San Franciscans are going to absurd lengths to get their hands on Labubus

At Stonestown Galleria, a squat, puckish creature called a Labubu is running amok. This softball-size plushie with a goblin grin has unleashed utter bedlam: customers screaming, resellers running rampant, and at least two fights — one involving pepper spray. Security has been beefed up to stand guard over the vending machine on the second floor that dispenses Labubus each morning. The mayhem has gotten so bad that Pop Mart, which sells the dolls, has discontinued in-store sales entirely. 

“Every Saturday, we were the only store in the mall with a line,” Stonestown Pop Mart employee Noah Sangayan said. The workers at Zara — more than six storefronts away — “were getting mad at us because our line was blocking their exit.”

Tufted with fuzzy strands of synthetic fiber and sometimes dangling from the straps of designer purses, the toys have morphed from a niche Chinese oddity into a status symbol and an agent of chaos. Behind their impish smiles lies a frenzy that feels like Beanie Babies on bath salts.

The creation of Hong Kong artist Kasing Lung, part of his “The Monsters” series of dolls, Labubus have been around for a decade. But after K-pop star Lisa from Blackpink showed off hers in April 2024, their popularity began to soar. Other celebrities quickly followed suit: Rihanna, Dua Lipa, North West. Labubus were at Paris Fashion Week this year and the Cannes Film Festival, seen hanging off designer bags and all over social media. 

In the Bay Area, the craze is at fever pitch. In the past few months, the fuzzy little creatures have become the “it” item for everyone from kids to fashionistas. Nightclubs are throwing Labubu-themed parties and giveaways. Stores sell out instantly across the city.

On a recent Wednesday at the Stonestown Pop Mart, the Beijing-based toy store that distributes the dolls, Sangayan stood sentinel over a somewhat disheveled, clearly raided, stand of plushie toys. Wearing a gray Labubu named Hehe on his hip, he said the 500-square-foot store no longer sells the dolls after a series of thefts, fights involving pepper spray, and overall chaos broke out in the past two months. 

Now, if you’re a San Franciscan who wants to get your hands on one of these coveted fluffy freaks, you must make an online purchase — if they’re in stock, that is. The Pop Mart website makes Labubu drops at unscheduled times, and they sell out within minutes for in-store pickup. Prices start at $27.99.

As the Standard was interviewing Sangayan, a woman who appeared to be in her 40s interrupted with a volley of questions in a tone of implied emergency.  

“Do you know when more are coming?” she asked, without giving him time to respond. “Will I have to check every week? When was the last time you had some? When will they be online?”

Sangayan calmly informed the customer of the rules — as he has done hundreds of times in the month since Labubus were no longer sold in-store.

“People are always like, ‘Oh, it’s sold out!’ I’m like, ‘Yeah, you’re not the only one asking,’” he said.

Interest in Labubus comes from all age groups; kids beg their parents to buy them, and adults scour the internet and the city for their own. 

Recently, 27-year-old Laetitia Coustar, who works at a local art gallery, found herself on an unlikely mission to obtain a Labubu. The first time she’d seen the doll, she was repulsed. 

“This thing is so ugly. Why would anyone buy this?” the 27-year-old thought as she looked at a viral image of Rihanna with a pink Labubu named Lychee Berry clipped to her Louis Vuitton bag. 

But when Coustar went to Hong Kong in March to work at Art Basel, she was suddenly charmed. Everyone in Hong Kong — on the streets and at the art fair — seemed to have one. 

“Then I actually touched one, and I’m like, ‘Oh, it’s so soft, the fur is so fuzzy — it’s ugly-cute.’” She told herself that if she were going to buy one thing in Hong Kong, it’d be a Labubu. 

But that was easier said than done. Even in Hong Kong, where Labubus were born, Coustar couldn’t find one. She went to three locations of Pop Mart looking for a Labubu — any Labubu. No luck. Hong Kong was sold out. 

She dug online but soon found herself in a Labubu black market. 

“Lafufus,” she said. She wasn’t going to settle for a fake.

She returned to San Francisco empty-handed, then spent weeks sifting through resale bots and fake distributors before landing one: a gray Hehe, which now dangles from her Charles & Keith handbag.

“Now I’m happy,” she said. Coustar outfitted her Hehe in black Prada overalls and a Prada bucket hat. 

The silly kids’ toy might seem an unlikely high-fashion object, but the Labubu craze is hitting at a time when it’s in for adults to collect comfort objects, whether ironic – as in the case of Crocs shoe charms, which are so back — or not.

