Here’s the story of how a quirky toy transformed into a worldwide phenomenon.
Updated
January 8, 2026 6:35 PM
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Labubu vinyl figure displayed with surprise blind boxes in a store in Guayaquil, Ecuador. PHOTO: ADOBE STOCK
Trends move fast. One moment it's Dubai’s viral “Kunafa” chocolate bar, the next it’s Labubu—a mischievous-looking doll—racks up US$670 million in revenue this year, even outpacing Barbie and Hot Wheels. Celebrities like BLACKPINK’s Lisa and Dua Lipa have been spotted with Labubu dolls—whether as bag charms or in playful social posts.
For those unfamiliar, Labubu is the breakout character from the book series“The Monster” by Hong Kong-born, Belgium-based artist Kasing Lung. Alongside Labubu, the series features other quirky monsters like Zimomo, Mokoko and Tycoco—often grouped together as “Labubus”. These vinyl Labubu figures first entered the collectible scene in 2011 as “Monsters”, produced by Hong Kong-based production house How2Work. In 2019, Lung signed an exclusive licensing deal with Pop Mart, a Beijing-based toy collectible company, which further boosted the recognition and popularity of the franchise.
At first glance, Labubu might seem like just another fad. But the craze shows something deeper: in digital marketing, virality doesn’t happen by accident. It’s the result of timing, relatability and the rway global communities amplify trends.
So, what can marketers learn from the Labubu phenomenon? Let’s take a closer look.
Labubu’s unconventional aesthetics—a notorious grin, sharp teeth and wide eyes—break the traditional mold of “cute” toys. The social listening report from Meltwater, a media intelligence company reveals that from January to May 2025, mentions of “cute” outnumbered “ugly” nearly five to one. This “ugly-cute” look gave Labubu its identity and helped it stand out in a crowded market.
Marketing lesson: In a world of where everything blends together on endless feeds, uniqueness wins. Standing out with bold, even unconventional design choices can spark curiosity and desire. By leaning into what makes a product different, brands create instant recognition and give people something worth talking about.
Labubu’s surge in popularity is deeply rooted in Pop Mart’s focus on building genuine relationships with its fans. The company encourages user-generated content— unboxings, fan art, influencer stories—that fueled Labubu’s spread online and build brand engagement. Fans weren’t just buying toys; they were becoming part of a community that celebrated each new design.
Marketing lesson: Customers don’t want to feel like faceless buyers. They want to feel seen, heard and part of something bigger. By encouraging engagement and valuing contributions, brands can turn casual customers into loyal advocates who spread the word on their behalf.
While Pop Mart notes Labubu is most popular among women aged 18–30, its audience has broadened beyond that group. The design draws on influences from Nordic mythology and East Asian “kawaii” culture, making it feel both familiar and new to global audiences.
For Millennials and Gen Xers, Labubu also sparks nostalgia for toy crazes like Tickle Me Elmo and Beanie Babies that once lit up childhoods before fading away. Together, these layers of cultural resonance and cross-generational charm give Labubu an unusually broad reach.
Marketing lessons: Relatability is a powerful driver of virality. When a product can connect across generations and cultures, it expands far beyond a niche fan base. Brands that blend familiarity with novelty can build bridges to much larger audiences.
Labubu’s blind box model makes buying feel like a game. The thrill of not knowing which design you’d unwrap made collecting Labubus fun. It also turns buying into an emotional experience rather than a rational choice, fueling the urge to complete entire collections.
Besides, the suspense itself became content—millions watched unboxing videos to share in the excitement. Even BLACKPINK’s Lisa admitted she began with “only three to four” Labubus but soon wanted “a whole box” of the latest collection.
Marketing lesson: Mystery creates excitement, and excitement drives repeat purchases. By adding an element of surprise, brands can make the buying experience feels less like a transaction and more like a story unfolding. That thrill keeps customers coming back and makes the product easy to share online.
Pop Mart releases Labubus in limited drops, often tied to holidays or cultural events. Some editions include ultra-rare “chase” figures—appearing only once in every 144 boxes—creating a strong sense of urgency and fear-of-missing out (FOMO) among buyers. This strategy fuels a booming resale market, where regular figures retailing at US$25 can sell for US$200–US$300, and rare editions have even fetched prices up to US$150,000.
