A 35-year-old systems administrator earning $88,000 annually sat across from financial advisor Caleb Hammer, $80,000 in consumer debt weighing on her marriage. Her husband had threatened divorce. Their household was spending $22,000 per month on a $9,200 income. And in the previous month alone, she'd spent $700 on Labubu—fuzzy plush monsters sold in blind boxes, where you don't know which one you're getting until you open it.
"I didn't have these things as a child," she explained, defending her purchases even as her nine-year marriage crumbled around her. Her two-year-old son sat in the middle of this financial chaos, and still—she couldn't stop buying the boxes. [01]
This isn't an isolated incident. It's the predictable outcome of manufactured consumer crazes engineered with sophisticated psychological manipulation. But here's what I need to say upfront, before we dive into the mechanisms: regardless of how predatory these tactics are, adults are still responsible for their choices.
A Note on Agency and Responsibility
If everyone else jumped off a bridge, would you? Your parents asked you that question for a reason.
Yes, Pop Mart engineered a 1/72 gambling mechanic into plush toys. Yes, TikTok's algorithm creates FOMO loops specifically designed to overwhelm rational decision-making. Yes, companies exploit psychological vulnerabilities for profit. None of this removes the fundamental reality that adults going into debt over collectibles and parents enabling compulsive behavior are making choices—choices informed by manipulation, but choices nonetheless.
Understanding how manipulation works isn't about declaring everyone a victim with no agency. It's about providing tools to recognize when you're being manipulated and choose differently. The companies are predatory. And we're responsible for our responses. Both things are true.
Now, let's examine exactly how these crazes work and why some people fall for them while others don't.
How the Spell Gets Cast: The Ignition Sequence
Consumer crazes aren't accidents. They're manufactured phenomena following a precise formula that's been refined over decades and turbocharged by social media in the last five years.
The Labubu trajectory demonstrates this perfectly. These fuzzy monster dolls existed since 2015 as part of Hong Kong artist Kasing Lung's "The Monsters" series, but they remained relatively obscure until Pop Mart's 2019 partnership. [02] Even then, they were just another collectible in a crowded market. What changed everything was a single moment in April 2024: Blackpink's Lisa was photographed with a Labubu keychain attached to her designer handbag. [03]
This wasn't random. Celebrity endorsements have always mattered, but social media has transformed their impact. When a celebrity wore something in 2005, you might see it in a magazine weeks later. When Lisa posted in April 2024, millions of fans saw it instantly. TikTok's algorithm identified the engagement spike and began promoting Labubu content aggressively. Within weeks, influencers were unboxing Labubus, collectors were sharing their displays, and the FOMO feedback loop was fully operational.
The acceleration is staggering when you compare it to historical precedents. Beanie Babies—the archetypal 1990s collectible craze—took approximately 60 months to reach peak speculation, relying on traditional media coverage and word-of-mouth through physical retail locations. [04] The Bored Ape Yacht Club NFT collection launched in May 2021 at 0.08 ETH and hit near-peak value of 153.7 ETH by May 2022—a 12-month cycle. [05] That's a 5x acceleration in timeline from the pre-social-media era to the digital-native one.
But the ignition is just the beginning. The real power comes from how these systems sustain and intensify demand through manufactured scarcity.
The 1/72 Problem: When Collectibles Become Slot Machines
Here's where it gets genuinely predatory. Pop Mart doesn't just sell you a Labubu. They sell you a blind box—you don't know which one you're getting. Each series contains several regular designs and one "secret edition" with dramatically lower odds.
The probability of getting a secret edition? One in seventy-two. [06]
Let me translate that into dollars: at $28 per blind box, you'd need to spend an average of $2,016 to obtain the secret edition through random chance. And that's just one series—Pop Mart has released over 300 Labubu variants across multiple series. [07]
This is variable ratio reinforcement, the most addictive reward schedule known to psychology. It's the same mechanism that makes slot machines so devastating. You never know which pull will pay off, so you keep pulling. The occasional win triggers a dopamine surge that reinforces the behavior, making you more likely to continue despite mounting losses.
