Adult Toys Are Having a Moment In Fashion

No, not the kind you hide in a drawer. They’re cute, they’re collectable, and they’re not for kids: these are the soft things selling big feelings.

A young woman stands in line at a neon lit Pop Mart store in Singapore, and her heart is pounding with anticipation. In her hand she holds a tiny blind box, one of a dozen she’s bought this month. 

Inside each sealed package is a mystery figurine from the Labubu “The Monsters” series: it could be an adorable Labubu in a raincoat, or a rare secret edition Labubu holding a golden umbrella.

She won't know until she opens.

This thrill of uncertainty is electric. It tickles the same part of the brain that slot machines do, delivering a shot of dopamine with every tear of the packaging. She’s chasing one elusive design to complete the set, and the quest has become a ritual. There’s frustration in the near-misses, yes, but also an addictive joy in the hunt. The drive for completion is a powerful pull​: just one more box, she tells herself, and maybe I’ll finally have them all. 

When at last she uncovers the final rare figurine, a wave of triumph washes over her. For her, it’s not just a piece of plastic she’s gained, but a sense of achievement; a small victory in a chaotic world.

In that moment, the emotional economics of collecting make perfect sense: the value of that last toy far exceeds its price tag, for it represents wholeness, the end of a story she’s been living through each delightful surprise.

This, is the 'kidult’s' collector’s high.

Labubu and ex-BLACKPINK member Rosé

To call a Labubu a toy feels reductive. A Pop Mart collectible, it sits at the centre of a wider universe currently monopolising Harrods’ corner displays and the handbags of stylists alike.

Its appeal lies in contradiction: cartoonish yet cryptic, storybook in silhouette but streetwear in stature. In a landscape defined by emotional burnout and economic ambiguity, its rise feels less random than ritualistic; and if your Sonny Angel figurine is peeking over your phone screen as you read, you may very well be the target audience.

This isn’t the first time toys have been stitched into adult desire, but it might be the most emotionally deliberate. From Charles Jeffrey Loverboy’s Gremlin-hued knitwear to Simone Rocha’s embellished baby bonnets and boned dresses, the language of play has long existed in fashion as a form of emotional redress. In the past year however, the tone has intensified: soft forms, pastel palettes, and illustrative motifs have bled from subtext into strategy, with accessories now functioning less as embellishments and more as avatars of comfort. 

Nostalgia has evolved into a consumption logic: a self-soothing loop in which childhood aesthetics are recast for a more adult appetite. Studies on affect regulation suggest that memory-driven objects can offer a sort of psychological refuge; a kind of proxy stability when traditional sociological structures collapse. A 2022 McKinsey report found that Gen Z recorded the bleakest life outlook of any generation, with one in four describing themselves as emotionally distressed. When the usual milestones such as home ownership, marriage, and financial security are increasingly delayed, sentimental objects begin to serve as placeholders for reassurance. And so, in response, a generation raised on digital dopamine has turned tactile, and are now reaching back through clay, fur, felt, vinyl, and figurines in an attempt to re-anchor the self.

This is the dopamine economy: 'The Monsters' Labubu plush figures on display. In 2024 alone, the series generated over 3 billion yuan (approximately £400 million) in revenue, marking a 726.6% year-on-year growth. ​ source

The comforting familiarity of childhood objects has been shown to trigger dopamine release in the brain, a chemical shortcut to calm, safety, and short-term satisfaction. Match that with the double hit of visual stimulation and the rush of shopping, it becomes clear why these objects now live at the intersection of both pleasure and purchase.

The bright colours, tactile materials, playful proportions aren’t incidental, but engineered for emotional payoff; and the result is a kind of aesthetic self-medication that is cute enough to soothe, limited enough to covet; Labubu, with its sly grin and limited-edition scarcity, is emblematic of that pursuit.

Sold in blind boxes that mimic both arcade claw machines and fashion’s drop model, it channels the logic of escapism-as-luxury. Like a limited Bottega clutch or a box-logo Supreme tee, its value rests in scarcity and symbolism. In other words: cute becomes collectible; collectible becomes wearable; wearable becomes therapeutic. 

And it sells.

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"Fall 2024 Simone Rocha RTW // Charles Jeffrey LOVERBOY 'Chunky Rabbit
Beanie'"

Once a presumed marker of childhood, toys are no longer confined to kids' bedrooms or birthday lists. The adult consumer has entered the toy aisle, and not as a parent. So-called “kidults” now account for a quarter of all toy sales in the US, a market worth over $9 billion, with similar patterns reported across Europe. 

