TO be frank, this makcik is clueless about Labubu and barely spares a side glance at the snaking queues outside a Pop Mart store in one of the country’s many malls.
If you are just as lost as this makcik, fret not – you are not alone.
Apparently, Labubu is popular. Yes, people, these
wide-eyed, wild-haired goblins with rabbit-like ears – collectively known as Labubu – have taken Malaysia by storm. Why? Why not.
This scruffy little vinyl figure, with a thousand-yard stare and teeth that look like they were flossed with lightning wire, is now the reigning monarch of Malaysian toy shelves and online resale groups.
Labubu is not new; it is part of The Monsters series by Pop Mart, a Chinese company renowned for turning tiny plastic things into full-blown cultural phenomena.
While Labubu has long enjoyed niche popularity among collectors, something curious has happened in Malaysia: Labubu is not just a toy. It has become a statement, a personality and even a part-time investment portfolio.
Every new release sends fans into a frenzy. People queue for hours outside malls, jostling for a position like it is a Yeezy drop – not a figurine that looks like it crawled out of the woods and stole your snacks.
Online, shopping carts crash, websites melt down and grown adults devolve into
e-commerce gladiators – frantically refreshing as if their lives depend on it.
And what happens after that? If you are lucky, you land a Labubu at retail price – anywhere from RM59 to RM89.
If not, you turn to the aftermarket, where prices balloon like a durian in heat.
A rare edition Labubu can fetch over RM2,000. That is not a typo. That is a full month’s rent – or two, depending on where you live.
And yet, collectors will happily shell it out, proudly posting their catch with captions like: “Finally got him!” – as if they had just adopted a child, not a gremlin in a box.
It is hard to explain Labubu’s appeal to the uninitiated. It has the unsettling energy of something that may haunt your dreams but also… it’s cute? Sort of? In an “ugly-cute” kind of way.
But this goes beyond aesthetics. Labubu mania taps into something deeper. In a world that feels increasingly out of control – climate anxiety, rising living costs or the existential dread of Monday mornings – Labubu offers a tiny, tangible slice of joy.
It is nostalgia, comfort, chaos and consumerism all in one box. A millennial and Gen Z coping mechanism – with fangs.
Of course, the craze has not escaped criticism. Some scoff at the resale market. Others question the wisdom of spending hundreds – or thousands – on a toy.
But ask any collector and you will hear a variation of the same answer: “It makes me happy.” And honestly, in a time when happiness feels like a luxury, who are we to judge?
Still, the madness rolls on. Limited-edition drops vanish in seconds. Facebook groups host dedicated Labubu clans – trading, selling and occasionally squabbling over authenticity and resale ethics.
Even shopping malls have started turning releases into mini-events, complete with props and photo ops – as if Labubu himself were a visiting celebrity.
It is surreal. It is slightly absurd. And it is also kind of brilliant. Because Labubu, for all his snaggle-toothed strangeness, has become a mirror. He reflects our hunger for something fun, something offbeat and something to hold onto that is not just another soulless screen or endless doomscroll.
He is the oddball mascot of a generation trying to find happiness wherever it can – be it in bubble tea, K-dramas or a gremlin with bad posture and stellar marketing.
So here’s to Labubu, the punk-rock toy Malaysia didn’t know it needed. Long may
he reign – scruffy, silent and mildly terrifying – on display shelves across the nation.
Just don’t be surprised if your next dinner guest is late… because they may be stuck in a mall queue – for a goblin.
Azura Abas is the
associate editor of theSun.
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