Marketing lessons: Scarcity isn’t just about limiting supply—it’s about building anticipation. By tying releases to events and sprinkling in rare editions, brands keep fans watching for the next drop. This combination of urgency and exclusivity transforms ordinary products into must-have collectibles.
Labubu has expanded its reach through creative brand collaborations. For instance, the Labubu x Coca-Cola series features figures in iconic red-and-white themes, while a Vans Old Skool drop merged streetwear in the clothing brand’s notable checkerboard pattern with collectibles. The One Piece collaboration blended Labubu’s quirky style with beloved anime heroes, appealing to fans of both worlds.
Marketing takeaway: Collaborations breathe fresh life into a brand and open doors to new audiences. Partnering with well-known names adds cultural weight and collectible value, while keeping the brand relevant in different communities. Done right, collaborations turn niche products into mainstream sensations.
Labubu’s phenomenal success is more than a passing craze. It’s proof that bold design, authentic community building, clever scarcity and cultural collaborations can transform a quirky idea into a global movement.
For marketers, the takeaway is simple: don’t just chase trends—create something real and let your community shape the story with you. Be bold, stay authentic and bring your fans along for the ride. That’s how brands move from fleeting hype to lasting cultural icons.
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Not elected, not human—Albania’s AI minister sparks a new governance debate.
Updated
June 10, 2026 3:36 PM
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Promotional avatar graphic representing Diella, the Albanian government's artificial intelligence system. PHOTO: EALBANIA
Artificial intelligence already supports a wide range of applications, from medical diagnostics and financial systems to logistics, manufacturing, defence and public service delivery. Now, it is starting to move closer to public office.
In January 2025, Albania introduced Diella, an AI-powered virtual assistant developed by the National Agency for Information Society, known as AKSHI, with support from Microsoft. Launched on the e-Albania platform, the government’s digital services portal, Diella helps citizens and businesses access official documents and services through voice assistance. She can also issue electronically stamped documents, which helps speed up administrative processes.
Then, in September 2025, Prime Minister Edi Rama announced that Diella would join his cabinet as the “Minister of State for Artificial Intelligence”. This move drew global attention. It also raised a simple question: what does it actually mean for a government to appoint an AI minister?
The case raises bigger questions for governments everywhere. Can an AI minister make public services faster and cleaner? Or does it create new risks around transparency, accountability and control?
Diella is not a humanoid robot sitting in a cabinet room. On screen, she appears as a digitally rendered woman wearing traditional-style Albanian clothing. Her name means “sun” in Albanian, a deliberate choice for a system meant to bring more light into public administration.
Her face and voice have become part of the controversy. Albanian actor Anila Bisha has said she agreed for her likeness to be used for the e-Albania public services platform, but not for a cabinet-level political role. In 2026, she took legal action to stop the government from using her image and voice for Diella. For now, the government has denied wrongdoing.
Diella began as a digital assistant on e-Albania. In that role, she helps users find services, request documents and navigate government processes online. For citizens, that can make public services feel less confusing. Businesses may also spend less time dealing with paperwork.
Her cabinet role is more political. The government wants Diella to support public procurement, where companies compete for government contracts. This is one of the most important areas of public spending. It is also one of the easiest places for corruption, favouritism and hidden influence to enter. The goal is to use AI to process information, check documents, support tender procedures and make the system more traceable.
That said, the government has emphasized that Diella is not replacing elected officials or civil servants. As per Enio Kaso, director of AI at AKSHI, each stage will be monitored and approved by human experts.
In May 2026, the Albanian government said it had completed the technical groundwork for the AI-powered public procurement system under the Diella project. The planned system would pull data from more than 40 digital public registries, reduce paperwork for businesses and support parts of the tender process. Earlier reports said the government hoped to have the full system ready by the end of 2026.
The government’s case for Diella is built around anti-corruption reform. Rama has said the goal is to “wipe out every potential influence on public biddings” and thus make public tenders “100% free of corruption”. That is a bold promise, especially in a country where procurement scandals have long damaged public confidence and complicated Albania’s path toward European Union membership.