Gaming companies faced regulatory scrutiny when they introduced loot boxes using these exact mechanics. Some countries classified loot boxes as gambling and restricted their sale to minors. [08] But somehow, when you put the same psychological mechanism in a physical box with a cute monster inside, it escapes regulation entirely. A ten-year-old can't buy a loot box in a video game in Belgium, but they can absolutely spend their birthday money on blind box collectibles using identical gambling mechanics.
The sophistication doesn't stop there. Pop Mart layers additional scarcity tactics on top of the gambling: limited drops that sell out in minutes, "members only" access requiring account creation, exclusive colorways for specific retailers, and timed releases that create artificial urgency.
And it works. Pop Mart's market capitalization hit $43.28 billion in 2025, dwarfing both Mattel ($6.44 billion) and Hasbro ($10.63 billion). [09] Labubu alone generated approximately $423 million in 2024 revenue—a 729% increase from 2023. [10]
Why Women 15-35? The Demographic Isn't Random
When I first started researching consumer crazes, one pattern was unmistakable: the most intense participation comes from women aged 15-35. This isn't coincidence or commentary on women's rationality. It's the result of targeting specific vulnerabilities that converge in this demographic.
First, neurological reality: the prefrontal cortex—responsible for impulse control, long-term planning, and risk assessment—doesn't fully develop until the mid-20s. [11] Teenagers and young adults literally don't have complete neurological architecture for resisting manipulated impulse control. They're not being weak; their brains aren't finished.
Second, socialization patterns: women are still primarily socialized to derive worth from social standing and relational identity rather than individual achievement. Creating hierarchies based on moral superiority or consumption patterns provides a socially acceptable form of competition. You can't openly say "I'm better than you because I'm smarter or more successful"—that's too aggressive, unfeminine. But you can say "I'm part of this exclusive collector community and you're not" while maintaining the fiction of kindness.
Third, algorithmic targeting: women in this age range spend significantly more time on TikTok and Instagram than other demographics, giving algorithms maximum exposure to engineer desire. [12] The platforms have extraordinary amounts of behavioral data on exactly what content triggers FOMO, social comparison, and purchase intent for this specific group.
Fourth, economic access: unlike teenagers with no income or older adults with established financial priorities, women in their 20s and early 30s often have some disposable income but haven't yet developed the spending discipline that comes with major financial obligations like mortgages or children's education funds. They're in the perfect zone of having money to spend without the experience to resist manufactured desire.
Research on luxury consumption reveals that this demographic uses consumption as identity construction and social belonging more intensely than any other group. [13] When you combine underdeveloped impulse control, socialized needs for relational identity, algorithmic manipulation, and economic access, you get the perfect target for manufactured crazes.
The Real Product: Belonging, Not Bears
But here's what I think matters most: these products aren't really about the objects themselves. That financial audit guest wasn't buying fuzzy monsters because she needed fuzzy monsters. She was buying membership in something, validation of identity, a sense of belonging in an increasingly fragmented world.
This is where consumer crazes co-opt the psychological mechanics of luxury goods for mass-market consumption. Thorstein Veblen's conspicuous consumption theory argued that luxury goods maintain exclusivity through high prices—only the wealthy can participate, which is exactly what makes the signal valuable. [14] But mass-market crazes democratize this exclusionary signal.
A $45 Stanley cup that resells for $200 in limited editions provides an "accessible luxury proxy"—you're not rich enough to buy a Hermès Birkin, but you were determined enough, fast enough, and connected enough to get the impossible-to-find pink Stanley. The barrier isn't money; it's intense psychological effort, platform engagement, and anxiety. But the outcome is the same: you get a high-value signal of status and in-group access that others don't have.
The blind box mechanism adds another layer. You're not just buying a collectible; you're participating in a community ritual. You film the unboxing. You trade duplicates with other collectors. You share your displays on social media. You join Facebook groups with 1,700+ members dedicated to trading and discussing Labubus in your city. [15] The object is the excuse for the belonging.
