Funko Pops Are the McDonald’s of Collecting, and I’m Sick of It

You ever walk into a GameStop or a Target lately? Or one of those sad, half-empty FYE stores that somehow still exist? It’s like stepping into a vinyl graveyard. Wall-to-wall, shelf-to-shelf—Funko Pops. Dead-eyed little bastards lined up in military formation, staring at you like they’re judging your life choices. And you know what? They probably are.

I remember when walking into the toy aisle felt like cracking open a treasure chest. You’d find NECA Predators with enough detail to make you check over your shoulder. McFarlane Spawn figures that looked like they’d straight-up murder your G.I. Joes if you left them alone too long. They had weight. They had character. But now? Now it’s just miles of Funko Pops, stacked like vinyl tombstones. Cheap, soulless, and everywhere.

And Funko? They cracked the code: Make it so boring, you don’t even want to take it out of the box. I swear to God, it’s brilliant. They’re so bland, so devoid of life, that the only thing they have going for them is the illusion of value. You take it out of the box, and what do you got? A little vinyl cube that just stares at you like you just let it down. No articulation. No accessories. No detail. It’s like if Fisher-Price tried to make a Kenner Alien. You ever hold one of those things? It’s like a chunk of plastic that gave up halfway through.

But you don’t open it, do you? Because they’ve figured out how to make something so lifeless, you don’t even want to touch it. They’re the only collectible where “Mint in Box” doesn’t just maintain value—it actually improves it. It’s like they took the concept of a Happy Meal toy and stretched it into adulthood. You don’t buy them to appreciate them. You buy them to stack. Collecting? Nah, it’s just hoarding with a sense of accomplishment.

The Real Reason They Suck: They’re Killing Real Collectibles

But here’s what really pisses me off. These things are choking out the good stuff. You go into Target, Walmart, hell—even GameStop—and it’s just rows and rows of Funko Pops stacked like vinyl bricks. All that shelf space, all that real estate, dedicated to soulless plastic placeholders because they’re cheap to make, easy to stack, and dirt-simple to sell. The stores love it. It’s basically fast food for the masses. A quick dopamine hit of “Oh, I recognize that character!” and boom, sale.

Meanwhile, the real stuff? The NECA Predators, the McFarlane Spawn figures, the G.I. Joe Classified—they get shoved into a corner like an embarrassment. You gotta practically Indiana Jones your way through the aisles just to find them, and even then, there’s one sad peg. One. They’ve been evicted by these dead-eyed little vinyl cult members who just stand there, nodding blankly from their plastic prisons.

You ever look at them? I mean really look at them? It’s like they’re all trapped in some kind of vinyl commune. Rows and rows of tiny little hostages, each one with that same expression like they’re waiting for someone to finally give them a personality. Freddy Krueger? Same dead eyes as Captain Kirk. Batman? Might as well be holding hands with Harry Potter. It’s like someone just 3D-printed a bunch of hostages and slapped on different paint jobs.

The I-Don’t-Actually-Know-You Gift

And let’s not forget, Funko Pops are the I-don’t-actually-know-you present of the century. It’s the laziest thing you can buy someone. “Oh, he likes Star Wars, right? I’ll just grab him a Funko Yoda.” Great. Thanks for the plastic Buddha with no knees. It’s like handing someone a Hallmark card that just says Insert Thoughtful Message Here. It’s a placeholder gift. The illusion of a thought without the burden of actually having one.

And people just keep handing me these things. I’ve got a closet full of them that don’t even resemble the characters they’re supposed to be. I got a Jokey Smurf—or so I’m told—because it looks more like a deformed M&M with a hat. Captain Kirk? He’s got the expression of a LEGO figure who just found out his parents are getting divorced. You ever try to look at a Funko Pop of Freddy Krueger? It’s like someone melted a candle, slapped a fedora on it, and called it “limited edition.” Zero detail. Zero personality. Just dead eyes and a paint job.

The False Investment Scam

And then there’s the false investment angle. That’s the real kicker. People out here stacking these things like bricks, thinking they’re gonna cash in one day like it’s their 401(k). But you know what? I was around for Beanie Babies, man. I saw that bubble burst firsthand. People fighting in stores, stacking them in glass cases like they were museum pieces. You know where those are now? In Rubbermaid bins in the back of somebody’s garage, right next to the Christmas decorations and broken dreams.

I guarantee you, ten years from now, there are gonna be Funko Pop graveyards. Landfills full of these little plastic bobbleheads, faded from the sun, covered in dust, and stacked on top of the corpses of every other flash-in-the-pan collectible craze. And you know what? I won’t shed a tear. Not one. Because maybe then I can finally find a goddamn NECA Predator or a G.I. Joe Classified figure without having to wade through fifty rows of dead-eyed crap.

We traded artistry for stackability. We went from Spawn figures with hand-painted detail to vinyl placeholders that just squat on our shelves like plastic gremlins. And the worst part? People are proud of it. Like, “Check out my wall of Funko Pops!” Buddy, you basically just showed me your vinyl landfill. I’m calling the EPA after I leave.