Beanie Babies vs. Labubu: Why We Fall for Tiny, Expensive Things

The $173,000 Plush Elf vs. the Beanie Baby Bubble: Why We Keep Falling for Tiny, Expensive Lies

In 2024, a human-sized Labubu doll, a grinning, pointy-eared elf from a Hong Kong–Belgian artist Kasing Lung‘s sketchbook sold at auction for $173,000.

Two decades earlier, a retired Beanie Baby named “Princess the Bear” sparked riots outside Hallmark stores, with speculators betting it would pay for their kids’ college.

Both manias revolved around stuffed toys. Both made people lose all financial sense.

And both reveal how nostalgia, artificial scarcity, and tribal identity turn harmless objects into cultural earthquakes.

But here’s what no one admits: Labubu and Beanie Babies aren’t really about the toys.

One thrived on early internet chaos, the other on TikTok’s dopamine economy.

One crashed spectacularly; the other is still climbing…for now. This is the untold psychology behind why we hunt, hoard, and hyperventilate over tiny, expensive things… and what happens when the hype runs out?

Collectible	Origin & creator	Design ethos	Narrative / mythology
Labubu	Created 2015 by Hong Kong‑born artist Kasing Lung as part of his The Monsters story books; commercialised by Pop Mart in 2019.	Inspired by Nordic mythology and Lung’s childhood—he emigrated to the Netherlands and read Nordic elf picture books. Labubu is an elf‑like creature with high pointed ears, nine serrated teeth and no tail. Lung blended Eastern spirits and Western fairy tales. Modern versions come in over 300 colours, poses and expressions.	Labubu belongs to a tribe of monsters (Zimomo, Tycoco, etc.) and is mischievous yet kind. Lung sees it as a character with stories, not just a toy; he continues to release picture books and aims to expand its world.
Beanie Babies	Designed by Ty Warner and introduced at the 1993 New York Toy Fair; production began in 1994.	Small plush animals deliberately under‑stuffed so they could be posed; this made them look “real” compared with more rigid stuffed toys. Each had a heart‑shaped swing tag and fabric “tush” tag. Starting in 1996, tags included four‑line poems and a birth date written by Lina Trivedi.	Each Beanie Baby had a name, birthday and short poem, giving it a personality. Ty Warner periodically retired designs to create scarcity, spawning lore about which animals would appreciate in value.

The Aesthetic Showdown: Sweet vs. Sinister

Labubu’s design conveys a cute–grotesque tension that’s pure Gen Z catnip.

With its pointy devil ears, razor-sharp grin, and cotton-candy colour palette, it blends folklore and mischief in ways that appeal to a generation raised on irony and individuality.

The character’s high ears and toothy grin have become iconic, and Pop Mart releases endless variants, often tied to desserts or fashion accessories.

It’s what happens when a children’s book illustration gets a gothic makeover.

Beanie Babies, in contrast, are simpler animal forms that emphasise pure, unapologetic cuddliness.

These weren’t your typical rigid stuffed animals. They were deliberately under-stuffed to feel floppy and real, like tiny pets you could actually hold.

But here’s the genius part: those heart-shaped tags weren’t just decoration.

The inclusion of poems and birthdays created backstories, giving each plush a “soul” and encouraging collectors to treat them like characters rather than commodities.

It’s the difference between collecting mysterious creatures that might bite you in your sleep versus building a menagerie of gentle friends with documented life stories.

How Two Toys Conquered the World (Very Differently)

The Labubu Formula: Dopamine Hits and Designer Chaos

Pop Mart didn’t just sell toys, they engineered addiction. By combining art-toy culture with retail innovation, they turned a grinning elf into a global obsession using a brilliantly manipulative playbook.

First, there’s the blind box strategy: imagine buying a sealed mystery box, not knowing if you’ll get a common variant or hit the jackpot with a rare “secret” edition that has odds as low as 1 in 72.

This randomness taps into dopamine-driven surprise and keeps people coming back for more.

Pop Mart deliberately limits production runs and cycles through versions faster than fashion seasons, ensuring scarcity feels real and urgent.

Here’s a fan showing off their 24-karat gold Labubu – a collector’s dream in physical form:

@lilzbullzofficial My 24 karat gold Labubu #labubu #gold #labubuthemonsters #popmart ♬ La BEW BEW – The Jungle Pups

Then there’s their retail empire: 530 stores and 2,490 robotic “Robo Shops” worldwide, expanding so aggressively that by 2025 they aimed to pull 65% of revenue from overseas markets.

