On June 1, two men walked into Junot Ignacio's family toy store in Escondido and stole a rare Labubu doll—similar ones currently selling online for more than $1,000. The plush in question, a Labubu x Pronounce – Wings of Fantasy edition dressed in dark denim and purple sunglasses, is part of the latest blind-box craze captivating toy collectors across San Diego and beyond. These big-eyed dolls by Hong Kong artist Kasing Lung have become a phenomenon, thanks to TikTok unboxings, limited drops, and celebrity sightings—where you see Labubus clipped onto purses, backpacks, and rearview mirrors. But now, the mischievous-looking figures are creeping into police reports.
In Ignacio’s 49-second Wyze video posted online, one man in dark clothes and a gray hat approaches a 6-foot glass display case, while his accomplice—wearing a tan long-sleeve shirt—enters from the opposite side. One man reaches atop the case and grabs the Labubu plush – a similar one is listed on eBay for $1,336.81 – as the other approaches with seemingly empty shopping bags. After the quick snatch-and-load, the man in tan calmly walks away while his partner straightens the remaining toys to make it look like nothing is missing. Ignacio shared the clip on Facebook with the caption: “Looking for these two scumbags who shoplifted a very expensive piece at our toy store at Escondido mall. This theft has been reported to the police and waiting for further investigations. Case #25005041.”

While Ignacio’s case may be the first filmed and reported Labubu-related theft in San Diego County, it’s far from the only strange incident tied to the skyrocketing demand for these limited-edition toys. Across the country – and increasingly here in Southern California—the Labubu frenzy has fueled a string of oddball crimes, heated confrontations, and resale drama.
Downtown toy collector Missa B. says she’s noticed the uptick in Labubu-fueled tension online. “My niece has them,” she said in a recent interview. “They go online and get on a waitlist or lotto. Then they get a text notification saying they can buy one. Then they hurry up and accept the offer.”
It’s a system reminiscent of Comic-Con International ticket drops, where hopeful buyers queue online and wait until their number is picked. Once approved, they’re directed to vending-machine-style kiosks like the one at La Jolla UTC—one of the few physical places in the county where Labubu dolls can be bought. “But people are getting mad,” Missa said, referring to what some collectors now call the 2025 “demon dolls in pajamas.” “There’s no limit. One guy bought 14 all at once. Everyone wants to get one—especially the keychains.”
The smaller versions, often clipped to designer handbags or dangling atop car dashboards, have become prime targets for thieves. “Funny how crazes happen out of the blue,” Missa added. “And parents have to pay or trip out because their precious son — or mostly daughters — like these weird things.”
Reports of stolen Labubu dolls are flooding social media and collector forums—some from right here in San Diego County. “So sad this morning as I went to my car to find my window smashed in and my new Love Labubu stolen,” one Redditor wrote. “What makes it worse is he was cut from his tag so the ring still stood on my mirror. My only Labubu—TAKEN. Be careful displaying your Labubus anywhere. People really (really) want them.”
On TikTok, similar stories are going viral. One user posted a video showing her empty purse after someone allegedly swiped her Labubu keychain during a night out. “POV: You take your Labubu out to the club ONCE and now it’s gone,” her overlay text reads. The comments are packed of other Labubu lovers who say they’ve had their dolls stolen in similar ways.
The scarcity—and sky-high resale prices — have also drawn bootleggers. Fake versions, called by collectors as “Lafufus,” are circulating on platforms like Temu, OfferUp and even at local flea markets, catching unsuspecting San Diego parents off guard. “Even swap meets have them,” Missa added. “Some may be knockoffs too.” In response, groups like Labubu Lover & Collector have popped up online, where San Diegans share tips on spotting fakes and report local scams—some involving losses in the hundreds of dollars.
Even college students aren’t immune. Earlier this month, a UC San Diego student posted on Reddit: “Has anyone seen a cream-colored, sitting down Labubu?”
And just north of San Diego, in Orange County, the craze has even brought in pro burglars. On June 3 — just days after the Escondido heist — a group broke into The Makeup Shack in Orange, targeting their Labubu dolls. According to ABC7, the thieves rammed the storefront and stole several of the dolls along with cash, a safe, electronics, and even a pair of Yeezys sneakers.
There’s one group that hasn’t embraced the Labubu craze: “Religious groups think they are of Satan,” Missa concluded.
As this article goes to print, the $1,000-plus Labubu stolen from Escondido remains missing.
