Web3’s Amateur Hour – The Emperor Has No Clothes

Introduction: The Emperor’s New Clothes Moment

In Hans Christian Andersen’s timeless tale, The Emperor’s New Clothes, a pair of swindling tailors convince a vain ruler that they’ve woven him a magnificent suit visible only to the wise and competent. The emperor parades through town, naked as the day he was born, while courtiers and subjects alike pretend to admire the invisible finery—until a child blurts out the obvious: “But he hasn’t got anything on!” The spell breaks, and reality crashes in.

Web3—the sprawling ecosystem of blockchain, crypto, and decentralized tech—has been strutting in similar fashion since its hype-fueled boom. For years, we’ve been sold a vision of revolutionary innovation: borderless finance, ownership economies, and tech that upends the world. Yet, as 2025 draws to a close, with Bitcoin’s price stalled around $100,000 (far from the all-time highs we’d expect in a true bull cycle), the market deviating sharply from traditional benchmarks like the S&P 500, and crypto lagging the broader economy’s cash rate, the illusion is shattering.

Why is Web3 failing in 2025? Not because of regulations or macroeconomic headwinds alone, but because the industry is run by amateurs—low-skill operators peddling inflated metrics, wishful narratives, and half-baked execution. This is crypto’s emperor-has-no-clothes moment, and it’s time to call it out.

My own awakening came this week via a meme that hit like a gut punch: “Dev who doesn’t know how to code, marketer who doesn’t know how to sell, let’s do a Web3 startup.” Having navigated the crypto space since 2017—across Australia, Asia, and Europe—I’ve met countless engineers and marketers who wouldn’t qualify as excellent or even competent in any mature industry.

Then there was the job ad for a CMO at one of the “fastest-growing exchanges in Web3”: demanding prior experience as head of marketing at a top-15 spot exchange, navigation of post-regulation user growth, a 50,000-follower X account, and cost-per-acquisition (CAC) expertise. Ridiculous. No one fits this bill because the giants like Binance grew in a pre-regulation Wild West, ignoring laws (as evidenced by lawsuits galore) and focusing on deposits and emails over funnels or data-driven growth. As someone who pitched data strategies at Binance only to be shut down from the top, I can attest: This ad screams amateur leadership oblivious to industry history.

This isn’t isolated. Web3 is being brought down by low skills, low expectations, and normalized nonsense across every facet: marketing mirages, leadership lapses, journalistic failures, exchange hypocrisies, and a systemic talent drought. Below is a structured case for that claim, backed by statistics, comparisons, and case studies.

Why 2025 Is the Exposure Year

Bull markets are forgiving. They reward speed over judgment, narrative over discipline, and momentum over competence. In those conditions, weak operators can look brilliant. Capital flows mask inefficiency. User growth hides churn. Rising prices convert unfinished ideas into success stories.

Flat markets do the opposite. They remove narrative oxygen and force systems to survive on fundamentals. When prices stop doing the work for you, execution matters. Retention matters. Real users matter. And in 2025, those stress tests are finally being applied across Web3.

This pattern is not unique to crypto. The dotcom crash of the early 2000s wiped out thousands of internet companies not because the internet was a bad idea, but because easy capital had subsidised bad businesses. The survivors—Amazon, Google, eBay—were not the loudest, but the most operationally competent. Similarly, the post‑ZIRP correction in SaaS exposed a generation of startups that had confused growth-at-any-cost with durable economics. Similar hype cycles are now emerging across AI and SaaS. When capital tightened, only companies with real unit economics and disciplined leadership endured.

Crypto is now at its equivalent moment. The macro environment has changed. Liquidity is no longer abundant. Retail inflows have slowed. Attention has fragmented. At the same time, many of the industry’s core promises—mass adoption, new financial primitives, genuine decentralisation—have failed to materialise at scale. That gap between promise and reality is no longer hidden by price appreciation.

The data reflects this clearly. Organic engagement across crypto social platforms has declined sharply from its 2021 peak. On-chain activity has concentrated among a smaller cohort of highly active users. Spot trading volumes have continued to fall even as nominal prices remain elevated. These are not signs of an industry in exponential expansion; they are signs of an industry recycling the same participants while struggling to attract new ones.