But the real magic happened online.

Digital fan culture exploded across TikTok and Xiaohongshu, where unboxing videos became performance art and custom paint jobs turned collecting into self-expression.

Social conversation around Labubu grew by over 9,600% between 2023 and 2024.

Fans queue overnight and compare their pulls like battle wounds; some liken the experience to “war” or “The Hunger Games.”

When Blackpink’s Lisa posted about her “obsession,” it went supernova.

Suddenly Rihanna, Kim Kardashian, Lana Del Rey and Dua Lipa were all carrying Labubus, transforming a toy into the ultimate status accessory.

Beijing even weaponised the character as a soft-power ambassador while cracking down on counterfeit “Lafufu” dolls.

The Beanie Baby Blueprint: Scarcity Meets Early Internet Chaos

Ty Inc. accidentally created the template for modern hype culture through controlled distribution and early internet engagement, and they did it before most people knew what a website was.

Their genius was artificial scarcity: retailers could order only 36 of each character per month, and designs were regularly retired without warning.

This created genuine shortages that sent desperate collectors scrambling online to a platform called eBay, where the Beanie Baby craze accounted for ~10% of all sales.

In 1995, Ty launched one of the first business-to-consumer websites, with tags literally printed with “Visit our website!!!”

Suddenly, tracking retirements and new releases became a full-time obsession. eBay and online forums became the Wild West of collecting, where feedback systems built trust and “experts” taught newbies how to spot fakes.

The cultural moment was pure 90s chaos: families camping outside Hallmark stores for the Princess Diana bear, price guides treating plush animals like stock portfolios, and playground gossip that could make or break a toy’s value overnight.

It was FOMO before we had a name for it.

Aspect	Labubu community	Beanie Baby community
Geography	Initially concentrated in East Asia, with huge enthusiasm in China and Southeast Asia. Rapid expansion to Europe and the U.S. via Pop Mart stores and vending machines.	United States and Canada in the 1990s; spread internationally through eBay. Many collectors were suburban parents and children camping outside small gift shops.
Platforms	Social‑media driven: TikTok, Xiaohongshu, Instagram; hashtags create memes; fans share unboxing videos and “Lafufu” jokes.	Early internet forums and eBay; chatrooms and price‑guide mailing lists. Some collectors wrote CD‑ROM software to track prices and calculate taxes.
Fan practices	Custom modifications, trading at Pop Mart stores, overnight queues. Creative content fosters an online identity around “cute‑horror” aesthetics. Secondary market flipping and bot‑assisted purchases mimic sneaker‑culture.	Tag protectors, display cabinets and price‑guide speculation. Trade shows and swap meets; early adoption of online auctions. Some fans insured their collections for thousands.

When Cute Toys Become Million-Dollar Investments

The Labubu Gold Rush: From $15 to $173,000

Here’s where things get wild. Pop Mart sells those innocent-looking Labubu blind boxes for a modest US$13–16 each, but step into the resale market and you’re entering a different universe entirely.

Rare figures routinely flip for hundreds of dollars, and the truly legendary pieces? They’ve shattered every expectation.

In 2024, a human-sized Labubu plush sold at auction for 1.24 million yuan (~US$173,000) that’s more than most people’s cars.

Another collector set fetched RMB 3.73 million, proving this isn’t just a fad but a full-blown financial phenomenon.

Plush toy sales exploded 1,200% year-on-year, and Pop Mart’s Monsters series alone generated RMB 3 billion (US$418 M) in 2024, representing 23% of the company’s entire revenue.

When overseas revenue surged 375% in 2024, it became clear: the world had Labubu fever. As Forbes noted, Labubu has evolved into a full-fledged business empire.

But this gold rush has a dark side. The speculation creates intense FOMO and attracts scalpers armed with bots, turning every drop into a digital stampede.

China even seized nearly 49,000 fake “Lafufu” dolls in July 2025, as counterfeiters threatened to flood the market with knockoffs.

Yet scholars argue the real magic isn’t about profit; it’s about the hunt itself.

The shared inventory tips, the overnight queues, the communal unboxing rituals.

It’s less about flipping toys and more about belonging to something bigger.

The Beanie Baby Bubble: A Cautionary Tale in Plush

Twenty-five years earlier, a similar mania gripped America, but with a very different ending.

