Source | Liang Jiangjun Pop Mart is the most surreal company of 2025, bar none. The first surreal thing is the hiring of Wu Yue. Who is Wu Yue? He is the President of LVMH Group's Greater China region. He sat in that position for thirty years, and it can be said that the luxury goods landscape in China over the past thirty years was driven by him single-handedly. Just when you think Pop Mart is 'collecting IQ tax,' top global luxury executives are doubling down, turning around to become non-executive directors at Pop Mart. The second surreal thing is the inversion of performance and stock price. In 2025, everyone was talking about consumption downgrading. Many hundred-billion-level consumer giants could only manage single-digit growth, or even negative growth, while Pop Mart's revenue directly doubled, with net margins exceeding 30%. What does 30% mean? Friends in manufacturing know that if net profit in manufacturing can reach 5%, you should burn incense to thank the gods. And Pop Mart's overseas growth exceeded 370%. In Bangkok, London, and New York, its growth isn't walking—it's flying! With such explosive performance, Pop Mart's stock price has plummeted. Foreign capital is retreating, institutions are reducing holdings. It seems everyone has been 'scared away' by Pop Mart's sustained growth. As the founder of a brand consulting firm, and as a collector of trendy toys with dozens of first-generation Labubu and first-generation Molly at home, I want to say: 'Perhaps it's not that Pop Mart is too surreal, but that our perspective on Pop Mart is flawed.' In my view, Pop Mart is the most common-sense-respecting outlier in China's business history over the past twenty years, except for Moutai! It is so unique that it cannot be categorized; so unique that any traditional logic fails to understand it. Yet it is so reverent of common sense, deliberately keeping distance from all growth myths, willing to live a life of daily necessities. If you still think Pop Mart is just a bubble, this cognitive misalignment might make you miss the biggest 'paradigm shift' in Chinese business over the next decade. Understanding it means not only understanding a company, but also seeing where the real business opportunities lie in the next decade. First, I want to respond on behalf of Pop Mart to the sharpest criticisms. Cognitive Misalignment: Don't Use Ready-Made Logic to Look at Pop Mart Misalignment 1: Pop Mart isn't 'essential'? Don't use consumer goods logic to look at art Wang Ning proposed a very famous logic called 'faucet' and 'fountain.' Suppose you wake up as a super-rich person, living in a grand estate. Just by chance, you're home alone today. Please imagine two scenarios:

Scenario 1

When you drive out, you suddenly remember you forgot to turn off the faucet. The faucet runs for a day, costing about 40 yuan in water. Scenario 2

While you're away, the huge fountain at the estate's entrance also runs all day, costing 400 yuan in water and electricity. Most people would say: forgetting to turn off the faucet is anxiety-inducing. But they feel no anxiety about the fountain's water bill. This is interesting: both are water, both are spraying. Why do we worry about the faucet but not the fountain? We think our consumption behavior is highly rational, feeling wasteful with every drop. But in reality, we are far more emotional than we think—the fountain actually costs more money and uses more water, but no one cares. So the question is: when making consumer products, do you pull people to the 'faucet' or the 'fountain'? Imagine if Molly's head, when removed, was a USB drive. Would you still buy so many? Certainly not. Because every time you buy a USB Molly, you'd think, 'Why did I buy another USB? I already have several; I don't need this many!' Twenty years ago, having a 256MB USB drive was impressive. I remember an Aigo or Kingston USB drive sold for two or three hundred yuan. Back then, it was 'high-tech,' an absolute necessity. You had to buy it for work, to store photos. But today? Now, when I attend a business meeting or visit an exhibition, the host's gift bag might include a USB drive, even 128GB. What's our reaction? I don't even bother to open the packaging; I just toss it into a drawer corner to gather dust. The high-tech of yesteryear has become today's giveaway. Do you see? This is the fate of 'functional products.' When something is needed only because it's 'useful,' its value is destined to approach zero with technological progress and overcapacity. This is the cruelty of the physical world—'usefulness' depreciates. Many people think about adding features to products, but they don't think clearly about whether to pull people to the 'faucet' or the 'fountain.' It's like music. Many years ago, when people were just meeting basic needs, some couldn't understand why to spend money on albums to listen to music, and it was hard to imagine music becoming an industry. The biggest worry about Pop Mart is 'How long can this thing stay hot?' The underlying implication is: Toys are 'not essential.' Investors like essential, high-frequency businesses, believing that represents true demand and sustainability. But, investor friends and entrepreneurs, reflect: aren't most of the businesses we've done in the past 'faucets'? We desperately try to save users time, money, and solve pain points. We think that's the essence of business. But Pop Mart's lesson is: the 'fountain' business can also be huge. Everyone is thinking about how to make things more practical, but Pop Mart is always thinking about how to make things more 'useless.' This 'uselessness' isn't truly useless; it's a leap from physical necessity to spiritual necessity. So, when we re-examine Pop Mart, please don't see it as a toy company. If you see it as toys, then 69 yuan is indeed expensive—after all, Yiwu's small goods cost only 9.9 yuan. But if you see it as a 'spiritual supplement'? Think about it: in first-tier