According to NPD Group data, adult-targeted toys are now outperforming those designed for children, a trend accelerated by the pandemic and firmly sustained in its aftermath. In 2023, The Toy Association confirmed what many brands had already begun building into their product strategies: adulthood, in its current form, not only accommodates but increasingly necessitates play. What was once perceived as niche or ironic has been fully absorbed into the mainstream; the collector is no longer a subcultural quirk, but a defining figure in the modern toy economy.

Loewe’s SS24 had animalistic silhouettes rendered in sculpted leather and brushed suede, Miu Miu’s AW24 accessories collection included plush zip pouches shaped like teddy bears, and Jacquemus’ recent ‘Le Chouchou’ accessories, though minimalist in palette, referenced the toybox in both proportion and mood.  Even in resale, 2024 saw a renewed appetite for Moschino’s discontinued Toy bags and early Jeremy Scott pieces, now viewed less through the lens of kitsch and more through emotional maximalism with objects once dismissed as gimmicks finding new relevance as affective status symbols.

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"Labubu’s the new It-accessory. From Prada to Miu Miu, the plush has officially entered fashion’s front row."

There’s also a parasocial logic embedded in this return to play. When the official Teletubbies TikTok account began mimicking Gen Z humour to viral effect, its popularity wasn’t ironic. The characters emerging from Pop Mart capsules or printed on Primark’s Hello Kitty collections are rarely unfamiliar; they’re drawn from the early iconography of childhood, revived with adult precision and styled to slot neatly into a new emotional economy. Primark’s Miffy nightwear sold out within days, its success driven by a closed loop of nostalgia-charged TikToks and emotionally coded purchasing. These toys, and the motifs they carry, act less as licensed merchandise and more as mnemonic devices, gently inviting their buyers into emotional re-encounters with earlier, softer versions of themselves. What’s being bought is less a figurine and more a reunion with the child who once depended on it.

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"Labubu goes luxe: Harrods’ grand façade (left) lit up for the Pop Mart pop-up. @tyra.mua (right) at the “The Monsters” invasion of London."

Social media has only intensified this dynamic. On Instagram and TikTok, musicians, stylists, and designers regularly appear flanked by wall-high installations of KAWS statues, custom Bearbricks, or tightly curated rows of Sonny Angels, posed with the deliberateness of editorial props. Entire aesthetics have grown around the curated clutter of these part-shrine, part-showroom collections, where cultural capital derives not from restraint but from volume. To collect multiple figures from a blind-box series is to signal both the disposable income and the emotional margin to indulge. In this context, the collection becomes a portrait: of taste, of time, and of who can afford to treat play as a legitimate form of luxury.

Early last month, Pop Mart, a Beijing-based designer toy brand, launched a six-week pop-up on Harrods’ famed toy floor, complete with exclusive Labubu collectibles and even an appearance by Labubu’s creator, artist Kasing Lung​.

The message was clear: this is not kids’ stuff; this is a bona fide cultural phenomenon straddling the line between luxury fashion and play. Indeed, the company touts itself as a “global champion of designer toy culture,” big on items like cute bag charms that high-end shoppers might clip to a Louis Vuitton purse.

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"Primark’s Hello Kitty takeover. TikTok videos of the collection racked up millions of views within days. Credit: (left) TikTok/@primarkbasildon"

Pop Mart has long described itself as a global tastemaker in designer toy culture, but its latest moves place it closer to high fashion than subculture. The toys now double as bag charms, shelf objects, or pocket-sized mascots, worn and styled by figures like Rihanna, Dua Lipa, and Blackpink’s Rosé. Their presence signals more than whimsy; its exclusivity telegraphing access, aesthetic awareness, and an alignment with the new logic of luxury.

The convergence of fashion and toys may appear unlikely, but within the current market, it reads as strategic. Designer collaborations with plush toys have proliferated in recent years: limited-edition Squishmallows have launched with major fashion retailers, and Bearbricks regularly appear in capsule drops with brands like BAPE or Comme des Garçons, fetching resale prices in the thousands. These objects operate like any luxury accessory (collectable, limited, culturally charged), but softened through the lens of play.

"Labubu and ex-BLACKPINK member Lisa

In part, this trend taps into the idea of “affordable luxury.” Not everyone can purchase a £5,000 designer bag on a whim, but maybe they can splurge £50 on an artist-designed figurine that brings them equal delight. As one analyst {who??} put it, such toys “offer comfort in an unpredictable world while also serving as affordable luxuries in a time of reduced disposable income”

And when the economy has folks feeling pinched, a little treat (say a cute collectible keychain) can feel like a justifiable indulgence. It’s luxury reimagined: not about ostentation, but about emotional gratification. A Pop Mart representative noted that for fans, “it’s become more than just a collectible…it’s a way for people to express themselves”

In other words, these toys carry an identity value akin to fashion. Displaying a rare Labubu on your shelf (or wearing it on your handbag) signals something about your taste, your alignment with trend culture, and your playful spirit. 

