Labubus: The Ugly Dolls Taking Over the World (And Nobody Quite Knows Why)

Every now and then, humanity decides to collect strange things. We've had fluorescent bracelets, food-shaped phone cases... and now we have Labubus. Yes, Labubus. Vinyl dolls with questionable expressions, bulging eyes, and the look of someone who just emerged from a cute nightmare. And the worst part? They're everywhere, and some people will pay a fortune for them.

Kasing Lung is a Hong Kong artist with a wealth of talent and a seemingly fascination with creatures with large, slightly creepy eyes. He created a universe populated by these figures, which look like the illegitimate offspring of a Gremlin and a burnt-out Ewok. Pop Mart, a Chinese company specializing in turning oddities into euros, saw a niche there and began selling them in surprise boxes. Yes, you read that right: surprise.

The logic is simple: you buy a box without knowing which doll is inside. You might get the one you wanted, or a duplicate. You might get one with a hat. You might get the mythical "secret Labubu," which appears less frequently than a punctual train ride. The result? Adults swapping dolls in Facebook groups as if they were on the playground, only with much more anxiety and a budget for toys.

The Labubu craze says it all about the times we live in. We're so starved for beauty, pampering, and meaning that we've come to find cute what, objectively, is slightly disturbing. The weirder, the more artistic. The uglier, the more conceptual. Contemporary aesthetics have become a kind of Rorschach test: if you find charm in the Labubu with the air of someone who's about to steal your soul, congratulations, you're officially part of the problem.

We're not talking about cheap toys. Each blind box can cost over 50 euros (yes, fifty euros), especially if it's a limited edition or sold on the black market for the desperate. And of course, no one settles for just one. Because capitalism has learned to exploit our emotional needs with pastel colors, vague storytelling, and an algorithm that knows exactly when we're vulnerable. If once the addiction was buying shoes, now it's lining up dolls with names like "Labubu Cosmic Rabbit" on the living room shelf, and then crying on MB Way.

The Labubus craze isn't just another consumer trend. It's a cynical mirror of the world we live in: hyperconnected, absurdly aesthetic, lacking in logic but full of desires. Perhaps Labubus truly are the perfect reflection of our era. Or perhaps, and this is a tough one to swallow, the real weirdo... is us.

The texts in this section reflect the authors' personal opinions. They do not represent VISÃO nor reflect its editorial position.