These artists are putting an Indigenous spin on Labubus 

Inuk artist Jessica Mitchell tried not to give in to the Labubu craze. 

A self-described “true millennial,” the Yellowknife woman was obsessed with collecting Beanie Babies in the ’90s, and she didn’t want to get swept up in another tiny toy trend.

But when she saw other Indigenous artists online dressing their fuzzy toy monsters in custom-made ribbon skirts, regalia and beadwork, she could no longer resist.

“As I considered, like, an Indigenous twist on the trend, I was sold,” Mitchell said. 

Mitchell recently unveiled her first custom Labubu, stripped of its standard fleecy fur and ensconced in sealskin. She calls it Labubukulu, a portmanteau of Labubu and kulu, an Inuktitut term of endearment.

She’s one of several creators around the world who are putting Indigenous spins on the wildly popular Chinese collectibles as a way to showcase their craft, connect with their roots and bring a modern twist to old traditions.

‘The smallest ceremonial work I’ve made’

Lily Hope, a Tlingit artist in Juneau, Alaska, usually makes human-sized fashion in the Ravenstail and Chilkat styles, Indigenous weaving traditions from the northwest coast. 

But recently, she’s been making regalia for Labubus.

“This is the smallest ceremonial work I’ve made,” Hope told As It Happens host Nil Köksal. “I blame my kids.”

Hope has five children, three of whom are “obsessed” with Labubus. It was her eldest son who suggested she try making regalia for the wildly popular collectibles. 

She soon learned that people all over the world are designing bespoke fashion for Labubus, including in various Indigenous styles, like Casey BigJohn’s Anishinaabe beadwork or Mitchell’s Inuit sealskin.

“I thought, well, we need some regalia from the northwest coast for these guys,” Hope said.

Her first piece — a Pride rainbow-coloured regalia made from repurposed dance cuffs — was a huge hit on social media.

Since then, she’s been selling the outfits at markets, taking custom orders online, and has even had her Labubu fashion featured at the Northwest Native Art at the Burke Museum in Seattle, Wash.

Labubus are tiny plush creatures with fuzzy bodies, big eyes and toothy grins, that people wear as fashion accessories, dangling from their belts or bags.

Marketed by China-based Pop Mart, they come in collectible “blind boxes” so you never know which one you’ll get. 

Mitchell says there’s just something about them that draws her in. 

“I like that he’s a little, naughty little fairy creature [who’s] just kind of got a little mischievous attitude,” she said. 

She’s raffling off a sealskin Labubu to fundraise for the Yellowknife Women’s Society, and has just finished making one out of sheared beaver fur, which she hopes to raffle to help wildfire evacuees taking refuge in her city.

Hope, meanwhile, is not particularly smitten with the creatures.

“I am not to judge the trend,” she said. “Do I want them in my bedroom? No, I don’t want them to watch me while I’m sleeping. But I love that my children are hooked on them. I’m happy to support their addiction. If I buy shoes, they buy a Labubu, right?”

For Hope, it’s less about the Labubus and more about highlighting the Ravenstail and Chilkat weaving styles, and practicing an art form that she loves and that connects her to her community. 

She first learned to weave as a teenager from her mother, Clarissa Rizal.

“I didn’t love it,” she said. “Really, I just wanted to hang out with my boys and go out and socialize, hang out in the woods. You know, do teenager stuff.”

But in her twenties, she started taking weaving classes at the University of Alaska Southeast and “fell into the memory of my hands moving the way my mother had taught me.”

Weaving with others, she says, creates a sense of community and parallel play. 

“The best part about being in class and being in community with people co-creating is the tea and cookies and the sharing of meatloaf recipes and the joys and roller-coasters of ‘So-and-so’s learning how to ride a bicycle,’ and all the highs and lows of being human,” she said.

“So do I love that my mother taught me and I have this legacy? Do I love that my children are doing this with me and inspiring me to make work? Do I love the feel of fibre in my hands? Sure, but I really do it for the cookies.”

Mitchell, too, sees sewing as a way of reconnecting with her heritage. And she loves seeing Labubus in all different kinds of Indigenous styles. 

“There’s not really tradition tied to this, so we get to kind of make up our own story,” she said. “I think it makes us feel seen.”