Pop Mart, the company that licensed Labubu and launched it into the mainstream, went public on the Hong Kong Stock Exchange in 2020 and was then valued at around $7 billion. Thanks to the plush toy craze, it’s now worth over $40 billion—more than twice the combined value of American giants Mattel and Hasbro.
Once, plush toys were just gifts for children—their first teddy bear, stored in a memory box. Today, they are serious business and a cultural phenomenon. In a world that often feels unsafe and chaotic, even adults seek comfort in something soft and secure. This trend is popularly known as “kidulting”—childhood for adults. And among all plushies, one has become the global symbol of that need: Labubu.
In recent years, plush toys have taken on a new role: emotional support objects and therapeutic tools that help reduce anxiety. During the COVID pandemic, they replaced human touch and presence. The market has exploded—between 2019 and 2025, it nearly doubled and is now worth around $17 billion. Asia has seen the biggest growth, but Europe and the US aren’t far behind. Viral brands like Squishmallows, Jellycat, and Labubu dominate social media. Hashtags like #plushietok and #softlife have amassed millions of views on TikTok.
Even before the pandemic, the world was ready for a return to softness. The Japanese kawaii aesthetic, which celebrates cuteness and childlike sensitivity, has been spreading to the West for years. Younger generations, especially Gen Z, openly embrace softness and cuteness in adult life—not out of nostalgia, but as an ideological choice. In a world that demands speed and efficiency, gentleness becomes a form of micro-resistance. In this atmosphere, the soft monster Labubu appeared. Created by Hong Kong artist Kasing Lung, Labubu is a cross between a bunny and a baby—scruffy, with sharp teeth and a gentle gaze. Ugly and vulnerable at the same time, Labubu began as an illustration, then became a vinyl figure, and is now also a plush toy—an astronaut, a giant pink rabbit, even a Coca-Cola ad mascot.
What’s Labubu’s fate? That’s the question of the year. Looking at the fates of Furby and Troll Dolls, the outlook isn’t very promising—even the flashiest hit can fade in three seasons. But Labubu plays by different rules. It doesn’t live in the world of play, but in the economy of attention, aesthetics, and collecting. It’s not a teddy bear or a doll—it’s a plush NFT.
Labubu is a symbol of rebellious softness. Counterculture packaged as capitalism, sold in blind box packaging: you buy a box, but don’t know which figure you’ll get. Some people adore it, others resell it. Rihanna carries it on a Louis Vuitton bag, and on social media, it pops up in every algorithm—from demons to dopamine. Plush toy lines stretch across London, Paris, and Madrid. People camp outside stores, and resellers flip them for 5 to 10 times the original price.
Pop Mart, the company that licensed Labubu and brought it to the mainstream, went public on the Hong Kong Stock Exchange in 2020 and was then valued at about $7 billion. Thanks to the plush frenzy, it’s now worth over $40 billion—more than twice as much as American giants Mattel and Hasbro combined. Half of that value comes from Labubu products. The company’s founder, Wang Ning, has become one of the richest people in China—Forbes estimates his net worth at over $22 billion. On the other hand, Kasing Lung, the original creator, remains independent, with an estimated net worth of about $10 million.
Plush toys have taken on a new role in recent years: emotional support and anxiety-reducing therapy objects. The market has exploded—doubling between 2019 and 2025, and now worth around $17 billion.
Labubu isn’t the first viral toy. When Furby appeared in the late 1990s, it looked like a technological marvel—a plush owl that blinked, talked, and supposedly learned language. It became a massive hit as a holiday and birthday gift, a childhood status symbol. Before that, Troll Dolls—with neon hair and quirky faces—took over backpacks and drawers around the world. Both thrived on weirdness and charm, but eventually disappeared. They were swept aside by screens, apps, and the fleeting nature of digital attention. Today, you’ll find them on eBay under the “nostalgia” category.
So, what’s next for Labubu? That’s the big question. Looking at the fate of Furby and Trolls doesn’t inspire much confidence—even the most colorful trend can fade after a few seasons. But Labubu is playing a slightly different game. It doesn’t live in the realm of toys, but in the economy of attention, aesthetics, and collecting. It’s not a teddy bear or a doll—it’s a plush NFT. And because of that, its future depends on what Pop Mart chooses to do next.
Labubu is a symbol of rebellious tenderness. A counterculture wrapped in capitalism.
If it remains just a blind box trend, Labubu will meet the same fate as Furby as soon as the algorithm decides it’s time for the next toy. But if it evolves into a global brand—through cartoons, fashion collaborations, licensed products, or even theme parks—Labubu could become timeless, the next Hello Kitty or Barbie.
For that to succeed, Pop Mart has to move beyond the collectible hype and into the phase of emotional franchising. It’s not enough for people to want to own Labubu—they need to want to be part of its world.
In the toy world, only a few characters manage to cross the line from product to franchise—not just commercial, but emotional, cultural, and financial. These are the worlds where Mickey Mouse, Barbie, Hello Kitty, and Pokémon have endured for decades. They are defined not by their form, but by their narrative. Mickey is a symbol of joy and nostalgia. Barbie tells a story of identity and aspiration. Hello Kitty builds a quiet universe. Pokémon connects generations through a tale of adventure and friendship.
A true franchise doesn’t depend on sales—it depends on belonging. If Pop Mart wants Labubu to outlast its own hype, it has to give it meaning. Labubu won’t endure because it sells well—but because it is felt.
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