cities like Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou, Shenzhen, and even big cities like Bangkok and London, a young person faces endless mortgages, endless overtime, and endless interpersonal issues. They are full of anxiety, loneliness, and helplessness. They want a little happiness, a little healing. What can they do? See a psychologist? Starting at 500 yuan an hour. Have a drink at a bar? Several hundred yuan gone, plus a headache the next day. Buy a luxury handbag? That would take months of salary. Then they see Pop Mart. A blind box for 69 yuan—the price of a coffee and a cake. They can buy a finely crafted, uniquely designed 'little happiness' that hits their heart in that moment. And this happiness is certain, private, and permanently preservable. In this dimension, Pop Mart isn't expensive; it's too cheap. It's the most cost-effective 'spiritual antidepressant' that young people can buy in this era. This is Wang Ning's 'meta-logic.' He didn't compete in the 'faucet' red ocean; he built a huge 'fountain' in everyone's cognitive blind spot. While you're calculating water bills, he's already collecting admission fees. This is why you don't understand: you're doing the math, while he's building dreams. Recently, Musk made a prediction: 'In the future, people won't need to work; machines will do everything. Work won't be a necessity, but an interest.' I think if AI doesn't kill humanity, this prediction will likely come true. Then, we'll consume not the product itself, but the meaning behind it. Meaning is the future necessity of humanity. Okay, with this underlying logic understood, the next topic is easier to discuss. Let's talk about the second issue that keeps investors up at night. This issue, I believe, anyone following Pop Mart has heard until their ears are calloused. That is—'Labubu dependence.' Misalignment 2: Over-reliance on Labubu? Don't use hit-product logic to look at blockbuster IPs In the past six months, no matter which brokerage report I read or which fund manager I chat with, they all frown and ask the same question: 'The Monsters series (Labubu) accounts for too much of the current financials, right? It can reach 30-40%. What if young people stop liking Labubu one day? Wouldn't the company collapse?' This worry sounds very reasonable. In traditional consumer goods, this is called 'single big product risk.' Like selling beverages: if the whole company relies on one herbal tea, that's dangerous—what if tastes change? But, folks, using the logic of herbal tea or internet-famous hits to look at a top-tier IP is the biggest misconception in business cognition. Why? Because you severely underestimate the IP lifecycle and misread the survival rules of IP companies. First, let's correct a concept: Labubu is not an internet celebrity. Many think Labubu suddenly appeared from a crack in 2024-2025, going viral because of Lisa's endorsement. Wrong. Labubu was born in 2015. Before it exploded globally, it had been 'slow-cooking' in the niche for a full decade. What's the biggest difference between IP and FMCG? FMCG follows 'traffic logic'—it heats up fast and cools down fast, like a gust of wind. But IP follows 'emotional logic'—it exists like an old friend. Think about your real old friends: do you get bored after knowing them for ten years? Do you break up? No. On the contrary, the longer the time, the deeper your bond. Look at history. Sanrio's Hello Kitty, born in 1974, is over 50 years old. Has it cooled? No, it's still Sanrio's most profitable cash cow, contributing huge licensing revenue annually. Disney's Mickey Mouse, a 'centenarian' born in 1928, is still active on T-shirts, backpacks, and in parks worldwide. The lifecycle of classic IPs isn't measured in 'months' but in 'generations.' Labubu is just entering its prime. It passed a decade of niche selection before mass explosion. This red, tempered by time, isn't the false fire of overnight fame, but a skyscraper with a solid foundation. So, don't worry that Labubu will cool tomorrow. As long as operations avoid fatal errors, an IP that penetrates hearts will outlive most listed companies. Second, let's discuss the 'high proportion' issue. Many see Labubu accounting for 30-40% of Pop Mart's revenue and think it's unhealthy, structurally deformed. But I must tell you an industry truth: In content and IP industries, 'winner-takes-all at the top' isn't a disease; it's the norm, even a sign of health. Don't compare it to soy sauce sellers. Compare it to whom? Look at celebrity agencies, MCN institutions, even Hollywood studios. Look at Jay Chou's company: doesn't Jay Chou's income alone support the majority? Look at top MCNs: doesn't Li Jiaqi's GMV exceed the total of hundreds of other streamers? This is the 'power law distribution.' In the attention economy, the top 1% takes 80% of the value. That's not risk; that's dominance. If an IP company holds dozens of mediocre, average-revenue small IPs without a single superstar, that's the real danger. It means it lacks 'star-making ability' and has no spearhead to reach the masses. Pop Mart's current structure is actually enviable. Look at its financials: it's not just Labubu. According to 2024-2025 reports, Pop Mart has achieved multi-point explosion: Molly, Skullpanda, Dimoo, The Monsters (Labubu), and the new Crybaby—all five major IPs have annual revenue exceeding 1 billion RMB. Molly has been popular for nearly a decade and remains a regular in the billion-yuan club. Skullpanda peaked at debut and remains terrifyingly stable. Pop Mart doesn't hold just one card; it holds a royal flush team. It's just that Labubu was so dazzling in 2025 that it overshadowed other IPs. It's like a class where everyone scores well, but suddenly one gets full marks plus bonus points. You can't say the class structure is unhealthy just because the top student is too strong. Moreover, these IPs aren't overlapping; each has its own emotional positioning.

