Ok so I caved. I told myself I wouldn’t, that I was above it, that I didn’t need another overpriced tchotchke to “spark joy.” But then I saw one in person — a Labubu, wide-eyed and deranged-looking, like a gremlin who’s seen things — and before I knew it, I was at checkout, typing in my shipping address like I was entering a new phase of life.

Now it sits on my shelf, staring at me with its pointy little smile, and somehow my life feels 10% happier and 90% more cluttered.

That’s the thing about trends. They start as jokes, and then suddenly everyone’s obsessed. First it was Stanley cups, then claw clips, and now we’ve collectively moved on to Sonny Angels and Labubus — tiny figurines that have no practical purpose except to look cute and slightly cursed at the same time.

You can walk into a girl’s apartment right now and there’s probably one perched on a windowsill or guarding a succulent. It’s like they’ve become our generation’s emotional support decor.

Honestly, the minute I bought my Labubu, I knew I’d crossed a line. I can’t even make fun of it anymore because I’d have to make fun of myself the same way my friends and roommates do. My parents ask what it is, and sometimes I just have to shrug and move on. How are you supposed to explain a Labubu to a 50 year old? If anyone has any ideas, let me know.

But honestly, it’s not surprising we fall victim to this every few years. Ten years ago it was Beanie Babies. Before that, Webkinz, Littlest Pet Shops and Silly Bandz that everyone traded on the playground.

Humans are wired to collect things, especially when they’re small, cute and come in sets. We tell ourselves it’s about self-expression, but really, it’s about chasing that tiny rush of happiness that comes with owning something completely unnecessary.

And even though I like to act like I’m self-aware about it, I’ve definitely justified my purchase in all the usual ways. It’s “funny.” It’s “actually kind of cute.” But deep down, I know it’s the same instinct that made me beg for a limited-edition Beanie Baby when I was six.

We haven’t changed — we’ve just rebranded. The only difference is now we call it “decorating a space” instead of “hoarding stuffed animals.”

The scariest part is how normal it feels now. I walk into my room, see a small, shirtless Sonny Angel with a fruit on its head, and think nothing of it. Ten years ago my mom was yelling at me for leaving my toys around the house, and now I’m paying shipping fees for something that could fit inside a shot glass. Evolution? Regression? Still unclear.

There’s something kind of comforting about that. Trends come and go, but the desire to own something that feels small and special never really leaves. Maybe it’s because the world feels so big and chaotic that we cling to the tiniest things we can control, like a shelf filled with pastel creatures who look perpetually content.

So yeah, my apartment might look a little ridiculous. My shelves are crowded, my wallet’s lighter, and I’ve officially entered my “collectible figurine” era. But every time I catch my Labubu smiling at me from across the room, I feel this small, dumb wave of joy, and I think that’s enough.

Because in the end, maybe being “latest and greatest” isn’t about keeping up with trends. Maybe it’s just about admitting that sometimes, the silliest little things are the ones that make life feel a bit brighter.