And this is where it gets dark: these manufactured communities successfully exploit genuine human needs. The demand for commercially generated in-group artifacts intensifies precisely when organic social structures decline. When you don't have a neighborhood community, a stable religious congregation, or strong extended family ties, buying into a collector community feels like filling that void.
It's consumption as substitute for genuine community. And the tragic irony is that the synthetic belonging never quite satisfies the way real community does, which means you need to keep buying, keep participating, keep performing membership to maintain the feeling.
The Financial Audit Case: When Understanding Doesn't Equal Control
Let's return to that financial audit. The woman understood, intellectually, that she was overspending. She knew her marriage was at risk. She could articulate that her childhood deprivation was driving current behavior. She had all the information she needed to change.
And she still spent $700 on Labubus that month, plus another $6,000 on a Hawaii trip for her sister's vow renewal, plus first-class flights she claimed were "free with points" but somehow still cost money. [01] When confronted with spending $22,000 on a $9,200 monthly income, she waited for the financial advisor to "give her a budget" rather than using basic math herself.
This is the uncomfortable reality: understanding the manipulation doesn't automatically grant immunity. Knowing you're being exploited by gambling mechanics doesn't mean you can stop pulling the lever. Recognizing that you're substituting consumption for community doesn't dissolve the desperate need for belonging.
But—and this is crucial—it's still a choice. An influenced choice, a manipulated choice, a choice made harder by sophisticated psychological tactics and neurological vulnerabilities, but a choice nonetheless. Her husband was leaving. Her child's stable home environment was at stake. And she kept buying the fuzzy monsters.
At some point, we have to acknowledge agency. Not to be cruel, but because denying agency is actually more cruel—it tells people they're helpless victims of circumstances beyond their control instead of autonomous beings capable of making different choices.
So Why Don't Some People Fall For It?
This is the question that fascinates me most: why do some people see a Labubu craze and feel nothing but contempt while others are drawn into compulsive purchasing?
I've watched the Stanley cup chaos unfold, seen the Labubu lines and fights at Pop Mart stores, observed the Squishmallow collectors and Beanie Baby speculators. And my response has been consistent: anger at the manipulation, yes, but zero personal temptation to participate. Not because I'm special or somehow superior, but because something in my wiring or experience creates immunity.
For me, I think it's the combination of childhood trauma and relentless introspection. When you've survived actual existential threat—street life in Mumbai, losing siblings, genuine uncertainty about survival—your threat detection system calibrates differently. Manufactured scarcity over a plush toy doesn't register as real threat. It registers as theater.
The contrarian response helps too. When I see everyone doing something, my instinct is "absolutely not, I will not be manipulated" rather than "I need to fit in." That's not virtue; it's just personality. But it's protective against crazes that depend on social proof and FOMO.
The introspection piece matters most, though. I've done the work to understand my own psychology. When I feel rage about something, I dig until I understand why. When I want something, I examine whether that desire is authentic or manufactured. When I'm tempted by social pressure, I recognize it and choose my response deliberately.
This is what creates immunity: awareness of the mechanisms, understanding of your own psychological patterns, and genuine agency in choosing how to respond. Not everyone has done this work. Not everyone has experienced the forcing function that makes this work necessary. That's not a moral failing; it's just reality.
But it means that some people will keep falling for manufactured crazes until something forces them to develop that awareness. For the financial audit guest, maybe losing her marriage will be that forcing function. Maybe it won't. You can't make someone ready to change.
Death Rattle: Is the Labubu Craze Already Over?
Here's the interesting economic question: is Labubu already dying?
The lifecycle of consumer crazes follows predictable patterns. They die through one of two mechanisms: supply meeting demand (the utilitarian death) or speculation collapse (the bubble pop). [16]
The PS5 launch exemplifies the first type. Sony experienced genuine supply chain constraints during COVID, creating accidental scarcity. Resale prices peaked at 170-200% of MSRP. But as production capacity caught up and supply consistently met demand, the scalper market evaporated. The console still has value—it plays games—so the demand was always real. It just wasn't scarce anymore. [17]
Beanie Babies exemplify the second type. When Ty Inc. announced certain toy "retirements" to spike scarcity value but resale prices failed to increase, speculators recognized the hype was dead. The collapse was catastrophic because the underlying value proposition was purely speculative—these were $5 stuffed animals people had convinced themselves were worth thousands. When the social consensus broke, there was nothing underneath to support the price. [18]
Where does Labubu fall? I noticed something crucial while researching this piece: Labubus are readily available on Pop Mart's website. The "Big into Energy" series that was causing fights in stores and selling out in minutes just months ago? You can buy it right now. Multiple color options available. No waitlist. No "members only" restriction that I could actually find enforced.