  • Molly represents 'proud and aloof'
  • Skullpanda represents 'self and avant-garde'
  • Labubu represents 'playful and mischievous'
  • Crybaby represents 'fragile and healing' Different IPs cover different psychological aspects of users. Hello Kitty's 50-year longevity is because it represents the common denominator of 'cuteness.' Pop Mart's strength lies in: through a standardized operating system—from art discovery to industrial production to omnichannel distribution—each IP can achieve longevity in its respective niche emotional market. Okay, if the above two points are 'defense,' then the third point I'll discuss next is Pop Mart's true offensive moat. Many investors' deepest fear is actually: 'Even if Labubu can stay hot for ten years, what about after ten years? Can Pop Mart create the next Labubu?' They think it's all luck. Folks, this is exactly where I think Pop Mart is most underestimated. It's not a company that relies on luck. It's an IP incubation platform that operates like ByteDance. Do you know what ByteDance's greatest strength is? Algorithms. Its recommendation mechanism that continuously filters what you like to watch. Pop Mart turns aesthetics into algorithms. They sign and contact hundreds of artists globally each year. Then how do they filter? Through thousands of robot stores worldwide, through data from every exhibition, through community feedback. It's like a huge talent show system: auditions, preliminary, final, debut, top-tier resource promotion. Every super IP that reaches you—like Skullpanda, like Crybaby—is a winner that 'killed' its way through this system. It's not betting on an artist's flash of inspiration. It's using an industrialized system to capture the greatest common denominator of public aesthetics. Look: Molly was born in 2006, and Pop Mart made it big. Labubu was born in 2015, now exploding. Skullpanda launched in 2020, breaking records immediately. The recent Crybaby, with a different crying style, is also hot. What does this show? Pop Mart has validated its 'replicability.' It didn't win the lottery once; it mastered the machine that prints lottery tickets. As long as this system runs, as long as its aesthetic sense for global youth doesn't fail, Today Labubu is tired; tomorrow there will be Star Man; the day after, a new unnamed IP will step up. It's 'a stable platform with evergreen stars.' Finally, let me give a life example to end this chapter. Have you ever followed a star? Or seen family members do it? You'll find that fans' love for top stars is 'love me, love my dog.' When a fan enters the Pop Mart pit because of Labubu, she'll download the app, visit stores, go to the theme park. In that atmosphere, she'll likely discover: 'Hey, this Dimoo is kind of cute too.' 'Hey, this Hirono seems to understand my loneliness.' This is the 'ecosystem spillover effect.' Labubu's current super explosion is actually generating blood for the entire Pop Mart ecosystem. It pulls massive casual users from around the world into Pop Mart's system. They come in because of Labubu, but they stay because of the whole IP family and the community atmosphere. So, investor friends, Stop staring at Labubu's proportion with anxiety. You should feel grateful. Grateful that China finally has a company with world-class star-making ability and systematic aesthetic algorithms. In the IP battlefield, 'having the top' is never a risk; mediocrity is the biggest risk. Once you understand this, you won't ask 'What if Labubu cools?' You'll ask: 'When will the next Labubu appear, and in what unexpected form?' Okay, let's continue from where we left off. If 'necessity' and 'Labubu proportion' are investors' accounting worries, then the next topic is the hurdle that cultural elites and traditional IP people find hardest to cross. This hurdle is called—'no story.' Misalignment 3: No story means not an IP? Don't use content company logic to look at IP companies For a long time, when I talked about Pop Mart with friends in film and animation, their eyes showed disdain. Their logic: 'How can an IP have no story? Look at Marvel—that's a universe; Harry Potter—a worldview; Disney—values. What does Pop Mart have? A few painted plastic figures, no parents, no dialogue, no plot. Can that be called an IP? Isn't it just a figurine?' In their cognition, IP = content + image. Without content, there's no soul, and it can't go far. Folks, today we need to smash this outdated formula. Using a 'content company' logic to examine an 'image IP company' is the biggest mismatch in the market. In the business world, IPs are divided into two schools. One school is 'narrative IPs'—Disney, Marvel. Their characteristics? Heavy, slow, extremely high capital barriers. To make Iron Man popular, you need to spend hundreds of millions on films, hire top screenwriters, and spend years on promotion. If the film flops, the IP might be dead. The other school is 'image IPs.' Representatives include Sanrio (Hello Kitty), Line Friends, and now Pop Mart. Their characteristics: fast, light, zero cultural discount. I don't tell you the backstory; I just give you a face. If that face hits your aesthetic, you'll buy. Many look down on the second school, thinking it's shallow. But let me ask a question: Why has Hello Kitty, born 50 years ago, appeared in every imaginable field, collaborated on over 50,000 products, and generated over $80 billion in revenue—$80 billion, in dollars! Yet she still has no memorable animated series, not even a mouth, but she's become the world's most profitable cat? If you can answer this, you understand Pop Mart. This leads to the core theory I want to discuss today—the 'emotional container' theory. Why is Molly also expressionless? Why does Labubu just smirk and never speak? Because in Wang Ning's view, no expression is the richest expression. Let's put ourselves in their shoes. If you're a 996 worker, just scolded by your boss, dragging your tired body home, Then, if you turn on the TV and watch Disney, the protagonist tells you: 'Be brave! Be kind! Fight for your dreams!' Honestly, at that moment, you might feel exhausted. Because that's 'preaching.' Disney is like an ever-positive 'big dad' teaching you how to live, instilling values. But when you turn to the Molly on your desk—pouting, eyes vacant, silent—at that moment, what do you think she's thinking? You think she's also upset, also spacing out, also accompanying you in your gloom. She's like a mirror. When you're happy, you see pride; when you're sad, you see stubbornness. This is 'emotional projection.' Today's youth, especially Gen Z, hate being defined and indoctrinated. Their subconscious line is: 'My emotions, my