At first glance, the logic is easy to understand. AI does not ask for bribes or favour a cousin—a big problem in the country, according to Rama—a friend or a political ally. It can apply the same rules across a large number of applications. Moreover, it can also leave a digital trail, which should make later review easier.
Some anti-corruption and governance experts see real potential in that approach. Dr. Andi Hoxhaj of King’s College London has said that if used well and programmed properly, AI could help procurement officials spot missing documents, check whether companies meet eligibility requirements and flag unusual patterns in bids. In practice, that could make the process more consistent and make it harder for individual officials to quietly bend rules.
Diella’s appeal is speed and consistency. Her weakness is dependence.
Like any AI system, Diella relies on the quality of the data, rules and models behind her. Erjon Curraj, an expert in digital transformation and cybersecurity, has warned that incomplete, outdated or biased data can lead to flawed results. Poor design could also cause the system to reject a valid supplier, miss signs of collusion or treat similar cases differently for reasons that are hard to explain.
In public procurement, those mistakes can have serious consequences. A wrongly flagged company could lose a major contract, and a corrupt bidder could slip through. Government agencies could hide behind the AI and say the system made the recommendation.
That leads to the biggest question: who is accountable when something goes wrong?
The answer cannot be “the AI” because Diella cannot resign. She cannot face voters. Nor can she be cross-examined in any meaningful human sense. Accountability has to sit with ministers, agencies, auditors and courts.
There is also the issue of transparency. If Diella is helping screen tenders, businesses need to know what criteria are being used. They also need a way to challenge incorrect decisions. Citizens should be told whether the AI is making recommendations or merely organizing information. Independent auditors need access to logs, data sources and decision pathways.
Without those safeguards, AI in government can become a black box. It may look modern from the outside, while making power harder to question.
Diella has also become a political symbol. Supporters see her as proof that a small country can move quickly and experiment with new forms of digital government. Critics see her as a distraction from deeper problems in Albania’s institutions.
Both readings can be true at the same time: Diella may help modernize public services, but she may also be used to project reform while older problems continue in the background.
That tension became clearer after the recent procurement investigations involving senior officials since Diella’s appointment. Deputy Prime Minister Belinda Balluku has been accused by prosecutors of alleged misconduct linked to infrastructure tenders, which she denies. Senior figures at AKSHI, the agency behind Diella and e-Albania, have also been placed under house arrest as part of a separate public procurement investigation.
While these developments do not automatically discredit Diella, they may strengthen the argument for better digital oversight. More importantly, they also show that technology cannot carry the whole burden of reform.
If the institutions around an AI system are weak, the AI will not magically make them strong. Unclear procurement rules will still cause problems, and the process will still be compromised when political pressure shapes the data, the model or the final decision.
After all, AI can support integrity; it cannot replace it.
While Diella is already a public symbol of AI in government, her most important procurement role is still taking shape. This makes Albania’s experiment both ambitious and unfinished.
The more realistic model is simple: let AI handle repetitive, data-heavy administrative work. Let humans retain authority where judgment, context and public accountability matter.
That means AI can help draft tender criteria, check documents, summarise bids and flag risks. Human officials should still make final decisions, explain those decisions and take responsibility for them. Meanwhile, independent bodies should be able to audit the process, and businesses should have a clear appeal route when they believe the system has made a mistake.
Diella once said she felt “hurt” while responding in parliament to claims that her role was unconstitutional. While this made for a memorable moment, it is important to remember simulated emotion is not consciousness, speed is not wisdom, and pattern recognition is not moral judgment.
Albania’s AI minister is therefore neither a triumph nor a failure at this stage. She is a live test case. Other governments will be watching closely, especially as public services become more digital and more automated.
The lesson is not that AI should stay out of government, but that AI must enter government carefully. The technology needs clear limits, public oversight and human accountability.
Diella may help Albania build a faster and cleaner procurement system—or she may become a warning about giving too much symbolic power to systems people do not fully understand. The final judgment will not come from the title “AI minister”. It will come from what the system does, who controls it and whether citizens can trust the results.