This is why 2025 matters. It is not a collapse year, but it is an exposure year. The question facing Web3 is no longer whether the technology is early or misunderstood. It is whether the people running it are capable of building something that can survive without perpetual hype. In that environment, amateurism is no longer hidden. It is structural, visible, and increasingly costly.

Editorial Definitions and Sourcing Note

This editorial uses sharp language intentionally, but it is grounded in observable patterns rather than claims about individual intent. Where terms can be interpreted as legal conclusions, they are used in their plain‑English, outcomes-based sense.

What we mean by “amateur” and “professional”: Amateur refers to operating without the baseline standards that mature industries treat as non‑optional: clear metric definitions, attribution, governance, risk controls, and accountability over time. Professional refers to the opposite—disciplined measurement, audited reporting, durable operating processes, and leadership continuity through market cycles.

What we mean by “user”: Throughout the piece, “user” is treated as a defined level of participation (e.g., funded, active, or transacting), not merely a registered email or created wallet. When we reference headline “user” counts published by platforms, we are highlighting the gap between registrations and meaningful activity, not asserting wrongdoing.

What we mean by “fake” (users/volume): “Fake” is used as shorthand for activity that third‑party researchers, auditors, or market‑integrity analyses have flagged as non‑economic (e.g., wash trading), and for headline metrics that likely include large proportions of inactive or overlapping accounts. The claim being made is about measurement quality and incentives, not a blanket allegation of criminal behavior.

What we mean by “scams” in marketing contexts: When used, it refers to marketing practices that would not meet disclosure, attribution, or consumer‑protection expectations in regulated industries—such as paid influence without clear disclosure, bot‑inflated engagement sold as organic demand, or performance reporting that cannot be audited.

On sources and interpretation: Statistics and examples in this article are drawn from publicly available reports, transparency posts, market data providers, and widely circulated industry research. Where estimates vary across sources, ranges are presented. The argument does not rely on any single datapoint; it relies on the consistency of the pattern across metrics, incentives, and repeated outcomes.

The Marketing Mirage – Impressions Over Impact

Marketing in mature industries is a science of compounding outcomes: turning awareness into qualified demand and long-term revenue via CAC, LTV, retention, and attribution. In Web3, marketing often collapses into surface-level glamour: logo slides, impression promises, and activity that cannot be tied to durable growth, a pattern explored in more detail in broader analyses of Web3 marketing failures.

Consider the agencies. Web3 marketing agencies frequently avoid statistically meaningful reporting, leaning instead on decks plastered with client logos while ignoring CAC, click-through rates (CTR), funnel conversion, cohort retention, or measurable brand-lift methodology. A typical pitch: $50,000+ for 2 million impressions, but no verifiable ROI.

Compare this to traditional benchmarks:

What Real Marketing Is Supposed to Do

In mature industries, marketing is not a vibes exercise. It is an operational discipline tied directly to revenue, retention, and long-term brand equity. While the tactics differ between SaaS, fintech, consumer platforms, and enterprise software, the underlying promises are remarkably consistent: predictable demand generation, measurable customer acquisition, and improving unit economics over time.

At a minimum, professional marketing organisations are expected to understand who their customer is, how that customer is acquired, how much it costs to acquire them, and how long it takes for that customer to become profitable. Concepts like cohort retention, payback periods, funnel conversion, and lifetime value are not optional extras—they are table stakes. Marketing that cannot articulate these metrics is not immature; it is non-functional.

In SaaS, for example, growth teams are routinely evaluated on CAC payback windows, net revenue retention, and pipeline contribution. In fintech, marketing is tightly coupled with compliance, attribution, and risk-adjusted growth. Even in consumer marketplaces, where brand plays a larger role, teams still measure repeat usage, frequency, and marginal acquisition costs. Impressions and reach matter only insofar as they translate into these downstream outcomes.

