Editor’s note: Zoubo, or “mobile livestreaming,” is a form of online selling in which livestreamers move between stores in a marketplace, showcasing and buying products for viewers. Yang Jiandan is a 29-year-old livestreamer selling apparel for Labubu and other dolls in Yiwu, a small-commodities trading hub in China’s eastern Zhejiang province. Here, she shares the challenges of finding a lucrative niche, and why she has ultimately started hawking her own designs.

My “battlefield” is the bustling toy and doll clothing section at Yiwu International Trade City. Before heading there each day, I meticulously check my gear: phone, tripod, power bank, charger, backup phone — I can’t overlook a single thing. I usually go live around 11 a.m. and stream continuously until well past 4 p.m., without taking any breaks.

In late May, the market for Labubu apparel reached a fever pitch. As soon as a store announced a new shipment, they’d be swarmed by customers, livestreamers, and wholesale buyers, all scrambling to get their hands on the latest stock. They’d grab items without even knowing whether they could sell them, driven by the simple urge to secure inventory.

On one occasion, I set aside a batch of clothes that I’d chosen and went to fetch a power bank. When I returned, several people were helping themselves to my goods. Viewers online flooded the comments, asking, “How can they just take things like that?” I shouted, “That’s mine — it’s already sold.” Only then did people start putting the items back.

The doll outfits are usually hung on the wall in five or six rows. Every day, I walk along these rows with my phone, introducing each piece.

The variety in doll clothing is staggering, from outfits and accessories to custom pieces, with each shop offering its own distinctive styles. Prices range from a few yuan to hundreds. For every display wall, I go through the entire lineup two or three times, all while closely monitoring for comments and jotting down orders when they come in.

The store owners give me and the other mobile streamers a base price, and then we agree on a markup. Our profit margins vary widely depending on the outfits’ quality and style.

The busiest times are when there are new arrivals. We all connect with vendors on the WeChat messaging platform, and if you’re on good terms with them, they will tip you off about fresh stock. If a trader walks in with a big, black plastic bag, they’re usually immediately swarmed by screaming livestreamers.

Guise and dolls

This gig is incredibly physically demanding. Finding products takes legwork, and selling them requires a strong voice. After breakfast, I barely eat all day, often working past 2 a.m. to arrange orders. Each item must be individually packed in bubble wrap and boxed. When exhaustion hits, I collapse onto the bed for a nap before forcing myself back to work.

During my first three months doing zoubo at Yiwu International Trade City, this was my daily routine.

I arrived in Yiwu at the end of March with less than 20,000 yuan ($2,800) in my pocket. I rented a place in a village eight kilometers from the mall, paying nearly 10,000 yuan upfront for a year. I set myself a deadline: if I wasn’t getting anywhere after three months, I’d find a steady job.

Initially, I’d planned to sell crystals, as I’d heard how popular they were, especially crystal bracelets. I bought all the equipment and stocked up on inventory. Every day, I posted videos, edited clips, and wrote sales copy. But when I finally went live, I ran into problem after problem.

Explaining the meaning and value of crystals requires expertise — otherwise, viewers won’t buy them. Setting up scenes and preparing accessories was far more expensive than I’d expected. After several test runs with zero sales, I knew it wasn’t sustainable.

By then, some merchants in the market had started mobile streaming. Although I’d only been at it a month, changing tack made sense — all I needed was a phone. Being low cost, it was ideal for someone with limited funds like me.

I knew nothing at first, and many traders were wary of livestreamers, afraid their designs would get ripped off. Occasionally, I’d find a store that would allow me to film, but seeing how green I was, the owner wouldn’t even bother engaging. Day after day, I streamed to an empty live room.

Later, I noticed the trading center’s toy section was always crowded, especially on weekends, with lots of people coming just for plush toys. So, I tried focusing on toys, and after just two or three days, someone placed an order. I began receiving one or two orders a day, sometimes four or five — not huge, but enough to show I was on the right track.

Eventually, people started asking about Labubu dolls. I had no idea what they were. I figured it out by asking shop assistants and eavesdropping on other livestreamers. On May 28, an international customer bought more than 1,000 yuan’s worth of doll clothing — my first big order. I realized then that this doll clothing niche was viable and started focusing on it exclusively, becoming one of the earliest players.

Back then, just two or three stores sold apparel for dolls, but many designs happened to fit Labubu thanks to universal sizing. As the Labubu craze gained momentum, more livestreamers jumped on the bandwagon.

In those early days, success came down to speed. I’d mount my phone on a tripod, freeing both my hands to grab whatever I could before retreating to a quiet corner to present them on camera. One time, a customer in the United States didn’t even wait for me to fully unpack; with just a quick glance, he said, “I want this, and that.” Price was no object. He was especially obsessed with Labubu. To get rare editions, he bought countless blind boxes.

