Author: Sleepy Not Found, 404 Youth
You must have noticed that Labubu has become incredibly popular recently.
On backpacks in the subway, on office desks, and in selfies on social media, it always appears in some form, grinning and looking a bit silly.
This seemingly strange little character is being placed in the most prominent corners of life by more and more young people.
It’s not the most expensive, nor the rarest, and it doesn’t even have a clear backstory. But the popularity of Labubu is clearly not as simple as "blind boxes" or "luck."
You will find that people who like Labubu don’t just "buy it to display."
They make outfits for it, and even put on false eyelashes and dental bling. Young people buy this little doll not to show off, but to care for it like a slightly sassy child, creating a participatory emotional companionship.
In recent years, there have been more and more "blank IPs" like Labubu. Without a clear worldview or grand biographies, they allow people to project emotions and weave stories more willingly.
Labubu doesn’t make noise or advocate anything; it’s just there when you’re willing to pause and take a breath.
The Popularity of Labubu: A Trend in "Relational Feelings"
The explosive popularity of Labubu is not a coincidence.
In many seemingly "companion economy" sectors, it has hit a particularly precise point: it doesn’t just talk to you or alleviate your boredom, but it accompanies you in **portraying an ideal intimate relationship: ** controllable, non-intrusive, pressure-free, and customizable.
Through it, we can experience a unique intimate imagination belonging to contemporary people:
I can approach it freely, but it won’t ask for any response from me;
When I want to express myself, it’s there; when I don’t want to talk, it won’t ask a single question.
This is an increasingly common phenomenon today: projecting emotions onto "non-human objects" to gain a lightweight, controllable sense of intimacy.
You will find that Labubu's "transformations" increasingly resemble caring for a digital child: dressing it up, applying makeup, decorating its space, taking photos—each action is not merely a hobby, but a form of "projection-feedback" light emotional interaction.
This is essentially the same logic as the popular nurturing of characters in otome games, two-dimensional culture, and "pain bags" in recent years:
It’s not about satisfying "being understood," but about gaining "emotional sovereignty."
In these relationships, we are no longer individuals trying to meet others' expectations, but emotional directors who say, "I call the shots." Labubu is like a gentle blank canvas on which you can write your own story.
This is also the biggest difference between Labubu and traditional trendy toys.
Classic figures or IP peripherals pull you into someone else's world; you have to understand character settings and plot backgrounds to feel immersed.
But Labubu is the opposite; it doesn’t tell a story, only provides a cute outline, a shell with some expression, inviting you to write your own emotions into it.
It is much freer than many "fully established IPs."
And "freedom" is precisely what young people currently lack in real social interactions.
It’s not expensive, its image is approachable and malleable, finding a precise balance between popular culture and niche expression. You won’t feel it’s vulgar because it’s too popular, nor will you feel marginalized because it’s too niche.
It’s the kind of community symbol that says, "You like it, and I happen to like it too," like a collective tacit understanding that doesn’t require words.
Thus, we say that the popularity of Labubu is fundamentally not just about "IP," but about a sense of "relationship" between people that has long been on the verge of disappearing; it preserves this sense of relationship in the form of a toy.
In the rhythm of the city, we begin to get used to not disturbing each other, yet still yearn for a presence that can be treated gently. Labubu just fills that gap of "wanting to be close but not wanting to be disturbed"; it’s not a cure for loneliness, but a co-conspirator in it.
Pop Mart's Blank Strategy: Half-Told IPs Are More Complete
Labubu has almost no setting. You don’t even know what kind of creature it is, nor does anyone tell you what its "mission" is. Its emotions are clear, but its background is almost a blank slate.
This is not a flaw; it’s a carefully designed feature.
This is actually Pop Mart's killer strategy; they have long abandoned the old method of "creating a complete character" and instead constructed an IP narrative that aligns more with contemporary psychological structures: not telling everything, but only half.
Traditionally, for an IP to survive, it relied on settings, plots, and complex character relationships. But today, a complete setting has become a psychological burden.