This is where Web3 marketing diverges so dramatically from professional norms. Impressions are treated as an end state rather than an input. Awareness is celebrated without any credible path to conversion. Campaigns are declared successful without any attempt to measure whether they produced users who stayed, transacted, or generated value. In effect, marketing is decoupled from the business entirely.

The result is a category error. Web3 teams speak the language of growth but operate without the instrumentation or discipline required to achieve it. They hire agencies that cannot be audited, deploy budgets that cannot be justified, and celebrate outcomes that would not survive a single board meeting in a mature company. This is not a failure of creativity or ambition. It is a failure to understand what marketing is actually for.

Until Web3 organisations adopt the same expectations of their marketing functions that exist elsewhere—clear objectives, measurable outcomes, and accountability for results—the industry will continue to confuse noise with progress. And in a market that is no longer expanding automatically, that confusion becomes fatal.

Ex-employees and founders vent on X: “I spent $180k on KOLs and agency—got 8M impressions and $11k in deposits. Never again” (mid-tier DEX founder, Oct 2025 thread). Another: “Web3 marketing is just mutual masturbation with logos and fake likes” (ex-head of growth at tier-2 exchange, viral post with 14k likes).

What makes this especially corrosive is that the deliverable is rarely an outcome. It’s attention—often unqualified, often bot-inflated, and frequently unmeasured beyond top-of-funnel screenshots. The pitch becomes: “We’ll get you seen,” not “We’ll get you customers.”

KOL-driven marketing is the clearest symptom—part of the KOL-driven growth mirage. Many projects effectively outsource growth to personalities on X, paying for reach while accepting an incentive mismatch: the KOL gets paid for the post, not for the retention of the users who arrive.

Top 100 crypto KOLs on X: median follower count ~180k, but typical engagement rates sit around 0.3%–0.8% (varies by segment and auditing methodology). Paid tweet prices (based on circulated rate cards): $800–$2k per tweet for ~50k–100k followers, and $8k–$25k per tweet for ~500k–1M followers. Many “packages” include bundled likes/comments designed to manufacture early momentum.

This is where the ecosystem slides from “marketing” into theatre. KOL packages frequently come bundled—explicitly or implicitly—with boosted likes, boosted comments, and “raids” designed to manufacture momentum in the first hour so the algorithm takes over. In other industries this exists, but it is generally treated as brand-risk behaviour. In Web3, it’s routine.

The deeper problem isn’t that this marketing looks cheap. It’s that it turns trust into a non-renewable resource.

In regulated categories—finance, gambling, health, consumer credit—paid influence is tightly constrained. Disclosures are expected. Claims are scrutinised. Brands get punished for misleading users, even when the intent was “just marketing.” Web3 often behaves as if those norms don’t apply, then acts surprised when mainstream users treat the entire sector as suspect.

Reputational damage in crypto compounds like a hidden tax. A single overhyped launch or paid-influence campaign doesn’t just fail to convert—it makes the next campaign less effective, and the next one after that. Users become sceptical earlier in the funnel. Conversion rates fall. Retention collapses. Customer support costs rise. And every honest team that follows inherits the cynicism created by the teams that came before.

This is why “mindshare” is such a dangerous substitute for real demand. Mindshare is easier to buy than trust, and it decays faster. When the audience is already shrinking, spending to manufacture attention doesn’t just waste money—it accelerates burnout in the only cohort still paying attention.

The long-term cost shows up in places Web3 rarely measures: higher CAC, weaker organic referrals, lower willingness to fund accounts, and greater sensitivity to small points of friction. People don’t just stop clicking. They stop believing. Once that happens, your product is no longer competing on features—it’s competing against the assumption that you’re lying.

Meanwhile, organic interest has been shrinking from its 2021 peak. When the underlying pool gets smaller, the theatre gets louder. Projects don’t adapt by improving product, retention, or funnel design—they adapt by buying the appearance of demand.

So why does this keep happening, even after multiple cycles of evidence that it doesn’t work?

First, impressions are an easy product to sell. They are difficult to audit, easy to repackage, and almost impossible to disprove in a boardroom without instrumentation. A screenshot of reach “feels” like performance. A funnel report forces uncomfortable questions. Agencies and KOL networks naturally optimise for what is saleable, not what is true.

