The Labubu Lifestyle: A ?? Year-Old Therapist's Guide to Collecting Your Feelings (Literally)

Professional Diagnosis: Am I Having a Breakdown or a Breakthrough?

At 50 plus vat, after decades of helping clients navigate their psychological landscapes, I thought I'd mapped every corner of human behavior. I've guided people through midlife crises, analyzed their attachment styles, and helped them understand why they hoard everything from newspapers to relationships. So imagine my surprise when I found myself utterly captivated by tiny vinyl creatures that look like they escaped from a Tim Burton fever dream.

Labubu collectables.

Meet Labubu: part elf, part gremlin, all attitude. These collectible figures have somehow managed to do what years of therapy couldn't—make me question my own mental state while simultaneously bringing me inexplicable joy.

I discovered them through my daughter, hearing her talk about what appeared to be a miniature therapy client with serious boundary issues. These little creature's have mischievous grins that seem to mock every professional boundary I've ever maintained. And now? Now I'm seriously considering buying my first one.

As a trained therapist, I should probably analyze this impulse. As a 70-year-old who's earned the right to be eccentric, I'm thinking: why the hell not?

Clinical Assessment: What Exactly Is a Labubu?

From a professional standpoint, Labubu represents fascinating psychological territory. Created by Hong Kong artist Kasing Lung, these figures are deliberately unsettling—think "therapeutic breakthrough" meets "childhood nightmare." They're not trying to be traditionally cute or comforting. Instead, they embrace the shadow self that Jung would have appreciated.

Pop Mart, the company behind the phenomenon, has essentially created a behavioral psychology experiment disguised as toy collecting. The blind box format triggers our reward systems in ways that would make Pavlov proud, while the unpredictability keeps dopamine levels dancing like my clients after they've had a major insight.

It's operant conditioning with collectibles, and frankly, it's brilliant.

The Therapist's Paradox: Analyzing My Own Obsession

Here's where it gets interesting from a professional perspective. I've spent decades helping people understand their compulsions, yet here I am, researching variant rarities and watching unboxing videos with the intensity I once reserved for case studies.

The irony isn't lost on me. I've counselled countless clients about healthy coping mechanisms, mindful consumption, and finding balance. Now I'm contemplating whether the metallic Labubu is worth the secondary market premium.

But here's what my training tells me: sometimes the best therapeutic intervention is permission to be human. And humans, it turns out, find joy in the most unexpected places—even tiny plastic demons with commitment issues.

The Psychology of Late-Life Collection (A Professional Opinion)

From a developmental psychology standpoint, what I'm experiencing makes perfect sense. Erik Erikson would call this the "generativity vs. stagnation" stage, where we either continue growing or become stuck in our ways. Apparently, my psyche has chosen growth via vinyl figurines. (Well maybe).

There's also something profound about embracing uncertainty at this life stage. As a therapist, I've always valued the predictable—scheduled sessions, established boundaries, familiar therapeutic frameworks. Blind boxes represent the opposite: pure uncertainty wrapped in colorful packaging.

Maybe that's exactly what I need. After decades of providing stability for others, perhaps it's time to invite a little chaos into my own life. Therapeutic chaos, if you will.

Community Therapy: The Unexpected Benefits

What strikes me most about Labubu culture is how it functions like group therapy, but with better visual aids. Online communities share their finds with the same vulnerability I've witnessed in session. There's genuine joy when someone discovers a rare variant, collective disappointment over duplicates, and an underlying support system that transcends age and background.

I've watched 20-somethings offer trading advice to 60-somethings with the same patience I use with resistant clients. It's intergenerational healing through collectible figurines—not exactly what I studied, but surprisingly effective.

The unboxing videos are particularly fascinating from a therapeutic lens. There's something deeply honest about the anticipation, the moment of reveal, and the authentic emotional response that follows. It's mindfulness practice disguised as consumerism.

Nuts or Clever Marketing? A Clinical Assessment

Both, obviously. The marketing is psychologically sophisticated—they've created artificial scarcity, tapped into our intrinsic motivation systems, and built community around shared obsession. It's like they hired a team of behavioral economists and addiction specialists to design the perfect collection mechanism.

But dismissing it as "just marketing" would be like calling therapy "just talking." The best interventions work because they address real psychological needs. In Labubu's case, those needs include play, mystery, connection, and the permission to embrace our inner weirdness.

As someone who's spent decades helping people integrate their shadow selves, I appreciate that these figures don't pretend to be purely wholesome. They're cute, but with an edge. They're collectible, but slightly unsettling. They represent the parts of ourselves we usually keep hidden in polite company.

The Investment Angle (Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Financial Irresponsibility)

Let's address the elephant in the room—or should I say, the Labubu in the blind box. These aren't traditional investments. Unlike my carefully managed retirement portfolio, - pause for laughter, - Labubu figures are unlikely to fund anyone's golden years.

And you know what? That might be exactly what makes them therapeutic. They're pure want, not need. Pure joy, not obligation. After decades of making responsible decisions, there's something liberating about wanting something simply because it makes you smile.

I've counselled enough people through retirement transitions to know that the biggest challenge isn't financial—it's finding new sources of meaning and excitement. If a $15 blind box can provide that, it's cheaper than therapy. (Don't tell my former clients I said that.)

Professional Recommendation: Embracing Therapeutic Absurdity

So, after conducting this thorough self-analysis, what's my professional diagnosis? I'm experiencing what I'll term "healthy regression in service of joy"—a perfectly normal psychological process that involves rediscovering play as a form of self-care.

My recommendation? Lean into it. At 70, I've earned the right to collect whatever brings me happiness, even if it looks like it belongs in a psychological assessment test. ("Please describe what you see in this vinyl figure, Mrs. Johnson.")

Besides, there's something beautifully subversive about a therapist collecting creatures that look like they'd benefit from therapy themselves. It's professional development through collectibles.

The Bottom Line: Sometimes Therapy Comes in Blind Boxes

The Labubu phenomenon might seem irrational, but so did most of the breakthrough moments I've witnessed in therapy. Sometimes growth happens in the spaces between logic and intuition, in the willingness to embrace something that doesn't make complete sense but feels entirely right.

Whether you're 17 or 70, the appeal is fundamentally therapeutic: the thrill of uncertainty, the satisfaction of completion, and the simple pleasure of owning something that reflects your authentic self—shadows and all.

So am I getting my first Labubu. Not because I've lost my professional judgment, but because I've finally learned to trust it. After decades of helping others find joy, it's time to practice what I preach.

No - but that's only because we've finally got a house moving date. Which means all my attention will be on packing up the house and art studio. So I'll quite literally be doing my own boxing and unboxing exercise!!! So thinking about collecting Labubu's was a happy displacement/distraction activity that saved me from thinking about the endless stream of bubblewrap and boxes.

Until next time, go well.

Lynn X