He's a dogecoin millionaire and he's not selling despite joke cryptocurrency's slide

On the surface, Mr Glauber Contessoto (pictured) seems no different than a lucky gambler who walks into a casino. PHOTO: NYTIMES

NEW YORK (NYTIMES) - In February, when Glauber Contessoto decided to invest his life savings in dogecoin, his friends had concerns.

"They were all like, you're crazy," he said. "It's a joke coin. It's a meme. It's going to crash."

Their skepticism was warranted. After all, dogecoin is a joke - a digital currency started in 2013 by a pair of programmers who decided to spoof the cryptocurrency craze by creating their own virtual money based on a meme about Doge, a talking Shiba Inu puppy. And investing money in obscure cryptocurrencies has, historically, been akin to tossing it onto a bonfire.

But Mr Contessoto, 33, who works at a Los Angeles hip-hop media company, is no ordinary buy-and-hold investor. He is among the many thrill-seeking amateurs who have leapt headfirst into the markets in recent months, using stock trading apps like Robinhood to chase outsize gains on risky, speculative bets.

In February, after reading a Reddit thread about dogecoin's potential, Mr Contessoto decided to go all in. He maxed out his credit cards, borrowed money using Robinhood's margin trading feature, and spent everything he had on the digital currency - investing about US$250,000 (S$333,000) in all. Then, he watched his phone obsessively as dogecoin became an internet phenomenon whose value eclipsed that of blue-chip companies like Twitter and General Motors.

The value of his dogecoin holdings today? Roughly US$2 million.

On the surface, Mr Contessoto - who dropped out of college and has no formal financial training - seems no different than a lucky gambler who walks into a casino, bets all his chips on a single roulette spin, and walks out a millionaire.

But he is also emblematic of a new kind of hyper-online investor who is winning by applying the skills of the digital attention economy - sharing memes, cultivating buzz, producing endless streams of content for social media - to the financial markets.

These investors, mostly young men, don't behave rationally in the old-fashioned, Homo economicus sense. They pick investments not based on their underlying fundamentals or the estimates of Wall Street analysts, but on looser criteria, such as how funny they are, how futuristic they seem, or how many celebrities are tweeting about them. Their philosophy is that in today's media-saturated world, attention is the most valuable commodity of all, and that anything that is attracting a great deal of it must be worth something.

"Memes are the language of the millennials," Mr Contessoto said. "Now we're going to have a meme matched with a currency."

Strange as his investment thesis might seem, it's hard to argue with the results. Even after a recent crash following Elon Musk's appearance on "Saturday Night Live" (in which he joked about dogecoin being a "hustle"), dogecoin remains a very lucrative trade. A dollar invested in dogecoin on Jan 1 would be worth US$203 today - much more than a comparable investment in bitcoin, ethereum or any stock in the S&P 500.

Dogecoin's stratospheric rise has also fueled plenty of grumbling among cryptocurrency buffs, who see it as a tacky sideshow that overshadows more serious uses of cryptocurrency. One of dogecoin's original creators has disavowed the coin, and even Mr Musk has warned investors not to over-speculate in cryptocurrency. (Mr Musk sent the crypto markets into upheaval again on Wednesday after he announced that Tesla would no longer accept bitcoin.)

What explains dogecoin's durability, then?

There's no doubt that dogecoin mania, like GameStop mania before it, is at least partially attributable to some combination of pandemic-era boredom and the eternal appeal of get-rich-quick schemes.

But there may be more structural forces at work. Over the past few years, soaring housing costs, record student loan debt, and historically low interest rates have made it harder for some young people to imagine achieving financial stability by slowly working their way up the career ladder and saving money paycheck by paycheck, the way their parents did.

Instead of ladders, these people are looking for trampolines - risky, volatile investments that could either result in a life-changing windfall or send them right back to where they started.

The app shows the value of Glauber Contessoto's dogecoin holdings at one point in the past week. PHOTO: NYTIMES

Mr Contessoto is a prime case study. He makes US$60,000 a year at his job now - a decent living, but nowhere near enough to afford a home in Los Angeles, where the median home costs nearly US$1 million. He drives a beat-up Toyota, and spent years living frugally. But in his 30s, still with no house to his name, he decided to go looking for something that could change his fortunes overnight, and ended up at dogecoin's door.

When Mr Contessoto recalls the way he used to pursue wealth - working hard, cutting back on expenses, saving some money from every pay cheque - he sees evidence of a system that is rigged against regular people.

"I feel like those experts on TV, the older generation of old money and wealth, they try to scare people into staying safe so nobody gets too rich," he told me.

His new motto, he said, is "scared money don't make money."

Many things about Contessoto's investing philosophy would turn a traditional financial adviser's stomach. But wildest of all is that despite his spectacular gains, he has not yet cashed out his dogecoin millions. He thinks the currency's price will continue to rise, and he doesn't want to miss out on future profits by selling too soon. (He does plan to sell 10 per cent of his stake next year, once his earnings will be classified as long-term capital gains and taxed at a lower rate.

Instead, he is branding himself as a dogecoin expert, adopting nicknames like "the Dogefather" and "Slumdoge Millionaire" and making YouTube videos promoting dogecoin to others.

Of course, as with any volatile investment, there is a real chance that Mr Contessoto's dogecoin holdings could lose most or all of their value, and that his dream of homeownership could again be out of reach. Already, the price of dogecoin has fallen nearly 50 per cent from its all-time high, shaving hundreds of thousands of dollars off Mr Contessoto's portfolio.

But gamblers rarely leave the table the first time they lose, and Mr Contessoto's commitment is to "HODLing" - an acronym favored by cryptocurrency traders that stands for "hold on for dear life".

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