rules. You don't need to tell me how to live; just provide a container for me to pour my emotions into.' So I've summarized a poignant line: Disney wants to teach you how to be a person, but Pop Mart just wants to accompany you in being a 'waste.' In this high-pressure era, the pressure-free companionship the latter provides is a more refined gentleness. This emptiness isn't pallid; it's the greatest respect for users. It leaves huge psychological space for each user to complete the IP's secondary creation. Beyond psychological reasons, Pop Mart's choice of 'image IP' also has a very practical industrial logic. Don't forget: the category of Art Toy has its roots in sculpture and painting. Look at Kaws, Takashi Murakami. Art itself has no story. Does the David statue have a script? Does the Mona Lisa have lines? No. The charm of art lies in visual impact itself. Pop Mart shrinks art, makes it cheaper, and sells it to the masses. So it inherently carries a 'de-narrativization' gene. Moreover, from a business efficiency standpoint, 'no story' is an extreme cost advantage. Think: Disney takes 'years' to create a new IP. Script, casting, filming, post-production... huge risk, huge investment. But Pop Mart? Designers sketch, do 3D modeling, test at exhibitions or robot stores. Users like it? Immediately open molds for mass production. Don't like it? Cut it, next. This 'fast-fashion' IP iteration speed is something the 'Hollywood-style' heavy industry model can never catch up to. It's like the ZARA or SHEIN of the IP world, responding to changes in public aesthetics at lightning speed. Another key point—cultural discount. We mentioned this when discussing going overseas. Stories have borders. Sun Wukong in 'Journey to the West'—you'd have to explain to foreigners whether he's a monkey or a god, why he's on a pilgrimage. But Labubu? That two rows of sharp teeth, furry smirk. Bangkok finds it cute, Paris finds it cool, New York finds it punk. Visual symbols are a universal language. No story actually reduces friction to zero in global expansion. Of course, I'll be fair. Although 'no story' is its advantage, Pop Mart itself realizes that relying solely on 'face' is missing something. In recent years, they've started 'catching up.' You might have noticed Pop Mart opened a theme park in Beijing's Chaoyang Park, called Pop Land. Honestly, I've been there and think it's not very successful. It's more like a refined, large photo-op spot, far from Disney's immersive, worldview-supported theme parks. Why? Without story support, rides can't offer deep experiences. You can only take photos; it's hard to feel immersed in a dream. Now, Pop Mart has set up an internal studio preparing animated films and self-developed a mobile game, 'Dream Home.' Many say: 'See, Wang Ning is anxious; he's also going to be Disney.' I don't see it that way. I think Wang Ning is very clear-headed. He's making games and films not to become Disney. He's adding a little seasoning to the dolls that have stood on users' desks for ten years. This is a defensive move, not a strategic transformation. The core is still selling toys and making emotional connections. Games and films are just to give users another way to play and interact beyond just looking at it. It's reinforcing the 'emotional container,' not smashing it and remaking it. So, folks, stop judging Pop Mart's life by 'whether it has a story.' Like Hello Kitty, when an IP can cross language, borders, and 50 years of time, still making your heart soften at the sight, Who can say she has no soul? In this fragmented era, companionship itself is the longest story, and seeing itself is the deepest interaction. Okay, having discussed IP storytelling, let's touch the most sensitive topic—blind boxes. Misalignment 4: Blind box model unsustainable? Don't use traditional retail logic to look at new retail In recent years, the most common voice I've heard is: 'The blind box economy is cooling.' Some people confidently say: 'Pop Mart is propped up by gambling. As soon as national regulation tightens or consumer novelty fades, this company will collapse.' Folks, this kind of rhetoric is typical 'seeing only the trees, not the forest.' They make the biggest cognitive misalignment: mistaking the means for the essence. Pop Mart is not equal to blind boxes. Blind boxes are indeed important to Pop Mart, but they're just a layer of skin, a sales tool, even an amplifier. Look at those imitators: stationery blind boxes, airline ticket blind boxes, even leftover food blind boxes. Result? A mass die-off. Why? Because they only learned Pop Mart's form, not its spirit. They think that if you wrap something up and make consumers guess, it'll sell like crazy. That's like burying your head in the sand. If your product itself is garbage, wrapping it in a blind box makes it still garbage—and garbage that makes consumers feel defrauded. So, what does Pop Mart truly see? What is the 'spirit' behind blind boxes? Wang Ning gave the answer long ago, just six characters, but worth a fortune: 'Retail entertainment.' In traditional retail logic—the logic of our parents' era—shopping is to 'obtain a result.' I buy water to quench thirst, a chair to sit. The shorter the process, the better; the more efficient, the better. But in new retail, especially in the eyes of young people, the logic has changed. Shopping isn't just about 'getting the thing' being fun; the 'process of buying itself' is a form of fun. The moment you tear open that packaging, your heart races, dopamine surges—that anticipation, anxiety, surprise, or slight disappointment. This 'process of emotional fluctuation' is what you're actually paying for. That plastic figure is just a receipt for that emotional process. So, those who decry blind boxes don't understand today's youth. They're not buying toys; they're buying tiny thrills in daily life. In this highly certain, even boring modern society, spending 69 yuan for three minutes of heart-pounding excitement is actually the most cost-effective entertainment. That's the essence of 'retail entertainment.' If you think Pop Mart is already very profitable, let me warn you. In this track, there's also an invisible champion with a model identical to Pop Mart's, but with harsher methods and even more staggering profits. That company is—Kayou. Yes, the one selling Ultraman cards to elementary school kids. Think about it. Pop Mart at least has to open molds, inject plastic, paint, and worry about inventory. Kayou? A piece of paper, printed with Ultraman, in an aluminum foil bag. Cost might be a few cents. But using blind box mechanics and scarcity settings, it can inflate a card to