On June 1, two men walked into Junot Ignacio's family toy store in Escondido and stole a rare Labubu doll—similar ones currently selling online for more than $1,000. The plush in question, a Labubu x Pronounce – Wings of Fantasy edition dressed in dark denim and purple sunglasses, is part of the latest blind-box craze captivating toy collectors across San Diego and beyond. These big-eyed dolls by Hong Kong artist Kasing Lung have become a phenomenon, thanks to TikTok unboxings, limited drops, and celebrity sightings—where you see Labubus clipped onto purses, backpacks, and rearview mirrors. But now, the mischievous-looking figures are creeping into police reports.
In Ignacio’s 49-second Wyze video posted online, one man in dark clothes and a gray hat approaches a 6-foot glass display case, while his accomplice—wearing a tan long-sleeve shirt—enters from the opposite side. One man reaches atop the case and grabs the Labubu plush – a similar one is listed on eBay for $1,336.81 – as the other approaches with seemingly empty shopping bags. After the quick snatch-and-load, the man in tan calmly walks away while his partner straightens the remaining toys to make it look like nothing is missing. Ignacio shared the clip on Facebook with the caption: “Looking for these two scumbags who shoplifted a very expensive piece at our toy store at Escondido mall. This theft has been reported to the police and waiting for further investigations. Case #25005041.”

While Ignacio’s case may be the first filmed and reported Labubu-related theft in San Diego County, it’s far from the only strange incident tied to the skyrocketing demand for these limited-edition toys. Across the country – and increasingly here in Southern California—the Labubu frenzy has fueled a string of oddball crimes, heated confrontations, and resale drama.
Downtown toy collector Missa B. says she’s noticed the uptick in Labubu-fueled tension online. “My niece has them,” she said in a recent interview. “They go online and get on a waitlist or lotto. Then they get a text notification saying they can buy one. Then they hurry up and accept the offer.”
It’s a system reminiscent of Comic-Con International ticket drops, where hopeful buyers queue online and wait until their number is picked. Once approved, they’re directed to vending-machine-style kiosks like the one at La Jolla UTC—one of the few physical places in the county where Labubu dolls can be bought. “But people are getting mad,” Missa said, referring to what some collectors now call the 2025 “demon dolls in pajamas.” “There’s no limit. One guy bought 14 all at once. Everyone wants to get one—especially the keychains.”
The smaller versions, often clipped to designer handbags or dangling atop car dashboards, have become prime targets for thieves. “Funny how crazes happen out of the blue,” Missa added. “And parents have to pay or trip out because their precious son — or mostly daughters — like these weird things.”
Reports of stolen Labubu dolls are flooding social media and collector forums—some from right here in San Diego County. “So sad this morning as I went to my car to find my window smashed in and my new Love Labubu stolen,” one Redditor wrote. “What makes it worse is he was cut from his tag so the ring still stood on my mirror. My only Labubu—TAKEN. Be careful displaying your Labubus anywhere. People really (really) want them.”
On TikTok, similar stories are going viral. One user posted a video showing her empty purse after someone allegedly swiped her Labubu keychain during a night out. “POV: You take your Labubu out to the club ONCE and now it’s gone,” her overlay text reads. The comments are packed of other Labubu lovers who say they’ve had their dolls stolen in similar ways.
The scarcity—and sky-high resale prices — have also drawn bootleggers. Fake versions, called by collectors as “Lafufus,” are circulating on platforms like Temu, OfferUp and even at local flea markets, catching unsuspecting San Diego parents off guard. “Even swap meets have them,” Missa added. “Some may be knockoffs too.” In response, groups like Labubu Lover & Collector have popped up online, where San Diegans share tips on spotting fakes and report local scams—some involving losses in the hundreds of dollars.
Even college students aren’t immune. Earlier this month, a UC San Diego student posted on Reddit: “Has anyone seen a cream-colored, sitting down Labubu?”
And just north of San Diego, in Orange County, the craze has even brought in pro burglars. On June 3 — just days after the Escondido heist — a group broke into The Makeup Shack in Orange, targeting their Labubu dolls. According to ABC7, the thieves rammed the storefront and stole several of the dolls along with cash, a safe, electronics, and even a pair of Yeezys sneakers.
There’s one group that hasn’t embraced the Labubu craze: “Religious groups think they are of Satan,” Missa concluded.
As this article goes to print, the $1,000-plus Labubu stolen from Escondido remains missing.
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