This is how crazes die in the social media era. Availability kills demand faster than scarcity ever created it. The entire value proposition rests on being able to say "I got the thing you couldn't get." When everyone can get it, the social currency evaporates overnight.
Compare the timeline: Beanie Babies maintained speculative value for years before the crash because information moved slowly in the pre-internet era. You couldn't instantly check eBay prices or see that your "rare" Beanie was actually widely available. The illusion could persist. But in 2025, everyone can see Pop Mart's inventory in real-time. Everyone can check resale prices on StockX and eBay. Transparency kills artificial scarcity.
The counterfeit market offers another death signal. When "Lafufu" fakes flooded the market, it indicated peak cultural penetration—everyone wanted one, creating profitable conditions for counterfeiting. But it also signaled the beginning of the end. Once fakes are widespread, authentic ownership loses its signaling value. Why pay $150 on resale for a real one when a $20 fake looks identical and nobody can tell the difference? [19]
My prediction: by mid-2026, Labubus will be in clearance bins at discount retailers. The collectors who bought dozens will discover their "investments" are worthless. The resale market will collapse. And everyone will move on to whatever the next manufactured craze happens to be.
What's Next: The Acceleration Continues
Because that's the really concerning part: the cycle velocity keeps increasing, and companies keep getting better at engineering these crazes.
The gap between ignition and death is compressing. Beanie Babies sustained for years. Supreme drops maintain value for months. Labubu went from April 2024 ignition to probable death by late 2025—about 18 months. The next craze might last 12 months. Then 6 months. Eventually we'll hit a cycle where artificial scarcity can only be maintained for weeks before the market catches up.
What's the endgame? I see a few possibilities:
AI-personalized micro-scarcity: Instead of mass-market drops, algorithms identify individual psychological profiles and create customized collectibles targeted to specific vulnerabilities. You get served the exact artificially scarce object most likely to trigger your FOMO based on your behavioral data. The craze becomes fragmented into millions of personal obsessions rather than one shared cultural moment.
Digital-physical hybrids: NFT ownership that grants access to physical objects, or physical objects that come with digital twins. This combines the hyper-velocity speculation of digital markets with the tactile satisfaction of physical collecting. The worst of both worlds, basically.
Regulatory intervention: Governments might finally recognize that blind boxes are gambling and regulate them accordingly. This would fundamentally change the economics, though companies would fight it aggressively and probably find loopholes.
Consumer fatigue: There's a theoretical saturation point where people recognize the pattern so clearly they develop cultural immunity. Every new craze gets met with "oh, it's just the new Beanie Babies" and fails to ignite. We might be approaching this, but I'm not optimistic—there's always a new cohort of 15-year-olds without pattern recognition.
The most likely scenario: the mechanisms get more sophisticated, the targeting gets more precise, and the vulnerable keep getting exploited while the aware keep opting out. Economic stratification by psychological resistance.
Building Immunity: What Actually Works
So what do you do if you want to resist these manufactured crazes—either for yourself or for your kids?
Based on research into media literacy, prebunking, and psychological inoculation, here's what actually works: [20]
Understand the mechanisms before you encounter the content. Learning about manipulation tactics in abstract, non-political contexts creates defenses that transfer to real-world situations. This is why I'm writing this—not because I think Labubus specifically matter, but because understanding how they work builds general resistance.
Develop metacognitive awareness. Notice when you want something. Ask where that desire came from. Was it authentic, or was it manufactured by an algorithm showing you compelling content? This doesn't mean never wanting things; it means choosing consciously instead of reacting automatically.
