QuickTake:

The furry monster toys exploded in popularity in recent weeks and are now coveted collectibles. But be cautious: You might be picking up a counterfeit.

At Eugene’s Valley River Center, a kiosk teems with boxes of trendy toys.

The collectibles, a line of plushies known as Labubus, have rocketed in popularity in recent weeks. They’re owned by K-Pop idols, “Love Island” contestants and any number of trend-chasers who have hunted down the toys in recent months.

A Labubu is a small furry monster with pointed teeth and mischievous eyes, designed by the Hong Kong-born artist Kasing Lung. Their popularity exploded after the K-Pop singer Lisa from the group Blackpink started wearing Labubus as accessories. The resulting frenzy placed Pop Mart, the Chinese toy company that manufactures Labubu plushies, in control of a coveted and expensive commodity. Labubus run about $50 to $60 each. 

Counterfeits — called “Lafufus” — have flooded the market. The Valley River Center Labubu, purchased for $25, carries the official Pop Mart logo. But a closer inspection raises red flags.

A ‘Lafufu’ in the flesh

My new Labubu is a fuzzy pink-and-red splotched creature named “Love.” But she is also an impostor. A cottage industry of Labubu verification has popped up as counterfeits abound, giving me handy guides to judge Love against. 

The clues are all over the packaging: The box is flat when it should be embossed. There is no QR code sticker leading to an authentication website. No identity card. No desiccant silica package.

A fake and a real box of a Labubu from the “Big Into Energy” line. The real box, a prize at Claw City in Springfield, has a subtler color and embossed details on the front.
The backs of the boxes reveal clues, too. The real Labubu has a QR code sticker in the upper right, to verify it’s a real Pop Mart product. Credit: Annie Aguiar / Lookout Eugene-Springfield

Even the foil bag the plushie came in is incorrect — legit Labubus’ foil bags have matte interiors, while this one was as shiny as Reynolds Wrap.

The toy itself also betrays it being a fake. The teeth paint is misaligned with the actual toy mold. The blush color is too bold. The face is plasticky when it should be matte. The fur isn’t as fluffy as authentic Labubus. The hands have extra plastic, a small spillover from the toy’s manufacturing as liquid plastic filled two halves of a mold. 

The misprinted teeth of a fake Labubu that a Lookout reporter purchased at the Valley River Center. Credit: Annie Aguiar / Lookout Eugene-Springfield

The man selling the Labubus at Valley River Center, MD Uzzol, acknowledged that he wasn’t selling legitimate Labubus and that cheaper counterfeits make having a Labubu more accessible. When I asked where they came from, he said China and then quickly added Pop Mart — but while these counterfeits may hail from China, they almost certainly are not Pop Mart products.

Outside of Valley River Mall, local Labubu hunters can hit up Facebook Marketplace to purchase from other collectors but run the risk that someone is hawking Lafufus. 

There’s only one place in Eugene-Springfield where you can be sure to take home a legitimate Labubu. But there’s a twist: You’ll have to win it.

Luck, skill and Labubus 

My knees were starting to ache as I crouched in front of the Keymaster arcade machine, trying and failing over and over again to thread a plastic key through a keyhole to win a prize. 

A Labubu box inside an arcade claw machine, behind a large keyhole.
The prize Labubu in a Keymaster arcade machine that evaded a Lookout reporter’s best efforts. Credit: Annie Aguiar / Lookout Eugene-Springfield

My quarry, a legitimate Labubu in the machine at Springfield’s claw machine arcade Claw City, taunted me. Shay Arm, the manager of Claw City, said Labubus have increased business at the arcade, with an even share of children and adults wanting the toys.  

Labubus are not available for purchase at Claw City. They can be won outright in specific games, or exchanged at the prize counter for 40 tickets worth of toys won from other machines. They are legitimate Labubus with the marks of the real product, purchased through a verified reseller that double-authenticates the toys.

That means Arm has a front-row seat to the trials and tribulations of Lane County’s Labubu hunters. She’s seen children in tears trading in their prizes to exchange for a Labubu. One machine where you can win a Labubu outright, she said, regularly gets players locking in for two hours. She saw someone spend $400 on one machine alone, specifically searching for the monster toy. 

Shay Arm, manager of Claw City in Springfield, shows off her personal Labubu. She said it’s a bit beat up from showing it to so many children who come up to the prize counter.

Then there were the two 12-year-old girls who Arm said pulled off a Labubu heist on Mother’s Day, swiping one that was on display atop a claw machine. She found them in the parking lot, asked for the toy back and told them she wasn’t calling the police because it was Mother’s Day. (The Claw City Labubus now live behind the prize counter).

“I really wish I could be selling these,” Arm said. “But if we were to sell them, they would be sold out.”

Arm gave me some tips on the claw machine, specifically recommending one that made it easier to win multiple plushies in one go. I also went on Two Ticket Tuesday, when I would have needed to win only 20 plushies to take home a Labubu, instead of 40. 

But after spending an embarrassing amount of time and money — both Lookout’s and my own personal funds — on arcade credits, I only scored 18 plushies. I walked away, Labubu-less. (My editor advised me to never try gambling. I agree.)

But at least I have Love, my Lafufu. She may not be real. She may not be able to stand on her own two legs, and her fur may not be as fluffy.

But when I look into her sparkling eyes, I can’t help but feel a pang of affection. Dare I say: Love?

Annie Aguiar is the Arts and Culture Correspondent. She has reported arts news and features for national and local newsrooms, including at the Seattle Times, the Washington Post and most recently as a reporting fellow for the New York Times’ Culture desk covering arts and entertainment.