When comedian Bharti Singh set fire to her son’s Labubu doll, she wasn’t telling a joke. She called it “evil” and blamed it for his tantrums. Millions have since debated whether she was protecting her child or feeding superstition.

Singh is one of India’s most familiar comedy faces. She built her career on self-mockery and warm improvisation. Her vlogs mix family chaos with punchlines. Viewers feel they know her. That closeness means her decisions can travel far.

The video appeared on her vlog in early August 2025. Singh sits with her three-year-old son Gola. He clutches the doll. She insists it must go. “This is the devil,” she says. Actress Jasmine Bhasin, she adds, warned her it was “evil”.

Labubu was never meant to be frightening. It was created by Hong Kong artist Kasing Lung. Pop Mart launched it in 2019 as part of its “blind-box” collectible toys. The design is deliberate: long ears, jagged teeth, wide eyes. Cute to some, unsettling to others.

The toy is part of the global “ugly-cute” trend. TikTok and Instagram made it famous. There are now more than 300 designs. Common figures cost a few hundred rupees. Rare ones sell for fortunes. A mint-green version sold for $170,000 in Beijing in June.

Pop Mart’s success rests on a simple mechanism: the blind box. Buyers do not know which figure they will get. This creates scarcity and surprise. It also drives repeat purchases. It is the same psychology that fuels trading card games or sticker collections. A complete set feels like an achievement. The rarest “secret” figures can multiply in value.

In India the craze arrived fast. Urban collectors organised swaps through Instagram groups. Influencers staged elaborate unboxing videos. Some travelled abroad to hunt specific variants. For many, the draw was not just the toy but the community that came with it.

Then Singh’s fire lit a different kind of trend.

In the clip, Singh tries to strike a match. It fizzles. She wraps the doll in newspaper. The flames finally take. Her husband Harsh Limbachiyaa tells her she is wasting money. Gola protests, calling the doll his “friend”. Singh insists she has no choice. “Negative energy,” she says.

Online reaction was instant. Some found it hilarious. Others saw it as proof the toy was cursed. A few linked its grin to Pazuzu, the Mesopotamian demon from The Exorcist. Stories spread of pets barking at the doll or of it “moving” on its own.

Soon there were copycat videos. People filmed themselves throwing Labubu into bonfires. Memes turned the doll into a horror icon. One clip showed Labubu emerging from ashes with glowing eyes.

Pop Mart has not responded to the burning. The company continues to market Labubu as a collectible. No scientific or official body has found evidence of harm.

The fear feels familiar. From haunted dolls to the Momo challenge, viral culture has a history of twisting toys into threats. Social media speeds the process. A few eerie anecdotes are enough to flip a brand narrative.

India’s relationship with superstition adds another layer. The idea of cursed objects is woven into films, television, and folklore. A gifted statue might be returned if its owner falls sick. A painting might be removed from a house if an astrologer says it brings bad luck. When a celebrity repeats a superstition, even playfully, the story sticks.

Celebrity influence can also create economic ripples. Pop Mart relies on hype to sell its figures. A single moment of negative attention can alter demand. While some buyers might shy away, others may see controversy as a reason to collect. In niche markets, “banned” or “feared” items often become more valuable.

This is how online meaning shifts. A toy is designed as quirky art. A celebrity calls it dangerous. A wave of belief, humour, and performance changes what it represents. Soon the original intention is almost irrelevant.

Similar shifts have happened before. In 1996, the Tickle Me Elmo doll inspired rumours it swore at children. In 2001, Pokémon cards were accused of causing seizures and even gambling addiction. More recently, “Huggy Wuggy” from a horror game found its way into playground rumours. In each case, the object did not change. The story around it did.

There is also the pull of the protective parent. Singh framed her act as care for her child. In that framing, burning a plastic figure became a moral act. For her audience, that made it harder to dismiss as pure theatre.

The doll itself has not changed. The story around it has.

No one can prove Labubu is dangerous. But in an age where fear travels as fast as humour, that may not matter. Once a toy becomes a symbol, it is no longer just vinyl and paint. It becomes whatever the crowd believes it to be and belief, once lit, can be harder to extinguish than any match.