For certain steadfast devotees of Starbucks, indulging in a seven-dollar latte hardly scratches the surface of their enthusiasm for the brand. For these passionate collectors, the allure extends far beyond the beverage itself—they are willing to spend hundreds, or even thousands, of dollars on the limited-edition holiday cup that accompanies it. This year’s highly coveted item, the Glass Bearista Cold Cup, which debuted on a Thursday with an initial price of $29.95, quickly transcended its status as seasonal merchandise. Within hours, it transformed into an investment-grade collector’s piece, sparking a resale frenzy typically associated with luxury sneakers, designer handbags, or rare pop-culture figurines.
Almost immediately following its launch, online marketplaces such as eBay were inundated with listings for the bear-themed cup, each depicting the beanie-wearing Bearista in meticulously photographed posts. Some sellers posted “Buy It Now” prices approaching an eye-popping $50,000—a staggering figure given the original retail cost. Although it seems unlikely that such exorbitantly priced listings have yielded actual transactions, authenticated auction data reviewed by Business Insider indicates that bids have easily surpassed $285, not including shipping fees. According to a Starbucks representative, the response to the Bearista release “exceeded even our biggest expectations,” a testament to just how feverishly customers embraced the product.
The spokesperson elaborated that, despite Starbucks distributing more Bearista cups to its U.S. coffeehouses than nearly any other merchandise item this holiday season, the collectible—and several other festive designs—sold out at an astonishing pace. The company publicly acknowledged the disappointment felt by fans who were unable to secure one, expressed regret for any frustration caused, and assured customers that more innovative holiday merchandise was on the way. This year’s sense of seasonal festivity thus arrived with an unusual twist: a palpable scarcity that intensified the collectibility of the brand’s most whimsical release.
In many stores, baristas reported receiving only one or two Bearista cups to sell, creating a situation ripe for scarcity-driven hysteria. Some customers arrived well before sunrise, bundled in blankets, determined to be first in line. One shift supervisor who has worked with Starbucks for more than a year described how patrons queued for over thirty minutes before the store even opened, only to see the limited stock vanish within moments. A Minnesota-based barista, employed by the company for seven years, recalled arriving around 3:45 a.m., only to discover a small crowd of determined fans camping outside, eager to secure one of the elusive items. Despite reminding them that the store would not open until 4:30, a few customers attempted to follow employees inside prematurely. When management later announced a strict one-cup-per-party rule, tensions rose, and several waiting customers unleashed verbal abuse toward the staff in frustration.
The craze surrounding Starbucks collectibles is hardly a new phenomenon. The Bearista brand, first introduced in 1997 as a plush teddy bear sporting a miniature barista apron, has long held sentimental value among longtime fans. Over the years, the company has steadily expanded the Bearista line into an assortment of seasonal tumblers, mugs, and decorative pieces, each release generating excitement and anticipation. According to Starbucks representatives, all merchandise sales follow a firm first-come, first-served policy with no holds or purchase limits. This rule stipulates that customers may buy multiple items, and employees are forbidden from reserving products for themselves or preferred patrons—a policy designed to maintain fairness but one that, in practice, often intensifies competition.
For veteran collectors such as John Kauchick, a seventy-year-old Starbucks enthusiast from Mississippi, the Bearista mania represents both a continuation and an evolution of his long-standing hobby. Kauchick estimates that he has spent several thousand dollars on Starbucks memorabilia over the past quarter century. Determined to secure the new Bearista cup—and perhaps some limited-edition Hello Kitty-themed merchandise released simultaneously—he arrived at his local store at three in the morning. Despite being first in line, he was disheartened to learn that a barista had purchased the store’s only cup for herself before sales began, leaving him empty-handed. Feeling cheated, Kauchick admitted that the experience made him reconsider his loyalty to the brand and question whether he should continue investing in such collectibles. Although he has occasionally resorted to secondary-market purchases in the past—once spending $150 on a Taylor Swift-themed tumbler—he expressed growing reluctance to support a resale economy driven by inflated prices and exclusivity. “I might get one eventually,” he reflected, “but the whole situation has left me with a bad taste. I’m starting to think I just can’t keep doing this.”
Following the release, the internet became awash with celebratory images and videos showcasing the gleaming Bearista cups, as proud fans flaunted their acquisitions on social media platforms. The intensity of the response invited comparisons to other pop culture crazes—such as the frenzy over Labubu dolls, a quirky collectible figure line projected to generate a billion dollars in sales this year. Just as with Labubu merchandise, entrepreneurial fans have created custom Bearista-related content, fueling a thriving subculture of creative expression and commercial opportunity. Yet alongside the jubilation came exhaustion, particularly among baristas who bore the brunt of customer frustration. Some staff members publicly pleaded online for patience and understanding, emphasizing that individual employees had no control over how many collectibles their store received.
Once the limited stock was depleted, tempers often flared. The same Minnesota barista recounted that irate customers hurled verbal insults, calling staff “disgusting” and continuing their harassment into the following day. Another veteran employee, with over a decade at the company, described a nonstop barrage of phone calls from customers hoping to locate leftover Bearista cups. If a caller was courteous, the employee would gently suggest checking nearby licensed cafés inside Target stores, where rumor suggested slightly higher inventory. However, for callers who were rude or insistent, the response was curt but truthful: by late afternoon, every store was already sold out.
While social media speculation hinted at isolated instances of physical conflict over the limited-edition cup, Business Insider found no verifiable reports of violence. Nevertheless, the fervor recalled past consumer clashes—such as the 2021 incidents involving Pokémon and sports trading cards, when major retailers like Target temporarily halted sales due to escalating fights among collectors. For seasoned enthusiasts like Kauchick, none of this came as a surprise. He observed that Starbucks understands the psychology of scarcity and intentionally cultivates perception of rarity to amplify demand. “I feel for the people who got caught up in the tension,” he said, “but Starbucks knows exactly what they’re doing.” In the end, the Bearista phenomenon has become a striking example of how modern consumer culture, driven by nostalgia, exclusivity, and digital virality, can transform even a simple holiday cup into an emblem of passion, patience, and profit.
Sourse: https://www.businessinsider.com/starbucks-bearista-cup-resale-market-launch-madness-labubu-collectibles-2025-11