In 2023, for example, a limited Jellycat plush (the famously soft UK-designed stuffed animals) became the talk of fashion TikTok, where suddenly the £30 floral bunny was an it-item, sold out everywhere. Such is the climate: cute is chic, play is sophisticated, and the high-end and playful now walk hand in hand.

For brands, the payoff is clear: these tiny, emotionally charged objects create the kind of viral energy money rarely buys. The Harrods x Pop Mart event drew queues around the block, with exclusive figurines disappearing in minutes and social feeds flooded with unboxings, selfies, and haul breakdowns. By collaborating with heritage retailers and fashion figures, Pop Mart positioned its toys as the new Birkin; at least, for the generation that treats play as currency.

One China-based cultural analyst summarised it cleanly: collaboration is the new luxury.   When a Labubu figurine appears alongside a Hermès bag in an influencer’s carousel, it inherits prestige. But that exchange goes both ways. For the fashion house, proximity to playful objects injects vitality, charm, and cultural traction, a shortcut to Gen Z attention. In this economy, status is “no longer about price, but cultural currency”

"Labubu, but make it Prada. Designer bags have become prime real estate for cute collectibles. Credit: Instagram/@angelzcase"

In the first half of 2024 alone, Pop Mart’s Monsters toy line generated over $87 million in sales. But to understand the magnitude of its success, it’s impossible to separate it from the cultural engine behind it. The idea that cuteness can hold cultural capital didn’t begin with Labubu; it’s been decades in the making, defined by Japan’s long-standing kawaii economy where affection for the adorable is neither childish nor ironic, but sincere and aestheticised. From Hello Kitty pencil tins to Harajuku fashion tribes, the kawaii philosophy has long challenged the idea that softness and seriousness must be mutually exclusive.

Now, China has entered the frame as a new global authority in this aesthetic economy, exporting its own interpretations of kawaii culture to a market that has grown more emotionally fluent, more toy-literate, and more style-savvy than ever. Pop Mart’s rise feels emblematic of this, not because it mimics the Japanese model, but because it adapts it.

Rather than defaulting to cultural export, the company has refined a strategy of emotional localisation. Alongside its London presence, it launched a Merlion-themed Labubu in Singapore; a collectible designed specifically for the local market. The result was a product that felt global in reach, but deeply embedded in place. It’s a model once perfected by franchises like Pokémon and Sanrio; but here, it’s playing out faster, sleeker, and with fashion in tow.

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"BAPE x Baby Milo x One Piece (left) and a 1000% Bearbrick Hello Kitty (right). Proof that fashion’s most collectible collabs often come with a cartoon face."

In fashion, the kawaii lexicon has resurfaced through a new wave of cross-cultural cues. Chinese labels like SHUSHU/TONG have carved out a space for hyper-feminine silhouettes with twisted childlike detailing of ruffled hems, oversized bows, puffed sleeves; while Windowsen, known for its theatrical, anime-coded proportions, brings drag, cosplay, and couture into collision. In Japan, longstanding streetwear collaborations continue to blur the lines between fashion and fandom: Undercover’s anime references, Cav Empt’s pixelated nostalgia, and even vintage BAPE pieces featuring Doraemon or One Piece characters reveal a longer history of playfulness rendered collectible. What ties them all together is their refusal to see ‘cute’ as unserious.

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"SHUSHU/TONG SS23 collection"

Labubu’s success, then, isn’t only commercial and it reinforces a broader marketing truth: emotion outpaces product. “Labubu isn’t cute. It’s comforting,” notes a China Skinny report. “In an anxious, fast-paced world, people are buying feelings… and Labubu delivers them in spades.” Emotional value is what allows a small vinyl figurine, born of a distinctly Chinese design tradition, to travel across markets and still feel intimate.

What happens next depends less on trend cycles and more on emotional fluency. As aesthetics continue to be guided by feelings of comfort, chaos, softness, control; there’s little reason to believe collectibility will fade. If anything, it will likely evolve, pulling new objects, designers, and subcultures into the fold, with play acting as both permission and provocation.

"Hermès meets The Monsters. Labubu plush charms styled on luxury handbags, because in 2025, even a Birkin needs a cuddle. Credit: Instagram/@popmart"

For now, though, it’s clear that in a world that feels increasingly hard-edged, it’s the soft, small, silly, sentimental things that are cutting through.