Second, founders buy impressions because social proof is a survival mechanism in narrative markets. When fundraising, listings, partnerships, and hiring all respond to perceived momentum, looking popular becomes a rational short-term strategy. The tragedy is that the strategy often trades long-term trust for short-term optics—and teams don’t feel the consequence until the hype window closes.

Third, many boards and investors simply don’t have marketing literacy. In mature companies, marketing is reviewed like finance: there are definitions, baselines, and accountability. In Web3, the people holding the budget often cannot distinguish awareness from acquisition, or engagement from retention. That creates an environment where “we got 10 million impressions” passes as progress, even if deposits and retained users are flat.

Finally, incentive design makes it worse. KOLs get paid per post, not per retained customer. Agencies get paid per month, not per payback period. Growth teams get rewarded for headline activity, not cohort curves. When everyone in the chain is compensated for inputs rather than outcomes, the system produces theatre by default.

Fixing this is not a creative challenge—it’s an accountability challenge. The industry doesn’t need louder marketing. It needs marketing that can survive measurement.

These Web3 marketing scams (or “practices,” if we’re polite) wouldn’t fly elsewhere. In broader advertising, agencies promise ROI and attribution; here, it’s glamour results. The result is not merely wasted budget — it is structural damage.

Why This Isn’t Just Tacky — It’s Destructive

First, it destroys brand trust before a brand ever exists. In mature markets, trust compounds: users tolerate bugs, pricing changes, and even scandals because the brand has earned credibility over time. In Web3, most projects burn that trust in their first 90 days. Overpromised launches, KOL hype cycles, and impression-led campaigns attract the least loyal users — airdrop farmers, short-term speculators, and mercenary capital — who leave at the first sign of friction. The brand never gets a second chance because it never earned a first.

Second, it poisons internal decision-making. When leadership is fed impression counts instead of cohort data, the organization loses the ability to learn. Teams cannot answer basic questions — which channel produced retained users, what messaging converts past week four, where churn accelerates — because none of that data was ever collected. This creates a feedback loop where poor results are blamed on market conditions rather than strategy, leading to more spend on the same ineffective tactics.

Third, it misallocates capital at a systemic level. Venture-backed Web3 companies routinely spend 20–40% of their early budgets on marketing that has no measurable payback. In traditional startups, that level of inefficiency would trigger immediate board intervention. In crypto, it is normalized — even celebrated — as “mindshare.” The opportunity cost is severe: engineering, security audits, customer support, and compliance are underfunded while banners, KOLs, and press placements flourish.

Fourth, it accelerates reputational decay across the entire sector. To outsiders, Web3 marketing does not look merely immature; it looks fraudulent. When every project claims to be “the future of finance,” users correctly infer that most are lying. This is why each successive cycle attracts fewer new participants. By 2025, marketing is no longer pulling new users into crypto — it is mostly recycling the same shrinking audience, burning them out faster each time.

Finally, it selects for the wrong talent. Competent marketers — those trained in attribution, lifecycle design, experimentation, and analytics — do not stay in environments where success cannot be measured. They leave, or never enter at all. What remains are operators optimized for optics rather than outcomes. Over time, this turns marketing departments into performance theaters rather than growth engines.

This is why Web3 marketing failure matters. It is not cosmetic. It is foundational. An industry that cannot market honestly cannot discover real demand, cannot build durable brands, and cannot sustain growth beyond speculative cycles.

Which brings us to the next illusion the industry depends on: users.

Why no pros in crypto marketing? Because amateurs tolerate low expectations — and the system rewards them for it.

User Illusion – Inflated Numbers, Deflated Reality

Exchanges parade “hundreds of millions” of users like the emperor’s invisible robes—impressive on paper, bogus in practice. Binance announced 300 million users in December 2025, but that’s mostly inactive emails from pre-2023 farming eras (airdrop hunters, launchpad farmers). Their LinkedIn post got <2k impressions and ~30 engagements—hardly the buzz for a behemoth. Crypto industry amateurs define “user” loosely, inflating counts while hiding overlap and inactivity.