thousands or even tens of thousands of yuan. In elementary school social circles, it's hard currency, like Bitcoin. Kayou upgraded 'retail entertainment' directly to 'retail gambling' and 'retail socialization.' Why does it succeed? Because, like Pop Mart, it captures the core—the thrill of uncertainty. As long as humanity's craving for 'unknown rewards' persists, this model will never go out of style. If we widen our perspective, I want to tell you that China's most successful 'blind box company' is actually in your phone. It's Douyin. Think carefully. What is Douyin's essence? Douyin is an infinite blind box in the short-video field. When you swipe up, that action has the same psychological mechanism as tearing open a blind box. You don't know what the next video is. A beauty? A skit? Or a boring ad? Precisely because you don't know, you always anticipate the next one. There's a famous psychology experiment: the 'Skinner box.' If a rat presses a lever and gets food every time, it stops when full. But if pressing the lever randomly drops food—sometimes yes, sometimes no—the rat will press frantically until it dies of exhaustion. Douyin's algorithm is that dealer. It sells 'content uncertainty.' So, back to our opening topic. Blind box model unsustainable? Don't joke. As long as the human brain structure doesn't mutate, as long as the dopamine mechanism still works, this blind box logic—or 'retail entertainment' logic—will forever be the sharpest sickle in the business world. Pop Mart might die, but certainly not from the blind box model. As long as it can continuously provide the desire to open, it will live forever. We've responded to many criticisms, but what kind of company is Pop Mart really? Let's move to the second major chapter and dissect Pop Mart with a scalpel to see what kind of creature it is. Species Anatomy What is Pop Mart's moat? Wang Ning once said: 'We're like the mechanical girl in the movie Alita: Battle Angel—on the surface a beauty, but beneath the skin, the core is all precision parts.' Species Map: The Species Differences Between Pop Mart and Four Types of IP Companies 'What kind of company is Pop Mart?' Labels pop into your head: 'blind box seller,' 'toy maker,' 'store operator,' even 'leek cutter.' In many brokerage reports, analysts classify it as 'optional consumer goods' or 'daily necessities.' Every time I see these classifications, I feel a deep sense of misalignment. Everyone says: 'Oh, I know, it's an IP company.' Duh, who doesn't know it's an IP company? But the issue is that the species difference between 'IP companies' in the business world is greater than that between humans and monkeys. If you can't pinpoint its position in the IP biological chain, you'll never understand its moat or why it makes money. Today, as the opening of the second chapter, let's do a 'business species anatomy.' We throw Pop Mart into the global IP industry arena and use a microscope to see what species it is. On this planet, companies that play with IP can be roughly divided into four categories. Let's go through them one by one. Once we understand these four veteran players, Pop Mart's outline will naturally emerge. Category 1: Toy IP companies. Representatives? LEGO, Mattel (Barbie), Hasbro (Transformers). Their core logic? One word: 'play.' IP serves the 'gameplay.' LEGO's moat is the patent on its brick system; Barbie's is the dress-up system. In these companies' eyes, IP is an accelerant, but the functionality of the plastic block itself is the fuel. Can LEGO incubate IP? Yes, like 'The LEGO Movie' or 'Ninjago.' But its efficiency is extremely low, and it must serve brick sales. Is Pop Mart a toy company? Clearly not. Do you buy Molly to twist her head off and put it back on? No, you buy her to 'look at.' Category 2: Anime IP companies. Representatives? Japan's Bandai Namco and Sanrio. Their core logic is 'image licensing.' Hello Kitty doesn't open stores; she prints her face on backpacks, cups, and airplanes. Their business model is extremely profitable but heavily dependent on external ecosystems. They're more like 'landlords' collecting rent. Is Pop Mart like them? A bit—both rely on images. But Pop Mart isn't content to just collect rent; it builds its own buildings, decorates them, and sells its own goods. Its control desire is a hundred times stronger than Sanrio's. Category 3: Content IP companies. This is the most familiar—the big brother Disney. The logic, as discussed last time, is to spend heavily on films and stories, then monetize over the long term. This has the highest barriers: heavy assets, long cycles. Pop Mart clearly hasn't evolved into this species yet; it's too light—so light that one Disney film budget could open hundreds of Pop Mart stores. Category 4: Channel IP companies. This is the most interesting and the most easily confused. Representative: Miniso. Miniso also sells tons of IP merchandise—Loopy, Disney collaborations, etc. But its underlying logic is: first, I'm a seller of daily goods; to sell cups at a higher price, I print Mickey on them. Of course, Miniso is currently trying hard to 'Pop Mart-ify' and has incubated TOP TOY, a company specializing in trendy toys. Miniso's current model still relies on the hot sales of 'practical consumer goods' to drive IP turnover. You buy from Miniso because you need a facial towel and happen to pick a nice one. But you buy Pop Mart because you lack a figurine? No, you buy for 'collection.' Okay, all four categories are covered. You'll find Pop Mart doesn't fit any of them. It's neither for 'play,' nor pure 'rent collection,' has no heavy content, and isn't selling daily goods. So what is it? In my definition, it's a new species—a 'trendy toy IP company.' Or more precisely, it's a 'mass-market operator of trendy art IP.' There are two keywords here you must hear: 'trendy art' and 'mass-market.' Previously, what was art? Kaws sculptures, Murakami prints, Nara Yoshitomo dolls. Those hung in galleries, sat in auction houses. Tens of thousands, millions. That was the privilege of the elite, a rich person's game. Ordinary people thought they were beautiful but couldn't afford them. What did Pop Mart do? It shrank these artworks, switched to vinyl material, removed complex craftsmanship, and kept the core visual impact. Then sold them for 69 yuan. What's that called? 'Democratization of art.' That's Pop Mart's most fundamental business logic. It solved a huge contradiction: the 'uniqueness' of art versus the 'universality' of commerce. For young people, buying Pop Mart isn't buying toys; it's 'collecting their first piece of art.' This psychological account attribution is completely different.
