“Can I have a Labubu – pleassssse, mum?” This is all I hear day in, day out from my young children. Call these gremlin keychain dolls that adults actually hang off their Miu Miu and Birkin bags ugly or cute – even demonic, as is claimed by conspiracy theorists on TikTok – I don’t care. All I know is I can’t get my hands on one.
That’s because they are a global sensation – and demand is so high they sell out in seconds. Pop Mart, the Chinese company behind the Labubu doll, reported this week that it expects at least a 350 per cent increase in profit for the first six months of 2025, as revenues more than tripled, no doubt helped by the fact Labubus became a popular fashion accessory earlier this year among celebrities including Dua Lipa and Rihanna – before trickling down to the rest of us.
But now, as the Labubu craze sweeps through primary schools, misguided mums like me are blindly rushing to buy these toys with furry bodies, wide prominent eyes and a toothy grin.
I unknowingly bought two fake ones – otherwise known as a Lafufu – at my local mini supermarket for £10 each. But they fell apart, a common issue apparently, according to local authorities across the UK and Europe, who are warning against them due to choking hazards and toxic chemicals – and confiscating counterfeit products in bulk.
This week’s haul includes 32 keyrings and 95 boxes of counterfeit Labubus seized from the Pontypridd area in Wales. And according to the BBC, more than 370 of the dolls were confiscated in North Ayrshire, Scotland recently due to safety concerns. Rochdale Borough Council posted a toy safety alert on Facebook this month alongside a photo of a fake Labubu doll.
In my case, we bought the Monsters Big into Energy Vinyl Plush Blind Box – albeit fake. But a day later the eye fell out of my seven-year-old Liberty’s purple “Labubu” known as Luck, and then the red one that Lola, nine, got, called Love, had 10 teeth not nine, and she was teased at school for having the wrong one.
But it turns out these problems are the tip of the iceberg. I’m now losing my mind over Labubu dolls – and Lafufus.
A dad friend replaced our fraggled Lafufus at a hardware store in London’s North End Road – naively believing they were the real thing. But they also disintegrated.
As I fell deeper into the Labubu universe, I worked out how to tell the difference between a real and a fake. Mainly, it’s the presence of a QR code on the back of the packaging, which should take you to the official Pop Mart website.
So traumatised were the kids by now that I googled how to buy them real ones from Pop Mart – the only place to buy them direct, or on Amazon from their online shop. But it’s near impossible to get one.
Demand for Labubus is so high, rare dolls are being resold for £1,500 each – some online cost from about £54.99 to £99, but you can’t be sure they are real.
Next, I ended up marching the kids to a Pop Mart store in a Westfield shopping centre, but to our absolute horror, there was not one plush toy Labubu to be seen on any shelf.
Pop Mart temporarily halted in-store sales of Labubu dolls in its UK stores earlier this year to address safety concerns arising from the high demand and resulting pandemonium by obsessed customers during restock. Clearly, this situation has not changed.
I walked up to the cash till, with both my children, who I have to embarrassingly admit were now sobbing, and asked how on earth this could be possible. No Labubus?
I was then told the only way to buy a Labubu was to enter a live launch draw for free. It felt like applying for a mortgage as I signed up for a chance to purchase one for £17.50 from the Monsters Big into Energy Series – Vinyl Plush Pendant Blind Box by manically adding in tons of details before the cut-off in a few hours.
I was advised to request more than one Labubu to increase the likelihood of winning it. I could always cancel extra ones at the point of purchase – I requested the maximum total of six dolls.
We waited until Monday morning for the results, but we didn’t make it through. My children, by this point, were floored by not having a Labubu.
On every street corner, Labubus started to haunt us. As we went to a children’s ballet with Lola’s class-four friends in Piccadilly Circus, they ran over to street vendors selling gruesome fakes for £15 begging me to buy them. “They are real, mum, look!”
Other mums would call me from near Selfridges claiming to have found originals for around £60 – but I wanted to be sure I got the real deal.
The silver lining is that – according to Pop Mart – I’ll have a better chance of winning next time. “You missed out this time, so your EQLizer has increased,” I’m told. God alone knows when the next live launch is. It’s now an obsession – logging in and checking twice daily so I can apply. Every day, my children ask me if I’m getting anywhere. I feel a sense of failure. Their friend got one in Finland – can we go there?
A Labubu feels so near, yet so far away. I have lost all perspective. I don’t even get why people like them. It’s taking over my waking day. It’s ironic that the Labubus my children want are called Love, Happiness, Loyalty, Serenity, Hope and Luck – since getting one is such a horror show. But I hope we get a rare one, and I hit the jackpot. Then I can sell it for a fortune on eBay.
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