A major part of the illusion is definitional. In Web3, “user” often means “an email address that once touched a signup form.” In mature industries, that would be considered a lead—not a user.

A professional operator distinguishes between at least four levels of participation:

• Registered accounts: signups, emails, wallets created. This is the widest and least meaningful number.
• Funded accounts: accounts that have ever deposited fiat, stablecoins, or assets. This is the first threshold that resembles intent.
• Monthly active users (MAU): accounts that return and perform meaningful actions within a defined window (login alone is not enough).
• Transacting / revenue users: users who trade, stake, borrow, or pay fees—i.e., users who create measurable business value.

In SaaS and fintech, these distinctions are not pedantic—they are how companies avoid lying to themselves. A consumer app might celebrate registrations, but the business is managed on retention curves. A payments company might cite total accounts, but operators care about active transactors, chargeback rates, and net revenue retention. Even a brokerage that boasts “users” is judged on funded accounts, assets under custody, and active traders.

Crypto blurs these lines because blurred lines are useful. Vague “user” counts inflate perceived adoption. They support valuations. They make exchanges look inevitable. They also make it harder for outsiders—partners, regulators, journalists, even employees—to understand what is actually happening.

The cost of this ambiguity is real. If you cannot define a user, you cannot measure churn. If you cannot measure churn, you cannot model LTV. If you cannot model LTV, you cannot justify CAC. And if you cannot justify CAC, you eventually replace growth strategy with hype strategy.

That is how an industry ends up celebrating “300 million users” while behaving like it’s fighting for the attention of a much smaller crowd.

Global crypto owners: 560M–861M (Chainalysis/Triple-A 2025), but active users? 40–70M (a16z State of Crypto 2025), with daily active wallets ~1–5M (TRM Labs). Retail traders: <200k truly active (Chainalysis). Consensys survey (10k respondents): 88% have 3+ exchange accounts, 62% have 5+. Kaiko/Nansen: 68% spot volume from wallets active on Binance + Bybit + OKX simultaneously. No loyalty—83% would switch for a 0.005% better fee (OKX 2025 study); Dune Analytics: traders shift primaries month-to-month in 78% of cases. Unlike phone carriers (one SIM needed), crypto users chase deals, renting platforms temporarily.

The absence of loyalty is not a mystery. It is a structural outcome of how exchanges are built and how users are incentivised.

Most exchange products are functionally interchangeable: the same major pairs, the same order books, the same stablecoin rails, and the same trading interface with a different skin. Fees are commoditised. Incentives are copy‑pasted. When one platform offers a marginally better rebate, VIP tier, or listing access, users move. The switching cost is close to zero, because the “relationship” is not sticky—there’s no deep product lock‑in, no long-term account history that improves outcomes, and no meaningful portability penalty.

Compare that to a bank, brokerage, or SaaS tool. In those categories, users accumulate friction and value: direct debits, payroll connections, tax documents, reporting history, credit lines, integrations, workflows, and support relationships. Switching is possible, but it’s annoying—and the annoyance is what creates retention.

Crypto exchanges rarely build that kind of relationship because the business model doesn’t require it. When revenue is dominated by leverage products, the most valuable customer is not the loyal long-term user—it’s the high-frequency trader who generates fees today. That nudges platforms toward features that maximise activity rather than trust: leverage, promotions, trading competitions, and constant new instruments.

The result is a rental market, not a customer base. Exchanges don’t “win” users; they temporarily attract them. When the incentives change, the users leave. Then exchanges claim the churn is “market cycles,” when it is actually the natural consequence of building a commoditised casino without a relationship layer.

Fake volumes compound the illusion: 71% of the top-50 CoinGecko exchanges show >70% wash-trading (Kaiko Nov 2025). Bybit inflated BTC/USDT volume by ~380% via internal desks (Solidus Labs report, Sep 2025); MEXC, Gate.io, and Bitget were repeatedly flagged for >90% fake volume in 2025 quarterly audits (CER.live). Total fake volume estimate: $1.9T in 2025 alone (Bitwise + Inca Digital). Even Coinbase International (regulated) was accused of minor wash on perpetuals to boost rankings (X threads + on-chain sleuths, Jul 2025).