Young people are increasingly impatient with stories.
In an environment of limited attention, severe social anxiety, and information overload, more and more young people actually prefer this kind of relationship where "I can approach when I want, and participate a little when I want," rather than a complete story filled with settings and heavy pressure.
In other words: we have moved from an "immersive narrative" to an "episodic identity" era.
You don’t need to fully understand Labubu’s past, nor do you need to know its future. You just need to connect with its expression at a certain moment, and that’s enough.
This is actually a transfer of narrative power in contemporary storytelling: the initiative of storytelling has shifted from creators to audiences.
You can assign it a setting, saying it’s "a slightly irritable urban worker"; you can also say it "is the misunderstood version of myself from childhood"; or you can say nothing at all, just change its outfit and let it sit with you for a while.
The biggest difference from traditional narrative logic is that we don’t need a character that "waits for us to understand," but rather want a vessel that can hold our emotions.
This also explains why blank IPs have become increasingly popular in recent years; most of Pop Mart's IPs tend to blur backgrounds and dilute settings, leaving more space for the audience to fill in.
It’s not that they are unwilling to tell stories, but because they know: in an era where everyone wants to express themselves but no one wants to be defined, the blank itself is the strongest setting.
It satisfies a core emotion of the "cultural uncertainty era": I don’t need you to give me answers; I just want to decide for myself where to speak and where to remain silent.
The success of Labubu lies in the fact that although it hasn’t constructed a complete world, it has provided everyone with a way to approach it. This is a new cultural structure: decentralized, anti-setting, participatory emotional completion.
It’s not a character, but a position; not a story, but a way to open up.
Because of this, it can quietly occupy so many "blank spaces" on young people's desks, backpacks, and bedside tables.
A "Slightly Risky, But Not Too Risky" Light Trend Product
The concept of blind boxes has many people saying "it’s a money grab," yet their actions tell a different story.
Its charm, to put it simply, is a sense of stimulation within a controllable range: the uncertainty of unboxing, the little surprise of getting a hidden version, and the small trades with friends like "you give me, I trade you"—these constitute the psychological reality of contemporary young people who want surprises but cannot bear significant risks.
Labubu has also hit this point: it has a bit of a "gamble" element, but it won’t make you feel cheated.
It’s not like NFTs or sneakers that can be speculated to thousands or tens of thousands. The current secondary market price of Labubu is acceptable for most people. Moreover, even if you don’t get a hidden version, there are many "cute versions" to enjoy, so the gap isn’t too large.
This combination of "a little gamble + visually pleasing" perfectly fits the comfort zone of young people's emotional consumption.
Additionally, buying blind boxes doesn’t rely heavily on knowledge thresholds like some trendy cultures do.
You don’t need to understand the trendy toy circle, nor do you need to study the background settings, stay up all night, network, or scramble for a lottery. You just need to walk through a mall, see it, and buy one to try; the entire "entry" threshold is completed.
This is actually Labubu’s and Pop Mart’s product philosophy: don’t create anxiety, but generate the impulse to want to own.
It’s like a "low-pressure trend": you can participate, get addicted, share, and discuss, but you won’t feel excluded from the circle if you miss out on one item, creating a sense of "disconnection." Even its design language leans towards "fuzzy cuteness," making it neither too refined nor making you feel like a "social media expert."
It’s a trend that can be integrated into life without requiring you to declare yourself a trendsetter. You can place it on your desk as decoration, take a photo of it as an emoji, or put it in your bag to spark social conversations; it has social attachment but no social pressure.
This positioning perfectly aligns with the intersection of contemporary young people's threefold needs for "socializing + trends + emotional consumption":
Want to buy something to make today "different";
Want to post something to let others "know I’m living";
Want to gamble a little, but not really let the wallet bleed.
Labubu’s product logic is like a disassemblable trend experience package: controllable price, immediate feedback, low participation threshold, and high psychological satisfaction. It’s a clever form of "everyday stimulation," not addiction or financial management; it’s a small excitement that you can control.