  • Buying LEGO spends from your 'toy account';
  • Buying Miniso spends from your 'daily goods account';
  • But buying Pop Mart spends from your 'art account.' Understanding this 'art democratization,' you can see its 'relative moat' compared to giants. That's the common saying: cheaper ones aren't as good-looking; better-looking ones aren't as cheap. Compared to LEGO, its moat is 'IP incubation capability.' LEGO can only wait for Marvel to get hot, then sign Marvel. LEGO can't create Iron Man itself. But Pop Mart can create Molly and Labubu out of thin air. It controls the upstream source. Compared to Disney, its moat is 'speed and lightness.' Disney takes three to five years and a billion dollars to incubate a 'Frozen.' Pop Mart can make Labubu popular by signing the designer, releasing a series, and testing it in stores. This fast-fashion IP iteration speed is beyond the reach of heavy-industry film companies. Compared to Miniso, its moat is 'pricing power' and 'artist resources.' Miniso sells a cup for 39 yuan; with an IP, 49 yuan—a 10-yuan premium. Any higher, and people won't buy because they still see it as a cup. But Pop Mart's plastic figure, with low production cost, can sell for hundreds, even tens of thousands on the secondary market. Why? Because it monopolizes scarce top artist resources. Wang Ning holds the top 1% of the art world. Miniso finds it hard to sign these people. For artists, Pop Mart not only has first-mover advantage but also makes them feel they're 'kindred spirits.' At this point, some might say: 'You've been hyping it as just selling cheap art. What's so hard? I can sign a few designers, find some factories, open some stores.' If it were that simple, the thousands of trendy toy companies that went bankrupt in China wouldn't have died so miserably. What you see—'art democratization,' 'beautiful stores,' 'blockbuster IPs'—is just the 'skin' of this creature called Pop Mart. It looks like a beautiful girl, harmless, seemingly imitable. But if you cut through the skin and look inside, you'll find that supporting this pretty face is a set of extremely precise, even cruel 'mechanical bones.' Wang Ning once said: 'We're like the mechanical girl in Alita: Battle Angel—on the surface a beauty, but beneath the skin, the core is all precision parts.' This set of parts is composed of four complex systems interlocking: Trendy toy company + IP agency company + IP supply chain company + IP retail company. This 'four-in-one' structure is the real reason countless competitors feel despair. In the next episode, we'll dissect Pop Mart's body like Alita, to see how this severely underestimated mechanical skeleton operates. Four-in-One: Pop Mart's Skeletal System I believe: Pop Mart isn't one company; it's four companies. Which four? Trendy toy company + IP agency company + IP supply chain company + IP retail company. Today, I'll remove these four bones and knock on each one for you. After listening, you'll understand why I call it a precise 'Alita.' Bone 1: Trendy toy company. Note: trendy toys aren't ordinary toys. They can't be equated. Ordinary toys, like the screaming chicken, are for venting; building blocks are for hands-on. But trendy toys are 'useless use'; they're essentially art. In this link, Pop Mart doesn't manufacture; it 'translates.' It translates those lofty, gallery-only, even bizarre art concepts into commercial language the masses can understand. It's like independent musicians—brilliant but highbrow. Pop Mart is the golden producer who knows how to tweak a few notes and arrange the song so it goes from underground livehouses to the Bird's Nest Stadium. This ability to 'popularize niche aesthetics' is its first core engine. Bone 2: IP agency company. This is where Pop Mart is most like an MCN or record label. We must admit a reality: most genius artists are commercial 'incompetents.' That's not their fault. Human energy is limited; God gave him the hand to draw Molly, but usually not the brain to manage a factory. What do artists fear most? Fighting with factories, being squeezed by channels, dealing with piracy, making Excel spreadsheets. But before Pop Mart, if you wanted to do trendy toys, you had to do all these chores yourself. So many artists collapsed and went back to illustration. What move did Pop Mart make? It became a 'full-time nanny.' Wang Ning told artists: 'You just draw; leave all the dirty work to me.' Design, 3D modeling, mold opening, production, quality control, logistics, sales, rights protection... all the things artists hate most, Pop Mart handles completely. Do you think it monopolizes top IPs with money? Not entirely. It relies on: giving artists complete freedom within the system. Kenny Wong (Molly's designer) can't leave Pop Mart, not just because he has shares, but because without this nanny, he couldn't handle the vast, trivial industrial system. Bone 3: IP supply chain company. This is also the most misunderstood area. Many think: 'What's so hard about supply chain? China is the world's factory; Dongguan is full of OEMs. Just pay and it's done?' Wrong. Dead wrong. If you're making standard products—phone cases, pens—then it's not hard. But trendy toys are 'non-standard products,' and 'art-grade' non-standard at that. Look at Labubu's teeth, the highlights in Molly's eyes. When designers draw, they're free-spirited. They might draw a gradient or a special matte texture. Turning that 2D, artistic design into 3D, millions of identical industrial products is extremely difficult. Wang Ning specifically discussed supply chain in 'Because of Uniqueness.' It's long, but I