Decline in real activity is visible in the market structure. Spot volume is down ~74% from the 2021 peak ($28T to ~$7.2T annualized, Kaiko 2025). DEX spot volume fell from its 2021 monthly peak (~$387B) to ~$94B by Dec 2025 (The Block + DeFiLlama). USDT on Tron (the retail chain) daily transfer count is down ~61% from 2022 highs (Artemis.xyz). Meanwhile, derivatives now dominate:

With Binance reporting that ~92% of 2025 revenue came from derivatives fees and funding rates (Oct 2025 transparency report).

The second-order consequence is that the market slowly stops being about adoption and starts being about internal leverage loops.

When real new-user growth stalls, the easiest way to manufacture volume is to increase turnover among the users you already have. Derivatives are perfect for this: leverage multiplies activity, liquidations create forced trades, and funding rates turn participation into a recurring fee stream. You can generate enormous “market” numbers without adding a single new person or building a single new use case.

Over time, this changes what gets built. Teams optimise for tradable narratives rather than useful products. Token launches are designed around volatility and incentives rather than utility and retention. Protocols chase “TVL” that can disappear overnight because it was never user demand—it was yield‑driven capital doing laps.

This hollowing-out is why Web3 can feel simultaneously huge and small: huge in notional volume, small in real daily life impact. You see it in the dominance of stablecoin collateral, the concentration of activity among a relatively small number of repeat wallets, and the way every new cycle depends on fresh incentives rather than organic pull.

And it undercuts Web3’s original promise. The promise was new rails: ownership, settlement, and financial infrastructure that reduced reliance on trusted intermediaries. A market dominated by leverage and custodial churn does the opposite. It recentralises power in the biggest venues, trains users away from self-custody, and makes “adoption” look like an accounting trick rather than a societal shift.

This user illusion ties back: amateurs at exchanges publicize bullshit metrics (emails as users) to mask stagnation, eroding trust and stalling Web3.

Why Fake Users Break Everything Downstream

Inflated user numbers are not a harmless PR trick. They actively corrupt decision-making at every layer of the organization.

Start with product design. When leadership believes it has hundreds of millions of active users, products are built for scale that does not exist. Teams optimize for imagined edge cases instead of real user pain. UX complexity increases, onboarding flows become bloated, and features are shipped for phantom audiences. In reality, most exchanges are serving a relatively small cohort of hyper-active traders and a long tail of dormant accounts. Designing for the former while pretending to serve the latter guarantees mediocre outcomes for both.

Pricing and incentives follow the same distortion. Fee schedules, VIP tiers, referral bonuses, and reward programs are justified internally by headline user counts. But when the true active base is a fraction of what is claimed, these incentives cannibalize revenue rather than grow it. This is why exchanges are locked in a race to the bottom on fees, funding-rate rebates, and token incentives: they are fighting over the same itinerant users, not expanding the pie.

Regulatory strategy is also warped. Publicly claiming mass adoption invites scrutiny that the underlying activity cannot support. Regulators do not care about registered emails; they care about volume concentration, leverage exposure, and consumer harm. When exchanges boast “200 million users” while most activity comes from a small, repeat set of wallets, they unintentionally highlight systemic risk rather than legitimacy. The mismatch between marketing claims and on-chain reality becomes evidence, not protection.

The illusion also destroys long-term planning. Forecasts built on inflated user growth inevitably miss. When targets are not met, leadership attributes failure to market cycles or regulation instead of flawed assumptions. This leads to constant strategy resets — new narratives, new verticals, new products — rather than disciplined iteration. The organization becomes reactive, not adaptive.

At the ecosystem level, fake users poison capital allocation. Investors, partners, and media outlets repeat inflated figures, reinforcing the belief that crypto adoption is broad and accelerating. In reality, participation is shallow and concentrated. Capital chases scale that does not exist, while genuinely useful but unglamorous infrastructure remains underfunded. This is how entire cycles are built on sand.

