I’m a psychotherapist. Here’s why people are so obsessed with Labubus

Everyone wants to add a Labubu to the hook of their backpacks, but why exactly do normally sane women suddenly feel obsessed with little furry monsters they previously found ugly? Amber Raiken speaks to two psychotherapists about the success of the toys

Everyone wants what they can’t have, or in this case, what feels impossible to find: fuzzy toys called Labubus.

But why do so many smart women suddenly and desperately want one or even 10 of these creatures so badly? According to New York City-based psychotherapist Jordan Conrad from Madison Park Therapy, we want them because they’re trending and hard to get.

“There is nothing in particular about Labubu dolls that makes them desirable, or justifies their appeal,” he says. “In fact, they actively show off how useless and ugly they are - and that is what makes them so coveted. This is a subtle technique that a lot of advertisers and brand marketers have adopted from behavioral psychology.”

Adored for their “ugly-cute” aesthetic, Labubus are small monster dolls that come in a fuzzy coat of any color, red nose, rabbit-like ears, and menacing, sharp teeth. Content creators on TikTok have spent months sharing how they style their collection of Labubus, making the toy a must-have keychain on your purse or backpack. Many people who were initially skeptical of the toys suddenly got excited by the thrill of the chase.

Being difficult to get makes them more desirable, Conrad says — a limited amount appear weekly in store, with most in the range of $21.99 to $39.99 — and we feel special when we’ve won the battle to track one down. Hence the videos of them all over TikTok (you have to post it to show everyone you found one), and a healthy resale market.

Labubu collectable on a designer bag (AFP/Getty)

Daren Banarsë, a senior psychotherapist with a private practice in Central London, explains that we assign greater value to things that are hard to obtain and that the marketing tactics for Labubus are beyond what we typically see: the scarcity of them is integral to the experience of finding them.

“People aren't just buying a toy; they're participating in a quest that feels meaningful precisely because it's challenging. The hunt has become as important as the prize, transforming a simple retail transaction into something that feels like genuine achievement,” Banarsë explains.

Every time a new Labubu drops at Chinese retailer Pop Mart, the line starts before sunrise and wraps around the block. If you don’t make the morning rush at the store, your next option is to look at the reseller site StockX. Prices there are often the same for one doll, but the starting bid for a box of six Labubus can go up to $300. Approach that site with caution, though, since knockoff versions of the toys, known as Lafufus, are on the rise.

“A Labubu doesn't necessarily signal wealth, it signals being part of an in-group, and that involves a certain aesthetic, knowing certain things,” Conrad says.

Labubus represents something we purely want without utility, Banarsë argues. Yes they are sort of useless, but in our productivity-obsessed culture, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. “Labubus are permission to desire something simply because it brings joy, not because it serves a function,” he says. “That's remarkably liberating when we're constantly told to optimize and justify our choices.”

But even though they are little soft doll monsters, Conrad doesn’t believe that they are what therapists call “transitional items”, unlike a blankie you had as a child, which you now hang on to for comfort during anxiety-inducing experiences.

Instead, the Labubus trend should just be viewed as a fashion trend, that “If I have this, I will confer a certain status,” Conrad says, and that soon everyone will move on to the next thing. In April, for example, everyone wanted to get their hands on the pastel mini totes at Trader Joe’s.

Banarsë does see Labubus as part of something bigger, a phenomenon that brings people together and represents joy, playfulness, and sense of belonging. “In a time when many people feel isolated, finding others who understand the excitement of a rare find or the satisfaction of completing a collection provides a genuine social connection,” he says.

That is, if you can find one.