The end of an era at Vogue
Anna Wintour is stepping down as editor-in-chief of US Vogue after 37 years. Her departure marks a historic shift in the fashion world, ending one of the most influential editorial tenures in modern media.
The monster is barely 20 centimeters tall, has a crooked grin, nine tiny teeth, and pointy ears like an imp lost in a dream. And yet Labubu, the oddball elf child born from the imagination of illustrator Kasing Lung, has quietly risen to the status of an international obsession. Part folklore, part fashion, part fever dream, this toy has become the Internet’s most curious luxury item.
It began in 2015 with Kasing Lung’s universe of characters called The Monsters, a whimsical narrative inspired by Nordic myths, childhood fables, and a sense of loneliness only a wanderer of two continents might possess. Lung, who was raised in the Netherlands but born in Hong Kong, created Labubu not as a product, but as a character from a picture book, one that looked as though it might snatch your secrets and guard them, if you asked nicely. What happened next, however, was neither accidental nor entirely organic.
In 2019, Labubu was licensed by Pop Mart, the Chinese art toy conglomerate that has perfected the blind box model. Sold sealed, each box offers a mystery: will it be the pirate Labubu? The cotton candy fairy one? The ultra rare “secret” Labubu that collectors will trade entire paychecks for? Over 300 variations have been released, in vinyl, plush, and even monumental sculptural form. One rare edition reportedly auctioned for $170,000.
Still, numbers alone cannot explain Labubu’s ascent. The tipping point came quietly in 2024, when Blackpink’s Lisa was photographed with a keychain Labubu peeking out from her handbag. It wasn’t part of a campaign. It wasn’t tagged. And that’s precisely why it worked. In an era when visibility is the currency of desire, Labubu became the secret handshake between in-the-know fashion girls, global pop stars, and Gen Z collectors looking for identity in miniature.
Rihanna soon followed. Then Michelle Yeoh. Then Dua Lipa. Not in glossy ads, but in paparazzi snaps and behind-the-scenes selfies, where Labubu appeared as a silent mascot, dangling from bags and makeup stations like a talisman from some new mythos.
There is something undeniably subversive about its appeal. Labubu is not beautiful in a conventional sense. It’s strange, mischievous, and ever so slightly unnerving, like a character out of a Grimm’s tale rewritten by Rei Kawakubo. And in a world increasingly smoothed over by filters and algorithms, that friction between cute and grotesque, between crafted and accidental feels like fashion’s next logical step.
It’s also, undeniably, a commercial one. Pop Mart reported over 6.3 billion yuan in revenue in just six months of 2024, largely driven by Labubu and its cousins. Pop-ups sell out within hours. Resellers have made entire careers out of sourcing and flipping Labubus in the digital underground. The ecosystem has grown beyond toy shelves, bleeding into streetwear, visual art, and even museum curation. Talks of Pop Mart’s collaborations with major art institutions are no longer rumors.
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Yet not everyone is enchanted. Government regulators in China have raised concerns about the psychological effects of blind box culture, comparing it to gambling. Mental health experts point to compulsive purchasing patterns, particularly among teens. Even longtime collectors confess to the emotional exhaustion of “the chase.” But scarcity has always been part of the high fashion equation, hasn’t it?
What Labubu represents is a soft rebellion - a charm for those who have outgrown teddy bears, yet still want something to believe in. Something strange. Something only they understand.
And that may be the most fashionable thing of all.