I Thought My NFT Collection Would Make Me Rich—Now It’s Worthless!

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I still remember the first time I bought an NFT. The rush of clicking “confirm” on MetaMask. The gas fee didn’t even bother me. It felt like I was buying into the future, a golden ticket to generational wealth. It was early 2021, and I had just sold a modest share of my family’s antique shop—a decision I framed as me “pivoting from the past to the future.”

That future is now pixelated, blurry, and framed in red ink.

At the peak of the hype, my NFT portfolio was valued at nearly $1.3 million. A few Bored Apes, a couple of Lazy Lions, some lesser-known drops I thought were about to “moon.” Every Discord I joined fed the illusion: diamond hands, GM fam, LFG. It felt like a digital Woodstock mixed with Wall Street. I wasn’t just a collector. I was part of a movement.

Now? My wallet holds JPEGs no one wants, and I can’t even give away what I thought would fund my early retirement.

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The High: From Antique Tables to Ape Avatars.

I ran the antique shop with my brother for nearly eight years. Business was slow, but it was honest work. Customers came in for stories as much as they did for furniture. But then COVID hit. Foot traffic disappeared. My brother took a job in logistics, and I stayed on, trying to keep it afloat.

One day, while scrolling Twitter during a dead afternoon, I saw someone flip an NFT for $60,000. I was skeptical. I mean, how could a cartoon animal be worth more than a 17th-century armoire?

But curiosity took over. I watched videos. Listened to podcasts. Followed the influencers. Within weeks, I was selling off family antiques to buy Ethereum.

I justified it as evolution. “We used to value tangible history,” I told myself, “now we’re investing in digital culture.”

The first win came quick. A mint I got into flipped for 8x in two days. Then another. I started tracking floor prices like my life depended on it. My phone became a portal to wealth. I didn’t need a storefront. I had OpenSea.

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The Turning Point: Signs I Chose to Ignore.

I started ignoring the antique store entirely. Let the lease expire. Told my brother I was going “all in” on digital assets. He didn’t say much. Just shook his head.

“You’re betting the house on cartoons,” he said.

“I’m betting the house on a revolution,” I replied.

But even revolutions collapse. The signs were there. Projects I believed in began missing roadmaps. Founders went silent. Rug pulls became weekly news.

Still, I held.

“Paper hands get wrecked,” I told myself, even as prices dropped.

In January 2022, I spent 60 ETH—roughly $180,000 at the time—on a rare ape. It had laser eyes and a sailor’s cap. The guy who sold it to me said it was a “blue-chip asset.”

That ape is now worth less than a used Honda Civic. If I can even find a buyer.

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Micro-Moments of Humiliation and Despair.

The worst part isn’t the money. It’s the shame. The day my rent check bounced because I tried to hold onto ETH instead of converting it to fiat. Or the time I tried to explain to my parents that their son had turned antique gold into monkey JPEGs.

They didn’t understand. How could they? They still write checks.

But the most painful moment was at my niece’s birthday. My card had a handwritten IOU because my bank balance was under $20. I’d once offered to help pay for her college. Now I couldn’t afford a Barbie doll.

I started skipping social gatherings. Deleted Twitter. Sold my gaming console for grocery money. Even applied for a retail job I once would’ve scoffed at.

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Desperate Measures: Getting Creative When the JPEGs Wouldn’t Sell.

When I realized there was no bailout coming, I had to act. I knew these NFTs weren’t going to magically rebound. So I got resourceful.

First, I tried turning them into merch. I took one of my NFTs and printed it on T-shirts. Set up a Shopify store. Paid for some Facebook ads. Got two sales—both from friends.

Next, I launched a Substack, chronicling my “NFT journey.” Tried to lean into the cautionary tale angle. A few readers trickled in, but not enough to make rent.

Finally, I started freelance writing about NFTs—ironically, warning others not to do what I did. The very thing that destroyed my finances became the thing that started to slowly rebuild them.

I even reached out to local antique stores, offering part-time help. One shop owner laughed. “Didn’t you go digital?” she said.

“I did,” I said. “Now I’m back.”

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Rebuilding: A New Philosophy on Money and Value.

Every dollar I earn now feels hard-won. I no longer believe in shortcuts. The “easy money” of the NFT era taught me something brutal but necessary: wealth built on hype is quick to evaporate.

I keep a picture of that $180,000 ape on my desk. It reminds me that value is perception. And perception changes fast.

What I once mocked—physical items, slow growth, manual labor—now feels solid. Honest. I’ve started helping my brother restore old pieces in his garage on weekends. It’s not glamorous, but it’s grounding.

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Hard-Won Lessons.

If you’re reading this and you’re tempted by digital gold rushes, let me offer three truths:

1. Hype is not value. Just because everyone is talking about it doesn’t mean it’s worth your money.
2. Illiquidity is a killer. If you can’t sell quickly when you need to, your wealth is just a number on a screen.
3. Never invest what you can’t afford to bury. If it would wreck your life to lose it, don’t stake it on speculation.

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Reflection: What the Crash Gave Me That the Boom Never Did.

I lost more than money. I lost time. Relationships. Self-respect. But I also gained clarity.

Today, I work two jobs. I help restore antique furniture by day, and freelance by night. I’m slowly paying off debts. Rebuilding trust. Learning patience.

I no longer check Discord servers or Twitter threads for alpha. I read woodworking guides. I listen to my dad tell stories about each piece we bring back to life.

That $1.3 million I thought I had? It was an illusion. What I have now is real. It’s modest, but it’s mine.

And honestly, I sleep better.

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Story By: Malcolm Reyes.
Lena Goldstein, Journalist at Fact After Fact Magazine.