More importantly, although Labubu can indeed circulate in the secondary market, its price has always been controlled within the range of "affordable if you like it," preventing it from being speculated into a financial product. Its value growth is not based on scarcity creating anxiety, but on social and emotional circulation generating consensus.
This value system based on cultural recognition is more enduring and healthier than those purely reliant on scarcity as "financial speculative products" (yes, I’m talking about NFTs).
The Art of Trend Manipulation: Designed Frenzy, Reasonable Sense of Participation
Any trend is precisely manipulated, and Labubu is no exception; it’s not loud but omnipresent.
We can certainly say it’s "cute," "healing," and "has character," but without strong operational strategies and content investment, Labubu could not have stood out from the many IPs in the trendy toy brand. Its rise to fame was undoubtedly designed.
More specifically, I believe Labubu’s popularity has hit three key points: controllable scarcity, circulating price structure, and just the right social heat.
It does not pursue the "out-of-stock myth" of a frenzied rush across the internet, ensuring you know "someone has managed to get it." It doesn’t make you feel like you can’t buy it, but it definitely makes you feel that "to get that version, you really need a bit of luck." This sense of participation that has a threshold but is not unattainable, has expectations but doesn’t drive you to despair is the most difficult balance for many trendy brands to strike today.
From sneakers, trading cards, to CS2 skins and NFTs, the trend consumption in recent years has increasingly leaned towards "financialization." You are not just buying an item; you are betting on whether its value will rise in the future.
It can be exhilarating, but it also compresses what originally belonged to "interest" into a financial operation of "competing over who understands it earlier, buys it faster, and hoards more."
In a certain sense, Labubu represents a "light rebellion" after all this.
It hasn’t turned "scarcity" into a tool for a hierarchy of disdain. It maintains its popularity with an extremely restrained strategy: it’s certainly not something everyone can buy the hottest version of, but as long as you are willing to buy, the secondary price is acceptable; not every piece will appreciate, but every piece is cute enough that you won’t regret placing it on your desk.
This is its brilliance: controlling the financial attributes beneath cultural attributes.
You can trade, sell, or show it off, but these actions are not for arbitrage; they are for participation, a way to make you "feel like you are part of the trend."
It doesn’t tell you "how you should be," but provides a cultural rhythm that you can join, exit, and participate in repeatedly.
What’s even rarer is that the operational logic behind it is not "inflating prices," but "maintaining enthusiasm."
This is actually a very new trend operation concept: not creating authority, but creating replicable enthusiasm.
It doesn’t rely on elites to define aesthetics but empowers users; it doesn’t create desire through "limited anxiety" but cultivates relationships through "low-pressure participation." Trendiness is no longer a symbol of identity that requires a significant investment of time and money; it has transformed into a lightweight social cultural space that everyone can enter.
This "gentle trend" is actually a quiet shift in values:
Trendiness used to be a threshold, a matter of "do you understand or not"; now, it feels more like companionship, a matter of "are you willing or not."
You don’t need to use Labubu to prove you are a trendy person who understands. You just want to leave a small corner for yourself in the fast-paced life, to be accompanied by it, to dress it up, without needing to explain.
This is not anti-trend; it is a redefinition after cooling down the trend.
Labubu never explains who it is. It just sits there, grinning, fluffing up, quietly accompanying you.
But precisely because of this, it has become an emotional outlet, a practice of intimacy, a participatory trend sample. You can dress it up, show it off, or do nothing at all, just glance at it occasionally, and then continue with your life.
We have become accustomed to too many relationships that "require a response," too much enthusiasm that "needs investment." But Labubu is not that kind of existence. It doesn’t make noise, doesn’t teach you anything, and doesn’t ask for your feedback.
It simply remains there, letting you know that in this era where everything is filled with narratives, there are still things willing to leave a little blank for you.
And that little blank might just be what we need the most.
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