Yes, I Collect Labubu.
And No, It’s Not Just a Toy: It’s a Crisis Mascot
It started with a Batman Funko Pop, gifted by a colleague as a parting gift as I left Leo Burnett back in November 2017. A gift. Then another. Then one I found in a comic shop in Dubai that I swore would be my last. That was ten shelves ago.
So when Labubu showed up, I didn’t flinch. I knew how this story went. I queued at POP MART UK in London's Chinatown not knowing what it actually was but it was a great day and I had nothing to do on a Monday morning with my Blank Street's iced rhubarb and custard ceremonial iced matcha latte. (Sorry, I know it is a mouthful)
Small. Weird. Slightly unhinged. Right up my alley. Except this one felt different.
Labubu wasn’t just a collector’s item. It was showing up everywhere. Dangling off handbags. Propped on desks. Clutched like emotional support in videos that had nothing to do with toys.
It wasn’t a trend. It was a mood.
And Mille’s piece nailed it. This wasn’t about design. This was about timing. About how something so small could carry the emotional weight of people too broke for luxury and too tired for irony.
We are living through another cost-of-living crisis. That’s not a metaphor. That’s your rent, your energy bill, your third reminder that oat milk is now AED 20. And in a world where everything feels out of reach, Labubu feels like something you can still hold.
Why?
Because it’s cheap enough to feel like a treat.
Rare enough to feel like a win.
Odd enough to feel like it gets you.
Labubu is the Beanie Baby of the bleak economy.
It’s the side character that made it to the main stage because people needed a way to feel better that didn’t involve paying AED 10,000 for a wellness retreat.
Pop Mart didn’t create a toy line. They created a coping system.
Blind box? Instant dopamine.
Series drops? Routine.
Limited editions? Purpose.
Collectibility? Control.
When everything around you is crumbling, collecting becomes structure. You might not afford a flat, but you can afford to complete a series.
And unlike your job, Labubu doesn’t ask you to perform. It just sits there, looking smug. Probably judging you. Probably knowing exactly how many open tabs you have.
It’s perfect.
We talk about micro-luxury like it’s a business trend. But it’s not. It’s survival logic. Lipstick effect in full display. You can’t afford joy in big pieces, so you break it down into parts.
Labubu is the small, furry answer to a question most of us stopped asking: how do I feel good without feeling guilty?
It doesn’t solve anything. But it does soften something.
And for those of us who collect, that’s the point. We’re not hoarding plastic. We’re building tiny ecosystems of comfort. Each shelf, a small rebellion. Each figure, a way to say: I’m still here.
So yes, I collect Labubu.
Not because I need more things. But because I need small moments that remind me the world isn’t completely out of reach.
And last week, one of them made me laugh. Out loud. For no reason.
Which, let’s be honest, is worth the price of the box.