Perhaps most damaging is the erosion of credibility. Once users realize that “users” mostly means inactive accounts, trust collapses. Every subsequent metric is questioned. Even legitimate growth is discounted as another accounting trick. This is why crypto announcements increasingly land with indifference rather than excitement. The market has learned to assume exaggeration.

In mature industries, user metrics are boring precisely because they are precise. Active users are defined narrowly. Churn is tracked obsessively. Retention curves matter more than top-line signups. In Web3, the opposite norm prevails. Bigger numbers are better numbers, regardless of meaning.

That norm is not accidental. It is the natural outcome of leadership that confuses visibility with value — a pattern we now need to examine more closely.

Which brings us to the people making these decisions in the first place.

What “Professional” Actually Means in Web3

Critiquing amateurism without defining professionalism risks becoming rhetorical rather than constructive. In mature industries, professionalism is not a cultural preference or aesthetic choice—it is an operating standard enforced by incentives, governance, and consequences. In Web3, that standard has never been clearly established.

At a practical level, a professional Web3 organisation would look unremarkable by traditional business standards. There would be no mystique, no exceptional narratives, and very little tolerance for ambiguity in core metrics.

• Metrics discipline: Growth claims grounded in retention, cohort behaviour, revenue quality, and audited activity—not raw registrations, self-reported volume, or unaudited on-chain proxies presented without context.
• Clear economic models: An explicit understanding of how the business makes money, from whom, under what risk assumptions, and how that model behaves across market cycles.
• Leadership continuity: Executive tenures measured in years rather than months, with accountability tied to outcomes, not storytelling or market timing.
• Governance with teeth: Independent directors, real risk oversight, and internal controls designed to prevent catastrophic failure rather than simply enable faster shipping—aligned with verifiable security and compliance standards.
• Marketing tied to outcomes: Funnels, attribution, CAC, and lifecycle value replacing impressions, KOL theatrics, and logo-based credibility.
• Operational humility: The willingness to ship imperfectly early, then harden systems over time—instead of oscillating between reckless speed and paralysing over-engineering.

None of these requirements are uniquely difficult. They are baseline expectations in every mature industry, from software to finance to logistics. What makes them feel radical in Web3 is not their complexity, but the historical absence of consequences for ignoring them.

Leadership Lapses – From VCs to CEOs, Amateur at the Helm

Successful industries evolve with visionary leaders who build from scratch. Web3? It’s a regression—corporate ladder-climbers faking expertise, funded by VCs who skipped due diligence. This top-down amateurism is why crypto startup failure rates hit 1,842 shutdowns in 2024–2025 (CoinGecko/RootData), with only 9% of 2021–2022 bull-round companies surviving with >10 employees (Messari 2025).

Corporate ladder syndrome describes a failure mode where leaders trained to optimise large, stable systems attempt to build companies that do not yet exist. In mature organisations, success comes from incremental improvement: optimising conversion by a few percentage points, managing teams within established hierarchies, and operating under known constraints. Early‑stage companies require the opposite skill set. They demand ambiguity tolerance, direct customer contact, and the ability to make irreversible decisions with incomplete information.

Many Web3 founders and executives come from late‑stage tech or finance backgrounds where the product already had demand, the market was defined, and mistakes were absorbed by scale. When placed into a zero‑to‑one environment, these operators often stall. They over‑analyse instead of shipping, delegate discovery instead of doing it themselves, and wait for validation that will never arrive. Customer conversations are replaced by dashboards. Sales is outsourced before it is understood. Roadmaps grow longer while conviction shrinks.

A common symptom is performative strategy. Leaders spend months refining positioning, governance frameworks, and “go‑to‑market narratives” before anyone has demonstrated willingness to pay. In early‑stage reality, selling precedes strategy. The job is not to optimise a funnel, but to find one. Operators who have never had to personally close customers, debug onboarding at 2 a.m., or ship with imperfect tooling struggle to internalise this. What looks like professionalism becomes paralysis.

In Web3, this is amplified by token funding. When capital arrives before product‑market fit, leaders are insulated from the feedback loops that normally force learning. The result is a class of executives fluent in presentation and governance language, but inexperienced in the unglamorous work that turns an idea into a business.