want to read it verbatim: 'The supply chain is a very systematic thing. It's not just the production; logistics is also supply chain. Three-day delivery vs. one-day delivery definitely makes a difference. There's also the ordering system: why order this much? How scientific is the ordering? And how are store tasks and KPIs set? It's a whole chain. When producing, why produce so much at once? Why not batch production? If batching, how many per batch? For example, if I need 100,000 sets total, do I produce all at once, or split '3+3+3+1,' or '5+4+1'? How do you find and control the rhythm that suits you best? Maybe a tiny improvement here is progress for the whole system. Of course, you'll find errors in every link.' Supply chain is so complex that for a toy worth a few dozen yuan, ordinary OEMs won't play along unless you have deep control. So small players in trendy toys often feel powerless against Pop Mart. Bone 4: IP retail company. Compare with anime giant Bandai. Bandai is strong, but much of its goods are distributed through others' shelves. But Pop Mart insists on direct operation for most. It has hundreds of stores and thousands of robot stores. Why do the heaviest, most tiring work? Because 'channels are power.' Without stores, you don't know who's buying or why. With direct stores, Pop Mart has a God's-eye view. New products launched this morning have data aggregated at headquarters by noon. Which IP is trending? Immediately notify the factory to add orders. Which IP is ignored? Cut it next month. This DTC (Direct to Consumer) feedback speed gives it a full step ahead of traditional toy companies. Moreover, stores themselves are the best advertising. Placing a huge Molly in the best mall, on the best first-floor spot—that brand momentum can't be matched by a corner in a grocery store. Okay, four bones are removed. Did you notice? If you look at each bone individually, Pop Mart isn't world-class in any.
  • As a toy maker, it's not as old as LEGO;
  • As an agency, it's not as strong as Disney;
  • As a supply chain, it's not as good as Foxconn;
  • As a retailer, it's not as good as Miniso. But—its terror lies in perfectly 'growing' these four bones together. Before Pop Mart, the industry was fragmented. Artists only drew, factories only produced, channels only sold. Everyone had their own agenda, bickered, and efficiency was low. Pop Mart is the first integrated company to 'internalize' all four links. It's like Apple. Apple does hardware, software, App Store, and Apple Store. Because of this 'full industry chain closure,' it can ensure that from the moment Kenny draws Molly to the moment you receive the blind box, the experience is perfect, with no loss. That's Alita's secret. This mechanical skeleton is its true moat. Others want to copy? They can't. Because it requires extreme control and a decade of painstaking management. So the question arises. Since this skeleton is so strong, why didn't giants like Disney and LEGO build it earlier? Can't they? Or do they simply look down on it? In front of these behemoths, is this 'mechanical girl' fragile or deadly? This is the finale of the second chapter. In this final scene, we'll gather all the threads—art democratization (vision), four-in-one (body), misaligned competition (wisdom)—into one point: the company's operating values (soul). We'll explain why so many smart people understood the model but still failed: they lacked the last two ingredients—time's sedimentation and operational bitterness. Hidden Strength: Pop Mart's Confidence to Cross Cycles We've spent a lot of space dissecting Pop Mart. We peeled its skin (art democratization), dismantled its bones (four-in-one), and analyzed its survival strategy among giants. But if we ended here, I'd only be a second-rate business analyst. Because we're missing the most critical piece: the company's culture and values. That's what Wang Ning always says: respect time, respect operations. Don't scroll away. I know it sounds like a boss drunk on 'chicken soup.' But today, I'll take you to drink this soup and see what's left at the bottom. You'll find these eight characters are the soul that lets the mechanical girl Alita move, run, and win battles. First, the first half: respect time. Wang Ning has a famous A-B-C-D theory: 'We started from A, did B in the middle, succeeded because of C, and might become great at D. Even today, few can fully understand this evolutionary path. What everyone sees now is the glorious D, or the C with blockbuster IPs. But they forget how we crawled from A.' Stage A: Channel operator. Ten years ago, Pop Mart was a grid store in a mall corner, a bit like Miniso before its logo turned red, or a mini LOFT. Selling what? Cosmetics, stationery, groceries. At that time, it had no products of its own; it was just a mover. Stage B: Product maker. Wang Ning found groceries too hard—thousands of SKUs, impossible to manage. But one category sold exceptionally well: Sonny Angel. So he made a bold decision: cut other categories and focus on trendy toys. At this point, he started having product thinking. Stage C: IP operator. This is the most critical leap. He found that just selling Sonny Angel wasn't enough—that was someone else's child. Only by owning your own IP can you control your destiny. So came the Molly signing, the blind box explosion, and later the four-in-one. Stage D: Global cultural consumer brand. That's the direction they're heading now. Pop Mart wasn't built in a day. From A to C, Wang Ning took a full decade. What does respecting time mean? It means admitting: some things just need to be endured.