Beanie Babies retailed for about US$5, pocket change that seemed like a safe bet for parents and kids alike.

But Ty Inc.’s strategy of limiting production and retiring characters without warning turned these innocent stuffed animals into speculative gold.

Some toys appreciated ten-fold on eBay practically overnight. Price guides promised up to 8,000% appreciation, and for a brief, shining moment, Beanie Babies represented 10% of all eBay sales.

Adults started treating them like actual financial instruments, insuring collections and using CD-ROM software to track profits and taxes like day traders.

Then came 1999, the year everything collapsed. Ty stopped playing the retirement game, overproduction flooded the market, and the bubble burst with devastating finality.

Today, most Beanie Babies sell for US$0.50 or less, gathering dust in storage units across America.

The crash left countless collectors holding bags full of worthless plush and served as a harsh lesson about the fragility of speculative crazes. The Beanie boom has become a textbook case of speculative bubbles.

The question hanging over Labubu’s meteoric rise: Will it follow Beanie Babies into the discount bin, or has Pop Mart cracked the code for sustained hype?

Factor	Labubu	Beanie Babies
Retail price vs. secondary price	US$13–16 retail; rare variants resell for hundreds or more. Human‑sized sculptures exceed US$150 k.	US$5 retail; common toys once resold for 10× the price but most are now worth under US$1.
Market controls	Pop Mart uses AI‑driven demand forecasting and blind‑box scarcity; releases are timed to maintain hype. Government crackdowns on fakes protect brand mythology.	Ty restricted store orders and retired designs, but overproduction and diversification later flooded the market.
Speculative behavior	Scalpers deploy bots; collectors wait overnight and camp in lines. Social media fosters hype and memetic “Lafufu” jokes.	Collectors bought multiple copies hoping to fund college tuition. Price guides and magazines reinforced the belief in ever‑rising value. Bidding wars on eBay and in-person fights over limited releases were common.
Outcome	Ongoing boom, but risk of oversaturation and counterfeit knockoffs. Chinese government positions it as soft‑power and cracks down on fake Lafufu dolls.	Bubble burst in 1999; crash became a cautionary tale. Most collections are now sentimental rather than financial.

Why These Toys Define Their Generations

Labubu: The Perfect 2020s Obsession

Labubu didn’t just arrive at the right moment: it embodies everything about how Gen Z experiences culture.

The character’s “cute-horror” look, balancing sweetness with grotesque elements, perfectly matches this generation’s taste for irony and subversion.

Those pastel colours and endless costume variations align seamlessly with “coquette goth” and kawaii trends that dominate social feeds.

But here’s where it gets fascinating: user-generated storytelling has become the real driving force. Fans don’t just collect Labubus.

They customise them, photograph them, and turn them into memes.

The “Lafufu” parody phenomenon, where comically distorted fake dolls became viral sensations, reflects the community’s brilliantly self-aware humour about their own obsession.

There’s also a geopolitical angle most people miss. Chinese officials actively tout Labubu’s aesthetic and emotional resonance as proof that “Made-in-China” is evolving into “Chinese brands.”

When authorities crack down on knockoffs, they frame it as protecting national creative ambitions: soft power wrapped in a cute package.

Meanwhile, cross-media collaborations have turned Labubu into a lifestyle symbol that extends far beyond toys.

Pop Mart partners with fashion labels, e-commerce platforms, and entertainers, while the character’s mobility (from keychains to plush charms) lets fans literally wear their fandom.

Beanie Babies: Pioneers of Digital Commerce

Beanie Babies flourished in a pre-social-media world but still managed to harness the nascent internet in ways that seem prophetic now.

For many Americans, these toys provided their gateway to e-commerce: their first online purchases, their first time entering credit card numbers over the internet.

The requirement to shop online for retired toys normalized digital transactions and built the peer-to-peer trust that would become essential for modern commerce.

The mass-media synergy was pure 1990s magic: TV commercials and price guides built hype while news stories reported on riots, divorces, and even crimes linked to the craze.

The emotional connection to Princess Diana bears and patriotic editions tapped directly into major cultural moments, turning toys into historical artifacts.

Even without modern social media, early collectors developed proto-memes and lore.

Forums created shared language (“Beanieology”), and manufacturing errors or tag misprints became treasured inside jokes.

The craze transformed simple plush animals into cultural touchstones that still trigger intense nostalgia today.

