TechCrunch’s latest podcast dives into a surprising cultural and commercial trend: the emergence of digital collectibles being dubbed “Beanie Babies for the brainrot era”—low-effort, nostalgia-infused items that thrive on the internet’s love for whimsy, irony, and quick emotional connections. Unlike high-value NFTs (non-fungible tokens) of the 2021 boom, these new digital trinkets prioritize accessibility over exclusivity, tapping into a collective desire for simple, stress-free joy in an era of information overload and digital fatigue.
The term “brainrot” here is intentional, referencing the internet slang for mindless, comforting content (think short-form reels, meme compilations, or repetitive games) that offers a break from heavy news cycles and complex tasks. These digital collectibles—often called “micro-collectibles”—fit right in: they’re cheap (most cost $1–$5), easy to acquire (no crypto wallet required), and designed to evoke nostalgia for 1990s and 2000s pop culture (think pixelated versions of Tamagotchis, virtual Beanie Baby knockoffs, or digital stickers of early 2000s sitcom characters).
How These “Brainrot Collectibles” Differ From Traditional NFTs
The 2021 NFT craze centered on high-value, blockchain-based art and collectibles, with items like Bored Ape Yacht Club tokens selling for millions. But that market collapsed as investors lost faith in its long-term value, and mainstream users were turned off by its complexity (needing to understand crypto, gas fees, and wallets) and perceived elitism.
Today’s micro-collectibles, by contrast, are built for mass appeal:
- No blockchain barrier: Most are sold via simple apps or social media platforms (TikTok, Instagram, or dedicated apps like “NostalgiaBits”) using regular credit cards or Apple Pay—no crypto knowledge needed.
- Low financial risk: At $1–$5, they’re affordable enough to purchase on a whim, without the pressure of “investing.” Users buy them for fun, not profit.
- Nostalgia as a hook: Many feature designs that reference 1990s and 2000s icons—from Furbies and Polly Pockets to SpongeBob SquarePants and Lizzie McGuire. This taps into millennial and Gen Z nostalgia, a trend that’s already driven revivals of Toys “R” Us, That ’70s Show spinoffs, and Y2K fashion.
As the podcast’s guest, Lexi Wright—founder of NostalgiaBits, which has sold over 500,000 micro-collectibles since launching in 2024—explains: “People don’t want another ‘investment’ right now. They want something that feels like a silly, cheap toy—like how we bought Beanie Babies as kids, not because we thought they’d be worth money, but because they were cute and we wanted to collect them all. That’s the vibe we’re going for.”
The Appeal: Comfort in Chaos
The podcast also explores why these collectibles have taken off in 2025. Psychologists and cultural analysts point to a few key factors:
- Digital fatigue: After years of scrolling through overwhelming amounts of content, users crave small, focused joys. A $2 digital “virtual Tamagotchi” that sends you occasional cute notifications (e.g., “Your pixel pet missed you!”) is a low-stakes way to feel connected without the pressure of social media engagement.
- Irony and community: Many collectibles lean into self-deprecating humor (“Brainrot Bear” wears a hoodie that says “I scroll too much”) or inside internet jokes, creating a sense of belonging. Users share their collections on TikTok or Reddit, turning a solo purchase into a communal experience.
- Escapism: In a world filled with geopolitical stress, economic uncertainty, and climate anxiety, these tiny, useless (in the best way) items offer a moment of escape. As one NostalgiaBits user puts it in the podcast: “My digital Beanie Baby knockoff doesn’t solve anything, but looking at it when I’m stressed makes me smile. That’s enough.”
The Business Model: Small Purchases, Big Volume
While individual collectibles are cheap, the business model relies on volume—and repeat purchases. Apps like NostalgiaBits release new “drops” weekly (e.g., “90s Cartoon Week,” “Y2K Tech Week”), encouraging users to collect more. Some also offer limited-edition items (e.g., a “glitchy” version of a digital Furbie) that sell out quickly, driving urgency.
Wright notes that the profit margins are surprisingly strong: “We don’t have manufacturing costs like physical toys, so most of the $1–$5 goes to profit once the app is built. We’ve been profitable since month three, which is unheard of for many consumer apps.”
The podcast also mentions that bigger players are taking notice: TikTok recently launched a “Digital Trinkets” feature in its shop, letting creators sell custom micro-collectibles (e.g., a digital sticker of their meme character) for $1–$3. Meta is reportedly testing a similar feature for Instagram Stories.
Will the Trend Last?
Critics compare the micro-collectible boom to the Beanie Baby craze of the 1990s, which eventually fizzled out as oversaturation and declining interest led to a market crash. But Wright and other founders argue that this trend is different because it’s not driven by speculation. “Beanie Babies collapsed because people were hoarding them to sell later,” Wright says. “Our users buy them because they like them. If they stop liking them, they’ll stop buying—but there’s no bubble to burst because there’s no investment hype.”
Cultural analysts agree, noting that the “brainrot era” trend is part of a broader shift toward “quiet consumption”—buying small, meaningful items rather than big-ticket status symbols. As long as users crave low-stakes joy, these digital collectibles are likely to stick around—even if they never become the next Bitcoin or Bored Ape.
In the end, the podcast concludes, these “Beanie Babies for the brainrot era” are more than just a passing fad: they’re a reflection of what people want from the internet right now—simplicity, nostalgia, and a little bit of fun, without the noise.