Mary Tablante, 33, thinks the cutesy accessories with devious charm have a particular draw for millennials.

“The millennial generation, we grew up collecting physical objects — Beanie Babies, Furbies. I think it just goes hand in hand with why this is popular now,” said Tablante. She recently had a tragedy befall her Labubu. After a night on the town, she realized her pink Lychee Berry had gone missing. She put up posters around the Castro, offering “$50 cash, one lottery ticket, and a handwritten poem” in exchange for the safe return of her furry friend. She also put the poster in the San Francisco subreddit, where some commenters wondered if she was trolling. People who were in on the trend understood she was very, very serious.

Art collector, gallery owner, and all-around fashionista Sonya Yu knows a thing or two about staying ahead of trends. The 38-year-old has had Labubus swinging from her Hermès x Jean Paul Gaultier bag since February, when she stumbled upon a Pop Mart in Taiwan while with her 10-year-old daughter. 

She attributes the rise of Labubus to a confluence of trends amid fears of a recession — a perfect example of what economists call the lipstick effect, the phenomenon of consumers buying small luxury items during times of economic downturn. Couple that with an explosion of interest in Asian culture — from K-Pop to Kawaii — and an expert marketing campaign, and you’ve got a bona fide craze.

“I love that it’s not just relegated to one thing. I use a lot of mine as bag charms, but they truly are a fashion accessory as well,” said Yu, who shares six Labubus with her kids. “People wear them on their belt loops. It’s part of a whole fit, which I don’t think I’ve ever really seen [with] this kind of phenomenon. You had Furbies and Cabbage Patch Kids and those things sit statically in your house, but this is something that the fashion world has also embraced, and it’s part of an aesthetic.”

At Westfield Valley Fair in Santa Clara, shoppers have been arriving as early as 4 a.m. to try their shot at scoring a Labubu at Pop Mart. When the crowd became too overwhelming one morning, the staff were forced to institute an extemporaneous raffle system that sent dozens of exhausted shoppers home Labubu-less. 

But there are other ways to get the dolls. On the second floor of Stonestown, a Pop Mart vending machine dispenses 28 types of toys. The Labubus, which are restocked each morning, sell out instantly, Sangayan said. He explains it’s often resellers who swipe the hoard each morning. The mall has installed security around the vending machine to ensure the sale of only one toy per customer. 

Stonestown Mall representatives deferred to Pop Mart for information regarding two fights that reportedly broke out but said in an email, “We are working with the tenant to ensure the safety of our guests.”

Representatives of Pop Mart did not respond to requests for comment.

Though Pop Mart is the only accredited seller of Labubus at Stonestown, people in the know have unofficial options. In fact, some resellers camp out in front of Pop Mart inside the mall, trying to flip Labubus.

“Even if it wasn’t bought here, I think it makes them feel safer,” Sangayan said of people buying the resold toys at the mall.

Across the main concourse is Restyle, a fluorescent-lit sneaker store that carries hypebeast clothing. There, a chic woman carried a Chanel shoulder bag with a pink Labubu clipped on. 

“My kids got it for me for Mother’s Day,” she said. “I was like, ‘OK! It’s cute!’”

She’s in the market for more. Restyle owner Larry Aung pointed her to a laminated sheet with prices for the rare Labubus he keeps behind the counter. He’s one of many resellers who prowl Pop Mart’s online drops, but he’s the only one with a brick-and-mortar shop. He resells Labubus for anywhere from $45 to $65. But he’s got a handful of rare Labubus that run as much as $180 and signed editions for $2,000. 

“Because of the trend right now, we resell here — the hype is crazy,” he said. “Even more than Furbies were in the ’90s.”

Many wonder when the trend will peak. Yu theorizes that we are at the apogee of interest, while Tablante expects the hype to grow. But if there’s one thing about rampant consumerism, it shows our true colors as human beings who desperately need a little treat. 

Labubus are more than just treats, though. They’re status symbols. They’re cute adornments. For kids, they’re friends. And now, because this is 2025, they have become avatars that can stand in for anything. At a protest against immigration policies Sunday in Los Angeles, one attendee in a Labubu costume, carrying a sign that read “ICE out of L.A.,” made waves on social media.

And as much as Labubus are inspiring fisticuffs in some cases, they are creating community in others. A week after posting the signs about her missing Lychee Berry, Tablante received a text message: A random stranger wanted to give her a new Labubu.