Stay off algorithmic platforms. This is the harsh truth: if you're on TikTok daily, you're marinating in manufactured desire. The algorithm learns your vulnerabilities and serves you content designed to create wants you didn't have. Distance creates immunity.
Practice delayed gratification. When you want something, wait. Twenty-four hours, a week, a month—whatever timeframe lets you distinguish authentic desire from manufactured FOMO. If you still want it after the dopamine rush fades, maybe it's real.
Build real community. This is the hard one, because it can't be solved by individual action alone. But to the extent you can create genuine belonging through neighborhood connections, religious community, hobby groups, extended family—do it. The less desperate you are for synthetic belonging, the less vulnerable you are to companies selling it.
For kids specifically: delay smartphone access as long as possible. Teach them boredom tolerance. Make them negotiate what to watch on one shared TV instead of everyone retreating to individual screens. Let them experience wanting something and not getting it. These aren't punishments; they're immunity-building exercises.
The Larger Pattern
Labubus specifically don't matter. They're the current manifestation of a pattern that's been repeating for decades and will continue long after these particular fuzzy monsters are forgotten.
What matters is understanding that pattern: how artificial scarcity gets engineered, how psychological vulnerabilities get exploited, how consumption gets positioned as identity and belonging, how individually rational choices create collectively harmful outcomes when everyone's making them simultaneously.
We live in an era where companies have unprecedented tools for manipulating desire. They have behavioral data, algorithmic targeting, psychological research, and the ability to test tactics at scale in real-time. They're getting better at this every day.
The only defense is awareness paired with agency. Understanding how you're being manipulated doesn't automatically grant immunity, but it's necessary. Taking responsibility for your choices despite understanding the manipulation is uncomfortable, but it's essential. Both pieces are required.
To the financial audit guest whose marriage is collapsing over $700 in monthly Labubu purchases: you were targeted, manipulated, and exploited. The system was designed to make you fail. And—you're still responsible for your choices. Both things can be true. Whether your marriage survives depends on whether you can accept both pieces of that reality.
To everyone else watching the cycle unfold: the next craze is already being engineered. You'll see the ignition moment, recognize the pattern, and choose how you respond. That's where your power lives.
References
[01] Financial Audit - Caleb Hammer, YouTube, Episode featuring Orlando couple, 2024.
[02] "Labubu," Wikipedia, accessed November 1, 2025.
[03] "This $30 Labubu doll became an international status symbol," CNBC, July 14, 2025.
[04] "The Beanie Babies Effect," Cornell Blogs, November 11, 2018.
[05] "Bored Ape Yacht Club: Overview, Market Impact, and Celebrity Influence," Investopedia, 2025.
[06] Pop Mart official marketing materials for "Big Into Energy" series.
[07] "Labubu," Wikipedia, accessed November 1, 2025.
[08] Various gaming regulatory bodies including Belgium Gaming Commission rulings on loot boxes, 2018-2020.
[09] "This $30 Labubu doll became an international status symbol," CNBC, July 14, 2025.
[10] "This $30 Labubu doll became an international status symbol," CNBC, July 14, 2025.
[11] Neuroscience research on prefrontal cortex development, various sources.
[12] "The Effect of Viral Marketing and Celebrity Endorsement on Buying Decision," Migration Letters, 2024.
[13] "The Psychology behind Luxury Consumption," Journal of Pharmaceutical Research International, 2024.
[14] Thorstein Veblen, The Theory of the Leisure Class, 1899.
[15] "Labubu dolls take over Chicagoland," Medill Reports Chicago, July 10, 2025.
[16] Analysis from "Conspicuous Scarcity: Modeling the Accelerated Cycles," research compilation 2025.
[17] "An analysis of the $143 million PS5 Scalping Market," DEV Community, 2025.
[18] "The Beanie Babies Effect," Cornell Blogs, November 11, 2018.
[19] "A toothy little monster called Labubu is the latest fashion craze," NBC News, April 30, 2025.
[20] Research on prebunking and psychological inoculation, various sources including Dan Kahan's work on motivated reasoning.