Psychologist issues warning to anyone who owns a Labubu with unexpected way they’re ‘deeply symbolic’

At first glance, Labubu might seem like just another collectible toy—a quirky, big-eyed figure with exaggerated features, often nestled among other knick-knacks on a shelf or desk. But behind its peculiar charm lies a deeper psychological story that’s resonating with a growing number of young adults. Originally designed as part of Pop Mart’s universe of designer toys, Labubu has moved far beyond niche fandom and into the mainstream, riding a wave of affection that’s as emotional as it is aesthetic.

What’s driving this unexpected cultural moment? According to mental health experts, it’s not just about cuteness or nostalgia—it’s about coping. In a world where many feel emotionally overextended and structurally unsupported, small symbolic objects like Labubu are taking on surprisingly profound roles. They offer comfort, identity, and a form of emotional expression that feels both safe and meaningful in a time of increasing uncertainty.

More Than a Toy — The Psychology Behind Labubu’s Rise

What might look like just another whimsical figurine to some is, to others, a quiet anchor in an increasingly chaotic world. The rise of Labubu — a quirky, wide-eyed creature from the Pop Mart universe — reflects deeper psychological undercurrents shaping consumer behavior, particularly among Gen Z. According to chartered clinical psychologist Tracy King, these trinkets are “deeply symbolic,” acting as tools for comfort, control, and identity in what she describes as an “unpredictable world.”

King points out that while earlier generations may have found stability in structured pathways like home ownership or career progression, Gen Z is navigating what feels more like an escape room — full of unclear instructions, shifting expectations, and a moving finish line. Against this backdrop, small, tactile comforts like Labubu offer a rare sense of agency.

“These soft, playful objects evoke feelings of safety, care, and nostalgia — things that might’ve been missing or cut short in early life,” King explains. For many, owning a Labubu becomes an act of what psychologists call inner child work: revisiting and nurturing unmet emotional needs from earlier stages of life.

Rather than dismissing these figures as frivolous, King emphasizes that they serve as a legitimate psychological response to systemic pressures — from the climate crisis and economic instability to the curatorial demands of life lived online. In a culture where aesthetic choices double as emotional language, Labubu becomes more than a toy. It’s a symbolic expression of who someone is, how they feel, and what they need to stay grounded.

Trinket Culture as a Coping Mechanism in the Age of Burnout

Labubu is just one character in a much larger cultural shift often referred to as “trinket culture,” a phenomenon rooted not in frivolity but in psychological survival. Far from being a passing fad, the popularity of small collectible items reflects a widespread response to the emotional exhaustion and fragmentation of modern life. According to psychologist Tracy King, the rise of trinkets mirrors how people, particularly younger generations, are managing chronic stress, disconnection, and an uncertain future. These items, while outwardly playful and childlike, offer symbolic relief. They are low-stakes investments in comfort and identity—simple pleasures that restore a sense of control and selfhood amid societal pressures that feel increasingly out of reach.

This trend dovetails with the broader context of burnout that is pervasive across workplaces, schools, and digital life. With traditional milestones like job stability or home ownership feeling less attainable, many young adults are redirecting their focus toward what King calls “investing in now.” These micro-moments of joy, often represented in the form of aesthetic collectibles or plush characters, serve as tangible reminders to slow down, reclaim agency, and prioritize emotional wellbeing. Unlike self-care trends that may be performative or commodified, these trinkets feel personal and approachable. They quietly support emotional regulation by engaging the senses, grounding the mind, and offering a moment of stillness in otherwise overstimulating environments.

Moreover, trinket culture is deeply intertwined with the visual language of social media. Platforms like TikTok and Instagram, where self-expression is filtered through carefully curated visuals, have helped normalize the idea that objects can communicate emotion and identity. Sharing a photo of a Labubu figure on a bookshelf or desk isn’t just about the toy—it’s about signaling softness, nostalgia, or a sense of belonging to a particular aesthetic or emotional tribe. This dynamic makes trinket ownership less about the item itself and more about what it represents: a form of accessible, symbolic resistance to burnout, disconnection, and the emotional fatigue of modern adulthood.

Nostalgia and the Healing Power of the Inner Child

At the heart of Labubu’s appeal lies something both deeply emotional and quietly therapeutic: nostalgia. For many adults, particularly those navigating the turbulence of early adulthood in the digital age, these soft, cartoonish figures are far more than cute decor—they are emotional artifacts that reconnect them with a more innocent, less demanding time. Psychologist Tracy King explains that Labubu figures “evoke feelings of safety, care, and nostalgia—things that might’ve been missing or cut short in early life.” In this way, purchasing or displaying a Labubu becomes an act of healing, a gesture toward reclaiming lost or neglected aspects of childhood.

