Last time the editor of YOU asked me to write a fashion piece, I ended up road-testing a pair of Puma It-shoes (‘snoafers’) so ugly they still haunt me, just as I imagine they are also still haunting the 50p basket of the Cancer Research shop where I deposited them afterwards.
Fool that I am, this time I was more hopeful. Maybe a sassy new handbag or a pair of magic jeans that would make my bottom look like Kim Kardashian’s. Surely I had earnt it. But, no. If I were prone to paranoia I would think someone upstairs has it in for me. Why else would they make me wear a Labubu?
‘A what?’ you ask. Oh hush now, surely you’re familiar with the ‘ugly-cute’ obsession of the summer? The Labubu doll, the viral sensation adored by young and old, rich and poor, famous and non: little monsters, like Gremlins crossed with the Cabbage Patch Kids. Only uglier, if you can imagine such a thing.
‘I cannot discount some supernatural influence to explain their appeal’
You’ll find them dangling from schoolbags, adorning the front row, causing fights in toyshops, reselling for thousands on Ebay. In June, a 4ft-tall mint-green specimen sold at auction in Beijing for some £126,000. At the same auction, a tall brown one went for almost £105,000.
Needless to say, this frenzy is fed by social media and celebrity: the aforementioned Kardashian, David Beckham, a member of Blackpink (a girl band, I believe), Lizzo, Rihanna, Cardi B, Dua Lipa, even Cher. They’ve all got one, or several. Labubus are ‘the new Birkin’, gushed one headline.
If true, that says a lot about where civilisation is heading. At least you can keep stuff in a Birkin, absurdly overpriced as it may be. And at least there’s a degree of craftsmanship to a Birkin. Labubus are just plastic and fake fur, with no intrinsic value, unless it’s to make the wearer look like they’ve got more money than sense. Which many clearly do.
Madonna on Mother’s Day
A little context. Labubus were created a decade ago by Kasing Lung, a Hong Kong-born illustrator living in Belgium, for his Nordic-inspired picture book series The Monsters. They’re mischievous, elfin-like creatures with furry bodies, large ears and wide, toothy grins. In 2019, they were licensed by Chinese toy giant Pop Mart, which spotted the market for them as blind-box collectibles. Initially aimed at children, they quickly became appealing to Gen Z trendsetters and influencers, who drove up demand. Via a series of limited editions, they began to build a niche following in Asia, and a couple of years ago they went global. To date, there have been more than 300 versions of Labubu, from $15 mini figures to $1,000 special editions.
Pop Mart recently announced a 400 per cent rise in profits for the first half of this year, and the company’s shares have soared by more than 200 per cent, overtaking the mighty Mattel, maker of Barbie. Needless to say, they have inspired countless counterfeits, dubbed ‘Lafufus’.
Marc Jacobs with a Labubu Airpod case
With all this in mind, I am almost excited to unbox my very own Labubu, purchased online from Stock XX. It’s green, with little plastic feet and hands, a furry body, pink ears, huge oval eyes with giant black irises, a small button of a nose, and that trademark fanged grin, like a benign berserker, those Norse warriors known for filing their teeth to points, on which these dolls are surely partly based.
I wonder what those fearsome fighters would have made of this plastic legacy. From Nordic myth to handbag accessory: not exactly the gilded halls of Valhalla, is it? Still, I attach the thing to my trusty vintage Anya Hindmarch and head out.
The recognition factor is undeniable. It’s especially acute among gay men, school-aged girls and anyone working in the fashion world. I take it to my weekly hairdressing appointment, and the receptionist seems to eye me with new-found interest.
The staff in the local coffee shop are fascinated. ‘I didn’t know you were so down with the kids,’ says my usual barista, with a wink. On the tube, a gaggle of teenagers, their own rucksacks festooned with furry appendages, whisper and point.
It’s hard to know how to style this thing. If I were a tiny Japanese girl in white knee-high socks and micro-kilt, or someone with bubblegum-pink hair and tattoos, I feel it would be a fairly straightforward addition to my aesthetic. But I like clean lines, muted colours… I’m not wearing the Labubu, it’s wearing me.
Cher at Tribeca Film Festival
It stands out like a furry sore thumb. I go to a party full of people my age. Friends seem mildly bemused that I, a middle-aged women of otherwise sane disposition, have a child’s toy on my handbag. I don’t blame them. I feel a bit embarrassed myself. I explain that I’m wearing it for an article, lest they think I’ve finally had a breakdown. They look at me with ill-disguised suspicion.
At home, I unclip it and prop it on the kitchen worktop. My son walks past on his way to the fridge for a beer. He does a double-take. ‘Mum, why have you got a Labubu?’ ‘Work,’ I reply. ‘That’s OK then,’ he says. ‘I was worried there for a moment.’
Later, I go to my local parcel drop-off to post some stuff for my daughter. At the till there’s a display festooned with ‘Lafufus’. ‘How much?’ I ask. ‘£7.95.’ I compare and contrast mine with a fluorescent rainbow-coloured one. You can just about tell the difference. Just.
Am I the only one who doesn’t get it? According to the CEO of Pop Mart in August, sales of Labubus are projected to surpass ten million a day this month. On that basis, and with the global population some eight billion, it would take roughly 800 days before every person owned one, assuming they were evenly distributed. While that’s not the case, it’s a striking, not to say rather irksome, thought, not least given some of the rumours.
Lizzo in LA
There are many conspiracy theories. Some people think the dolls are possessed, linking them with Pazuzu, the Mesopotamian demon that appeared in The Exorcist, or associated with voodoo. In Iraq, 4,000 Labubus were seized by the authorities amid reports of demonic activity, while in India the popular influencer Natasha Gandhi burned hers after she claimed it brought misfortune on her family. There have even been reports of the dolls moving independently.
Ordinarily I would scoff at such nonsense. But the appeal of these things is so lost on me I cannot discount some sort of supernatural influence as an explanation for their popularity. And the more I look at mine, the more I fancy I espy a demonic twinkle in its plastic eye.
I imagine it snaffling all the leftovers from the bin while we’re asleep. I can see it in an episode of Black Mirror, where at a signal from its queen, all the world’s Labubus suddenly activate and turn on their human hosts.
That’s it. Time for another trip to Cancer Research.