What This All Means

Labubu’s boom reflects our globalised, algorithm-driven culture where trends explode in minutes and collecting becomes intertwined with online identity.

It sits perfectly at the intersection of Chinese soft power, influencer marketing, and Gen Z aesthetics.

Beanie Babies, by contrast, thrived during the internet’s awkward adolescence, when eBay was still an experiment and online shopping felt revolutionary.

Their success didn’t just create wealth: it built the infrastructure for every hype cycle that followed.

The Psychology Behind the Obsession

Collecting taps into our deepest psychological needs. Scholars note that nostalgia provides comfort, continuity, and identity formation.

Collecting items from our past helps us reclaim memories and cope with anxiety.

It also fosters social bonds as collectors share stories and expertise, creating surprisingly supportive communities.

Think of collections as tangible autobiographies: ways of creating order in chaotic lives while signalling personal values.

In the Labubu community, collecting is less about remembering childhood and more about crafting an online persona.

Fans curate social feeds, accessorise outfits, and adopt the toy’s “cute-horror” aesthetic to express individuality.

The community thrives on self-referential humour (those Lafufu memes) and shared experiences like queuing and unboxing rituals.

For Beanie Babies, nostalgia works differently. Many collectors were adults in the 1990s chasing investment dreams, while others were children whose parents treated the toys like precious treasure.

When the market collapsed, these plush animals transformed into sentimental artifacts: reminders of both childhood innocence and the dot-com era’s irrational exuberance.

The emotional attachment persisted long after financial value evaporated, proving that sometimes the real treasure was the memories we made along the way.

The Verdict: What These Tiny Obsessions Reveal About Us

Both Labubu and Beanie Babies prove that the right combination of scarcity, storytelling, and community can transform anything into a cultural phenomenon.

But their wildly different paths reveal just how much our relationship with stuff has evolved:

The Platform Effect Beanie Babies conquered the world through physical scarcity and the early Wild West of online auctions.

Labubu’s meteoric rise is completely inseparable from social media algorithms and influencer culture. Each wave shows how the technology of its time shapes what we value and how we chase it.

Cultural Power Plays Labubu represents something bigger than cute collectibles: it’s East Asia flexing its creative muscle on the global stage.

Beijing explicitly uses the character to showcase “Chinese brands” as cultural exports, marking a shift from manufacturing powerhouse to creative force.

Beanie Babies carried less geopolitical baggage but perfectly captured Western optimism in the late 1990s, especially through celebrity tie-ins like Princess Diana bears that turned toys into historical artifacts.

The Bubble Question The Beanie crash taught us how quickly speculative crazes can implode when supply floods the market and novelty fades.

Labubu faces the same risk if Pop Mart gets greedy or if counterfeit Lafufus saturate social media.

But here’s the difference: Pop Mart’s data-driven release strategy and smart diversification into charms and collaborations might actually sustain the magic longer.

What Really Drives Us Strip away the hype, and collectors are still chasing the same fundamental needs: belonging, identity, and control in an unpredictable world.

Whether it’s childhood nostalgia or carefully curated aesthetics, we’re drawn to the storytelling and shared rituals.

The thrill of the hunt often matters more than any potential profit.

So Who Wins the History Books?

Beanie Babies have already secured their cultural legacy. Even though their financial value evaporated, they remain the perfect symbol of 1990s excess and e-commerce’s awkward birth.

Museums display them, documentaries dissect them, and they’ve become shorthand for speculative bubbles. Their place in pop culture history is ironclad.

Labubu’s future is the real wild card. Its memetic DNA, multichannel marketing, and fashion integration suggest staying power that goes beyond typical fad cycles.

Pop Mart’s global expansion and Chinese government backing provide institutional muscle that most toy crazes lack.

But success hinges on walking the tightrope between scarcity and oversaturation, especially with Lafufu knockoffs threatening to dilute the brand.

In ten years, Labubu could be either a masterclass in modern brand building or just another cautionary tale about the fragility of hype.

The Beanie Baby bust still serves as a cautionary case study for brand mismanagement and speculative bubbles.

What’s certain is this: our fundamental need for identity, community, and narrative through collecting isn’t going anywhere.

The next generation of “ugly-cute” creatures is probably already being sketched in some artist’s notebook, waiting for the perfect cultural moment to capture our imaginations all over again.

The toys may change, but our obsession with the chase remains beautifully, predictably human.