News this week included: the seizure by Bangladesh authorities of the assets of Muhammed Aziz Khan, a naturalised Singaporean billionaire, and of those close to him, over money laundering allegations (which he denies); “Singapore Budget 2026: Is It Good Enough?”, a public dialogue last Sunday organised by MARUAH, a human rights organisation; unverified claims that two Singaporeans may have fought for the IDF during the genocide in Gaza; a Facebook post by a Chinese Singaporean about “becoming a minority in my own land” sparks a range of reactions; and the third otter population census.
Below are the issues we chose to explore in more depth.
Society: What you don’t see is what you get
Surprise has powered the business of monetised uncertainty since at least the late 1700s. Victorian “lucky dips” at UK funfairs gave way to Christmas crackers, invented by confectioner Tom Smith in the 1840s. In the US, early coin-operated vending machines dispensed gumballs and toy capsules. Imported to Japan in the mid-1960s, these machines evolved into gachapon, now ubiquitous.
Commodified delight endures because our brains crave novelty. When we encounter new or unexpected joy, they release dopamine; the neurotransmitter at the heart of the brain’s reward system. Since dopamine is tied to pleasure, it not only feels good; it keeps us coming back for more. When uncertainty can be packaged, priced, and endlessly reproduced, the thrill of “maybe” and “what if” becomes a lucrative business model; as we see with blind boxes. The global market size for these was worth about US$11.38bn (S$14.4bn) in 2021 and is projected to more than double by 2033. Blind boxes are sealed packages containing one item from a themed series—a figure, toy or accessory. Buyers know the range of possibilities, but not which they’ll get until they open them. Popular collectibles include Molly and Labubu by Chinese toy giant POP MART.
But what begins as delight can slip into compulsion. The same dopamine loops that make surprise pleasurable also make it habit-forming. In this engineered cycle of anticipation, reward, and near-miss, the line between harmless fun and addictive design blurs.
Prompted by these fears, China has banned sales to children under eight, requires guardian consent for minors, and mandates probability disclosures. In Singapore too, blind boxes, especially among children and youth, have elicited concern. Responding to a parliamentary question from Dennis Tan, Workers’ Party member of Parliament, K Shanmugam, home affairs minister, said that the government will introduce conditions under which blind boxes may be offered, including perhaps a mandatory disclosure of odds.
The stance reflects Singapore’s broader approach to substances and activities that carry a risk of addiction. Drugs are illegal, while alcohol, cigarettes and gambling are regulated, heavily taxed, and managed through safeguards. In these cases, it is hoped that individuals exercise some degree of self-control. Blind boxes sit awkwardly within that model: sold as toys, but structured like games of chance. The question is not just whether regulation will suffice, but how much responsibility a society should place on self-restraint when the product itself is designed to erode it. Perhaps the answer lies not in tighter rules, but in finding other ways to satisfy our need for novelty; ones that create meaning and connections without a price tag attached.