  • Building a nationwide retail network takes time;
  • Coordinating hundreds of complex factories takes time;
  • Making the public go from thinking Labubu is ugly to cute takes even more time to wash aesthetics. Wang Ning says: anything that should take ten years, don't try to do in two or three. In recent years, the capital market has been very restless. Many new consumer brands, with PPTs and a few hundred million raised, wanted to go public in three years and become China's Disney in five. Result? They died faster than anyone. Because money can buy traffic, stores, even designers. But money can't buy time. Money can't buy the tacit understanding after 500 rounds of factory coordination, nor the emotional trust accumulated over ten years of users tearing open blind boxes. That's why I say: time is a physical barrier. Something that takes ten years to accomplish—we spent ten years. Others want to do it? Sorry, you'll have to spend that long too. There's no shortcut here. Now, the second half: respect operations. This brings us back to the Alita metaphor. I said Pop Mart is like Alita—a beauty on the surface, precision parts inside. What are those parts? Not lofty strategies, but daily necessities. Pop Mart's business touches too many fields: supply chain, team, strategy, stores, products... down to a specific store: how to arrange shelves? How to set lighting? Even when opening a store, the first question Pop Mart considers is: who should open the door and who should close it? You might laugh: what's the problem with opening and closing doors? For a roadside stall, it's not a problem. But for a listed company with hundreds of direct stores and thousands of staff, it's SOP (Standard Operating Procedure), risk control, and safety. Retail is details.
  • Retail is the 0.1-day difference in inventory turnover;
  • Retail is whether the acrylic display box has 95% or 98% light transmittance;
  • Retail is the feel of shaking a blind box, the center of gravity, the anti-counterfeit label's adhesive process. Are these things boring? Extremely. Sexy? Not at all. Investors don't like hearing this; media don't like writing it. Media like writing about blind box gamblers and profit myths. But precisely these boring, unsexy details form Pop Mart's true moat. Why did so many followers die? Because they only saw the blind box gameplay and thought, 'I can do that too.' Find a factory, print some boxes, stuff a toy in—that's a blind box? When your inventory piles up, can you, like Pop Mart, use precise data systems to allocate goods to stores that sell well? When your blind box defect rate rises, can you, like Pop Mart, send engineers to the factory to reduce the defect rate from 5% to 1%? When your stores expand, can you ensure the smile of a Harbin store clerk is the same as a Hainan store clerk's? That's respecting operations. Respecting operations means that no matter how good the business model or fancy the concept, in the end, it comes down to handling people, things, money, and daily necessities. Many so-called 'internet-thinking entrepreneurs' lack exactly this lesson. They look down on traditional retail, thinking it's stupid and heavy. They want to use traffic thinking for a dimensionality reduction attack. Result: they hit their heads and bleed. Because in physical retail, there's no dimensionality reduction. Only 'build solid forts, fight stupid battles.' Every store, every product, every service is a battle. Pop Mart's profits aren't tricked out. They're hard-earned money from rolling in the mud for ten years, inhaling factory fumes for ten years, standing at store counters for ten years. At this point, I think we've dissected what Pop Mart is thoroughly enough. It's not a simple blind box peddler. It's an outlier company wearing a trendy coat, with industrial blood flowing through its veins, and long-termism carved into its soul.
  • It saw the trend of art democratization—that's its vision;
  • It avoided head-on battles with giants—that's its wisdom;
  • It built a four-in-one mechanical skeleton—that's its body;
  • And its decade-long reverence for time and operations—that's its soul. That's why I'm bullish on it. Because it's always doing difficult but correct things, so I believe even in unknown storms, it will ride the waves. And history has proven many times that Pop Mart can navigate through unknown fog and dangers. If our cognition stops at this level, we'd conclude it's a 100-billion-HKD company. I think that's just the start; Pop Mart will be a trillion-yuan consumer giant in the future. True cognition means learning to open the wide-angle lens of time. I invite you to join me in a thought experiment. Let's pull the timeline forward 10 years, to 2035. If we assume Pop Mart not only survives but undergoes genetic mutations again and again, What will it become? Hearing this, I know you might laugh. 'General, are you crazy? Are you writing science fiction?' Don't rush. In 1998, if someone told you that Amazon, the online bookseller, would become global internet infrastructure, would you believe it? In 2007, if someone told you that Apple, the MP3 maker, would kill Nokia and change human lifestyles, would you believe it? People back then didn't believe. Because they looked at evolving species with static eyes. In the third part, based on business logic deduction, I see five possible metamorphoses in its future. Each one is enough to overturn your understanding of the word 'toy.' [Moving Toward the C-End] The 11th China FMCG Conference Time: March 16-18, 2026 Location: Chengdu, China