This is closely linked to the psychological concept of inner child work, a therapeutic practice that encourages individuals to nurture the unmet emotional needs of their younger selves. In a world that often prizes stoicism and productivity over emotional presence, embracing a toy-like figure as an adult may seem counterintuitive. Yet, it’s precisely this kind of gentle defiance—choosing comfort and softness in the face of pressure—that makes the act meaningful. When someone places a Labubu on their nightstand or carries it in a bag, it’s not just about the object itself but about what it allows: a moment of reconnection with vulnerability, playfulness, and emotional honesty.

This re-engagement with childlike joy can be especially powerful for Gen Z, a generation that came of age during global crises, digital overstimulation, and widespread economic precarity. Many never had the luxury of a carefree childhood, or they experienced a premature end to it due to stressors such as family instability, academic pressure, or early exposure to global anxiety through constant online media. In this context, Labubu functions almost like a proxy for childhood—a small, manageable symbol of a world that feels simpler, safer, and more emotionally attuned. The act of collecting these figures isn’t a retreat from adulthood but rather a recalibration of it, one that includes emotional fulfillment alongside achievement and responsibility.

Symbolism, Identity, and Belonging in a Fragmented World

Labubu’s resonance goes beyond comfort and nostalgia—it taps into the human need for identity and belonging in a time when traditional markers of both have grown less defined. For Gen Z in particular, who were raised in a world shaped by digital fluidity and global instability, personal identity is not something passively inherited but actively constructed. As psychologist Tracy King notes, “Gen Z were raised in a digital world where identity is curated, not assumed.” In this curated existence, where Instagram bios, playlists, and aesthetic preferences function as personal branding, objects like Labubu become tools of expression—symbolic stand-ins for complex emotions, values, and desires that may be harder to articulate in words.

This symbolic role is part of why these trinkets are so often showcased online, not merely collected in private. A photo of Labubu on a nightstand or tucked into a bag becomes a kind of visual shorthand—conveying vulnerability, emotional nuance, or even quiet resistance to the hyperproductivity culture. In a digital landscape where aesthetics function as emotional language, soft objects like Labubu carry weight: they signify not just personality, but a person’s inner world and how they want to be seen by others. They also create subtle links between people who share the same sensibilities, building community through shared symbols in much the same way subcultures once formed around music or fashion.

This form of identity expression is especially compelling in a time when many feel unmoored from the traditional pillars that once shaped self-understanding—such as religion, long-term career paths, or inherited social roles. For a generation that sees the future as precarious and the present as hyperconnected yet isolating, symbolic objects help anchor identity in something tangible. Labubu’s exaggerated features, quirky charm, and approachable softness allow people to lean into parts of themselves that may otherwise be dismissed or hidden: the tender, the anxious, the nostalgic, the quietly hopeful. These figures are not just reflections of personality—they’re acts of identity affirmation, tangible proof that softness and complexity can coexist in a harsh, fragmented world.

A Soft Symbol in a Hard World — What Labubu Reveals About Us

The rise of Labubu may seem like a light-hearted curiosity, but beneath its wide eyes and plush exterior lies a profound cultural signal: we are yearning for softness in a world that often demands hardness. These small figures reflect far more than a passing aesthetic trend—they are mirrors held up to a generation navigating unprecedented emotional, economic, and existential pressures. In choosing to surround themselves with comforting symbols, many are not retreating from reality but rather seeking ways to survive it with grace, humor, and self-compassion.

As psychologist Tracy King observes, trinket culture isn’t shallow or escapist—it’s a meaningful response to burnout, disconnection, and the exhaustion of constant striving. In a society that often prizes resilience to the point of emotional denial, the act of cherishing something whimsical, gentle, and deeply personal becomes radical. It tells us that even in the absence of long-term certainty, we can find emotional grounding in small, intentional acts of self-soothing and identity expression.

What Labubu reveals is that people—especially young adults—are not merely consumers of trends, but active participants in shaping emotional culture. They are redefining what it means to care for oneself, not through grand gestures, but through subtle, symbolic ones. These figures are reminders that healing doesn’t always look like therapy sessions or wellness retreats. Sometimes, it looks like holding onto something soft and strange that makes you feel seen.

In that way, Labubu stands not just as a collector’s item, but as a quiet revolution. It urges us to rethink how we relate to our emotions, our memories, and each other. It asks: what are the small things that make us feel safe in an unsafe world? And perhaps more importantly—are we willing to let those things matter?