectors even flock to resale sites, where Labubus sell for thousands of dollars.
On paper, Labubus are trinkets. However, they’ve become recession luxuries. Like the lipstick index — the tendency to buy indulgences during economic downturns — Labubus offer consumers a taste of status, like owning a designer bag or shoes in the form of a keychain.
That desire for status has fueled counterfeits. “Lafufus” similarly dominate online shops and the streets. The fakes are so common that Pop Mart released a guide to spotting them, highlighting details such as nine aligned teeth, muted-colored fur, close-together ears and a UV stamp on the right foot.
Still, the company said to not feel bad if your Labubu is fake, as it’s probably still adorable.
This real-versus-fake divide mirrors broader consumer culture, where authenticity is tied to worth. From shoes to purses, the obsession with having “the real thing” persists.
As wealth gaps grow wider, these small ways of displaying wealth or that you are “in the know” are increasingly important for those attempting to signal a strong middle class status.
Before 2024, the trend that was all the rage for the ultra wealthy was “quiet luxury,” like when we saw Mark Zuckerberg in his $300 plain white T-shirts testifying before Congress.
Now, quiet luxury is dying and billionaires are flaunting their wealth. The expensive plain white T-shirts of the past are turning into $40 million, star-studded Venice weddings.
Labubus are just another wing of this loud luxury trend where everyone — from billionaires to the middle class — are now trying to signal their economic status, often by showing their version of whatever “typical” item people purchase is more luxurious and, therefore, more special than whatever version of it the rest of us plebians can afford.
Nothing, from groceries to laundry detergent, is safe from this trend.
For some “Labubuheads,” personalization matters as much, or more, than authenticity, as customization has become its own part of the craze, allowing people, especially those with the means to do so, to further cement both their own, and the toy’s, “cool” status.
Celebrity stylist Marko Monroe dresses Labubus in designer outfits and even designed one-of-a-kind versions for Lady Gaga and Marc Jacobs.
It’s even extended to the athletic world, where tennis player Naomi Osaka was spotted with a bedazzled Labubu at the U.S. Open. With each appearance on runways, in paparazzi photos and at sport events, the toy’s status climbs higher.
Whether you splurge on the real thing, settle for a Lafufu or join the growing market for customization, one thing is clear — Labubus are more than plastic toys. They’ve become a representation for style, nostalgia and class.
Some think Labubus thrive because they’re cute creatures that add joy to small indulgences. But even more so, they signal a status people crave to reach by sitting in hour-long queues online hoping to get their hands on them. And maybe that’s why their little grins are so unsettling.
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