Some customers spent more than 10,000 yuan at my store. Back then, you didn’t need to run around the whole market; a single store could keep you livestreaming all day.

Popular items would sell out in minutes. Some styles could attract a dozen buyers within seconds. Keeping up with orders was overwhelming. There was no time to drink; my throat burned with dryness. But the exhaustion felt different — it was fueled by a sense of purpose that I didn’t have in my old job.

Therapeutic pursuit

I studied visual communication design at Xi’an University of Science and Technology, in the northwestern Shaanxi province. After graduation, I joined a small studio in the southern metropolis of Shenzhen.

I had a fixed salary plus project commissions. I started at just over 5,000 yuan a month, rising to about 7,000 yuan in my second year. We handled everything — logos, posters, packaging, mini programs. We started at 9 a.m., but tight deadlines often meant working into the early hours.

Each of us was expected to deliver three to five concepts a day. I recall rushing a logo for a chat app — the boss demanded overtime, with just two days to deliver, and I submitted over a dozen proposals. The constant rejection from the client ate away at my confidence. The stress became so intense that my hair started falling out, and I ended up shaving my head. I worked at that company for three years before being laid off.

Later, I returned to Xi’an, where I worked at three different design studios. After paying my rent, I was left with just over 4,000 yuan a month. I had to be pretty frugal in my daily life.

My parents are working class. I have an older brother who was sickly as a child, so my mom took care of him more. I always felt she favored him. At university, I found part-time jobs to cover my living expenses — retail clerk, art teacher, distributing flyers. I was willing to try anything that paid.

Late last year, a friend told me about how people were flocking to Yiwu to seek their fortune. Spotting an opportunity, I quit my job and came straight here. These past months have felt like a dream.

When the Labubu trend took off, I caught the wave. Every night after my livestream, I’d look up information online, memorize their features, and force myself to learn them by heart. I started using Labubu dolls to model outfits. I couldn’t bring myself to buy the genuine article, so I used knockoffs. When a customer found out, they mailed me a real one.

Most of my customers are in first-tier Chinese cities — Beijing, Shanghai, or Guangzhou and Shenzhen in the southern Guangdong province — and I have some overseas clients. They all have strong purchasing power.

One mom in Beijing has an entire wall of Labubu dolls, each with multiple outfits. If a style catches her eye, she buys it without checking the price. Sometimes I’d need to remind her, “You already have this, so no need to buy it again.” She loved dolls as a child and is making up for what she couldn’t have then.

Many customers express similar sentiments. For them, dressing their dolls in various outfits is therapeutic: after a stressful day, it brings a profound sense of peace. Some even take their Labubu dolls on trips. One of my clients went to Tokyo Disneyland in Japan specifically to buy Disney-themed outfits and to photograph her doll there.

Some customers who I’ve grown close with will say things like, “You need to consider what you’ll sell next if Labubu clothing stops being popular. How will you make money?” I’ve been asking myself the same question. In August, sales were down by more than half. One day, I made just a few hundred yuan — a small fraction of what I was earning in July. Most people have already bought what they want, and the market is cooling rapidly.

The competition among mobile streamers selling doll clothing has intensified. Some are even selling at a loss, disrupting prices just to attract customers. What used to sell easily now requires much more effort. So, I’ve had to readjust my strategy.

I search the market daily for new items, sometimes giving away small, inexpensive accessories to regulars to maintain relations. The problem is, new stock is few and far between. Plus, after the initial sales frenzy, customers have become pickier. Sales are shifting to premium and custom pieces. Basic outfits priced at 10 or 15 yuan no longer sell; buyers would rather spend more on quality.

To increase my income, I’ve extended my livestreams. I go online during the day at the wholesale market, then do another session at night with items that I source directly from factories, which often perform better. When the market doesn’t have what customers want, I try to create the items myself, refining basic designs with better accessories and details to make them more unique and appealing.

Labubu’s breakout success was a phenomenon that ignited the entire plush toy industry, but the peak inevitably faded. Still, new intellectual properties are constantly emerging. This mobile streaming grind is physically draining, and many can’t sustain it long term. How long I’ll last will depend on the market. I’ll just have to go with the flow.

(Due to privacy concerns, Yang Jiandan is a pseudonym.)

As told to reporter Lü Meng.

A version of this article originally appeared in White Night Workshop. It has been translated and edited for brevity and clarity, and is republished here with permission.

Translator: Kiong Xin Xi; editors: Wang Juyi and Hao Qibao.

(Header image: Labubu outfits on display in Yiwu, Zhejiang province, August 2025. Lü Meng/White Night Workshop)