In Defense of Funko POPs

This weekend, Funko announced a new lineup of POPs at the New York Toy Fair, and just like clockwork, out popped the Funko haters. We all know who they are. They’re the same people who shat on fidget spinners and Beanie Babies and POGs and Cabbage Patch Kids and M.U.S.C.L.E. and every other collectible item that someone else liked. They’ve always been around, but the internet has given them a voice, and they’ve used that voice to tell you your opinions are bad and you should feel bad.

These narcissists who can’t fathom a world where something is created for someone other than themselves rant about how “It’s not art, it’s mass-produced crap!” as they tap away furiously on their iPhone surrounded by their Chinese factory-stamped “Live Laugh Love” metal wall art. They’ll tell you how stupid it is to want an Alex Trebek Funko POP because they can’t imagine a world where anything could make them happy, much less a $10 piece of plastic.

In their world, if you like one thing, that means you have to hate everything else. You’re a DC fan? Marvel sucks. Love Star Wars? Firefly is a piece of shit. And since there is no other pop culture phenomenon that so openly embraces every single community, they absolutely despise Funko POPs.

“Pat Sajak, though? Really?”

Hell yes, Pat Sajak. That son of a bitch has been around for 35 years, brightening the lives of millions of people every day. I guarantee there are a thousand grandmas out there who would love a little Pat Sajak sitting next to their TV (and you know that thing’s gonna have a doilie under it). The real question is, “Why not Pat Sajak?” or Alex Trebek (with AND without the mustache), Chuck Woolery, or Richard Dawson?

OK, maybe not Richard Dawson. Eww.

The point is, why do you care what kind of POPs Funko makes? How the hell does it possibly affect your life that there are currently 2,815 POP vinyls on the Funko website? Do you think pop culture fandom is some kind of zero sum game and that for every POP that Funko creates, another piece of pop culture dies somewhere?

“But their beady little shark eyes are disturbing!”

Yes, they have beady little shark eyes. Yes, their heads are huge. I get that some people don’t like these things. But do you know what’s easier than getting online and smashing out 900 words to convince people to only like what you like and hate what you hate? Shutting your angry face hole and not buying them. Some of us like different art styles. For every Precious Moments, there is a Garbage Pail Kid. For every Thomas Kinkade a Christopher Uminga.* And yes, Funko POPs are art. Mass produced, sure. Cookie-cutter? OK. But you don’t get to decide what is art. It was created by someone, it speaks to me on an emotional level, it’s art. Deal with it.

“But they’re everywhere! Why is my dentist selling Funko POPs?!”

My guess is because your dentist knows you hate them, and after gauze, drills, suction tubes, her fingers, and anything else that happens to be lying nearby, she’s running out of things to shove in your mouth so you’ll stop bitching about things you don’t like. Or maybe it’s because she knows that for rational people who don’t subsist on faux outrage, Funko POPs are cute little toys that can brighten someone’s day and perhaps help them forget about their impending root canal for just a few minutes.

“OK, but have you seen these people who have rooms full of the things and are always talking about limited editions, cardboard creases, and debating whether to display them in or out of the box? They’re crazy!”

Dear sweet Shazam! #14, do you even hear yourself anymore? You’re bitching about someone else — someone who you have never met, who you will never meet, who will in no way impact your life at all — engaging in a hobby that people have been doing for hundreds of years. Model trains, baseball cards, autographs, stamps… people have been collecting things long before Funko started injection molding pop culture.

The real question is when did we as a society accept that it’s OK to judge everyone else according to our entertainment standards? And even worse, when did it become acceptable to be angry about it? Can you imagine someone writing a letter to the editor of the local newspaper 30 years ago ranting about how Carl over on Poplar Street had a shelf full of Topps baseball cards? People would have recommended psychiatric help.

Yet today, it is somehow Carl who needs the intervention. We don’t think twice about the bitter little man hiding behind the anonymity of his keyboard because he has become the norm. Instead, we rally behind the call for public humiliation of poor Carl all because he was able to find something that amused him and distracted him from his life for just a few minutes.

As for me, I decided long ago that I had neither the time nor the inclination to care about what angry people think, so, guess what?

I love Funko POPs.

I love putting them on my desk while I work. I love thinking about the movies or TV shows or books that they hail from and remembering how happy those things made me. I remember watching Jeopardy with my family. I remember how it felt to see Gandalf on the screen after seeing him for 20 years only in my imagination. And I remember very fondly watching Avatar: The Last Airbender with my boys when they were growing up, which is why come March 1, Uncle Iroh and Toph will be sitting right next to me, reminding me that there is always time for tea and that despite my shortcomings, I can still achieve greatness.