This weekend was supposed to be low-key. I had grand plans: maybe a little laundry, maybe a little rosé, maybe a tiny existential spiral about back-to-school shopping (I got the backpacks for sale during Prime Day at least!). You know – normal mom stuff.
But instead, I found myself trapped in what I can only describe as a Labubu multiverse. If you’re not familiar, Labubus are these weirdly cute, vaguely feral little goblin-fox-demon-children figures that some people find adorable and others, like my elderly neighbor, believe are cursed artifacts ushering in the end times. Tomato, tomahto.
Act I: The Rave
It all started when work announced we’re hosting a Labubu rave at our venue. That’s right—a rave, themed around little bug-eyed collectibles. Because apparently, that’s what the people want in 2025: glow sticks, bass drops, and chaotic designer toys.
So I spent Friday night glued to Instagram, TikTok, and whatever other platform the youth are using, responding to dozens of DMs and comments from grown adults who treat these toys the way I treat espresso: with obsession and a hint of dependency. I had no idea Labubu fandoms were so intense. There were fan theories. Outfit matchups. Someone asked if they could bring their entire Labubu family in themed ravewear. I said yes if you’re wondering.
Act II: The Birthday
Saturday brought a brief reprieve from the digital mayhem… until we arrived at my niece’s third birthday party. The theme? Pink elephant chaos, but the gifts? Oh, the gifts. Labubus everywhere. It was like a clown car of the monsters. One in a cactus suit. One dressed like a shark. One that looked like a spaghetti-loving vampire.
Now, my niece is three, and she was THRILLED. She lined them up, named them things like “Poopoo Kitty” and “Snacks,” and declared them her “children.” We gave her an elephant-shaped rocking horse—at her request, I’ll have you know. But within minutes, she’d plopped a Labubu on the saddle and said, “This is their car now.” I had a brief moment where I questioned my relevance as an aunt. I brought a whole elephant, and it got turned into a Labubu Uber.
Act III: The Playdate from the Upside Down
By Sunday, I was emotionally fragile and deeply Labubu-ed out. But alas, we had a playdate scheduled. A sweet friend of my youngest showed up, bearing… you guessed it… Labubus.
The kids squealed. My youngest was singing songs to the Labubus. My neighbor, who was out watering her desert landscaping, saw the toys and paused mid-squirt. “Those are demonic,” she muttered. “I won’t let my grandkids bring them over.” Well then, good to know my whole weekend was satan themed.
And then—the grand finale.
While my youngest showered, and I googled “labubus, demonic?” there was a BANG from the bathroom.
The shower door. Exploded. Mid-shower. My youngest screamed, we all ran, and thank everything, she was fine. Startled, wet, a few cuts and scrapes, covered in tiny safety glass diamonds, but fine. WHAT IN THE WORLD?!
So here we are.
Am I okay? Not really.
Do I now know more about Labubu lore than any grown woman ever should? Unfortunately.
Will I be purchasing one of these toys for my children?
Absolutely not.
We are a Labubu-free household (minus one that is attached to the old school backpack which may soon take a journey) (Until one inevitably ends up in a birthday favor bag like a plastic gremlin waiting to haunt me.)
Anyway, off to eat cheese and crackers for dinner and prepare for the week. Pray for me. And for the shower door.
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