In this Time Capsule article, we explore how the accidental Beanie Babies craze decades ago taught toy manufacturers which psychological buttons to push to spark a sales stampede—and how recognizing an engineered repeat of these tactics can make you a more thoughtful consumer.

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In June 2025, a human-sized Labubu doll sold at auction for approximately $172,800. The small plush creature with jagged teeth and wild eyes had become the latest collectible obsession, with fans lining up at 4 a.m. outside toy stores and paying triple retail prices on resale markets.
Many people over 35 likely felt a familiar sensation as they watched this unfold: Haven’t we been here before?
We have. In the late 1990s, many Americans went collectively insane over Beanie Babies. Adults camped outside McDonald’s for Beanie Happy Meal toys. Hallmark stores had waiting lists. People genuinely believed that mass-produced plush animals would fund their retirements.
Both crazes look identical on the surface: small stuffed animals convincing adults to abandon rational spending habits and treat toys like precious commodities. But there’s a crucial difference that reveals something important about how companies now create these phenomena. Beanie Babies happened by accident. Labubu was engineered from the start.
Ty Warner launched Beanie Babies in 1993 with no grand plan for collectible mania. They were simple $5 toys—small, affordable, cute. The breakthrough came from routine inventory management: Ty started “retiring” slow-selling designs to make room for new ones.
This created accidental scarcity. When eBay emerged in the mid-1990s, collectors discovered that discontinued Beanie Babies were selling for 10, 20, even 100 times their original price. The psychological trap snapped shut: If other people are paying hundreds for something that cost $5, it must be valuable.
By 1999, the Beanie Baby market hit $1.4 billion. Adults hoarded mint-condition bears in plastic cases, treating them as investments rather than toys. The craze had all the hallmarks of a speculative bubble—which is exactly what it was. Within a couple of years, the market collapsed and those “investment-grade” Princess bears became virtually worthless.
Ty didn’t plan this frenzy, but they’d accidentally stumbled into a psychological goldmine. Decades later, companies like Pop Mart would reverse-engineer exactly what made Beanie Babies so irresistible.
Pop Mart, the Chinese company behind Labubu, has systematically built in the psychological triggers that made Beanie Babies accidentally successful. Every element that drove the 1990s craze is now deliberately engineered into Labubu.
Manufactured scarcity replaced accidental rarity. While Beanie Babies became rare through retirement announcements, Labubu uses “blind boxes”—sealed packages where you can’t see what you’re buying. Pop Mart prints the odds right on the packaging: common variants, rare variants, and “secret” designs with 1-in-72 chances. The scarcity isn’t accidental anymore—it’s designed.
The gambling psychology is now intentional. The blind box model works exactly like slot machines: When you don't know what reward you’ll get, your brain releases dopamine in anticipation—not just when you win, but while you're hoping to win. This variable reward system creates the same purchasing patterns that make gambling addictive.
Most importantly, social media transforms collecting from a private hobby into public performance. Every Labubu purchase becomes an opportunity to participate in a shared cultural moment—unboxing videos, styling photos with luxury handbags, “haul” posts showing collections. The hashtag #labubu has over 1.4 million videos on TikTok alone. Unlike Beanie Baby collectors who hunted alone and showed off to friends, Labubu collectors perform their hobby for audiences, making the social experience part of the product itself.
The results are staggering. Pop Mart’s revenue more than doubled in 2024, with sales boosted by over 1,200%. Pop Mart has sold $670 million worth of Labubu-related products, surpassing iconic US toy lines Barbie and Hot Wheels. Individual rare Labubus now sell for tens of thousands of dollars—a Labubu x Vans collaboration sold for $10,585 on eBay. Unlike Beanie Babies, the market shows no signs of collapse (yet).
Understanding these psychological patterns doesn’t mean avoiding all collectibles—many people genuinely enjoy them. But recognizing when these techniques are being used helps you make more intentional decisions.
The key questions are straightforward: Am I actually excited about this thing, or just swept up in the hype? Would I want it if anyone could get it anytime? Am I buying this because I want to own it, or because I want to be part of the trend?
Sometimes you’ll decide the trendiness or fun is worth the price. Sometimes you’ll realize you were just responding to well-designed triggers. Either choice is fine—what matters is making the decision consciously rather than automatically. If you go for a Labubu though, you (probably) shouldn’t count on it being a retirement investment.