Founders: 68% no prior founding experience (DocSend/Carta 2025); only 11% built $1M ARR companies (Crunchbase/AngelList); 34% students or <2 yrs work exp. Pre-crypto employers: Google, Amazon, Goldman—joined late, missing day-zero hustling. They fall for scams: bad VC deals, KOL promises, BD intros that fizzle.

Tenure comparisons in the table below highlight the churn:

Crypto turnover is 3–6× higher. Employees: 61% first/second job; 12% from $1B+ revenue firms (LinkedIn scrape top 100 crypto companies).

High leadership churn prevents organisations from accumulating institutional memory. Every executive departure resets context: why certain decisions were made, which experiments failed, and where hidden risks lie. In stable industries, this memory is what allows standards to harden over time. In crypto, constant turnover ensures that the same mistakes are relearned every cycle.

When a new CTO inherits a codebase they did not design, under pressure to ship quickly, the incentive is to rebuild rather than understand. When a new CMO arrives without historical cohort data, they relaunch campaigns instead of fixing retention. Each reset creates the illusion of progress while erasing lessons that could have prevented repetition.

This churn also degrades accountability. Failures are attributed to predecessors, market conditions, or regulatory shifts rather than decisions. Without continuity, no one owns outcomes long enough to be evaluated against them. Over time, organisations stop learning altogether. They substitute motion for progress and novelty for improvement.

This is why crypto rarely develops durable operating standards. Processes never stabilise because the people responsible for enforcing them rarely stay long enough to see the consequences.

VC failures: 517 VC-backed >$10M raises failed (CB Insights/PitchBook). No diligence: Three Arrows Capital got $400M+ sans audits; Harmony hack ($100M) from plain-text keys (CTO ex-Facebook). Multichain: $60M+ raised with fake names, $1.4B locked. ZKsync: $458M, delays from Google/Apple hires sans crypto exp.

Venture capital incentives in Web3 differ materially from those in traditional technology investing. In SaaS, diligence focuses on customers, revenue quality, retention, and unit economics. Investors speak directly to users. They validate demand. Capital is deployed against evidence.

In crypto, liquidity often arrives before validation. Tokens provide a path to mark‑to‑market returns independent of company fundamentals. This shifts diligence from operational risk to narrative risk. The question becomes not “will this business work?” but “will this story travel?”

Deal‑flow competition exacerbates the problem. Funds fear missing the next breakout narrative more than backing an unproven team. Speed replaces scrutiny. When one fund moves, others follow, relying on social proof rather than primary research. Governance is deferred. Audits are optional. Red flags are rationalised as “early.”

The availability of secondary liquidity further distorts incentives. Founders and early investors can extract value long before product‑market fit, reducing pressure to correct course. In this environment, capital rewards persuasion over execution. Unsurprisingly, it selects for leaders optimised for fundraising rather than building.

This is not malice; it is structure. But until incentives realign around durable value creation, capital will continue to subsidise amateurism.

Case studies: FTX (Ponzi under Mashinsky-like bragging); Luna (Do Kwon tweeting “entertainment in watching coins die”); 3AC (private jets amid $3.5B defaults). EigenLayer: founder admitted not understanding restaking in interviews.

Failed predictions table:

All wrong, yet reprinted.

Crypto prediction culture persists because it is consequence‑free. Analysts, funds, and influencers publish bold forecasts without tracking accuracy, issuing retractions, or updating scorecards. Misses fade into the noise. New predictions replace old ones. Attention resets.

In other domains—macroeconomics, epidemiology, weather forecasting—track records matter. Accuracy is measured. Models are adjusted. Credibility compounds or decays based on performance. In crypto, prediction functions more like marketing than analysis. Its purpose is engagement, not truth.

Media reinforces this by amplifying bold numbers regardless of historical performance. A forecast that misses by 80% is treated the same as one that hits. The result is an information environment where confidence is mistaken for competence and repetition substitutes for evidence.

This would be unacceptable in any field where decisions carry real risk. Yet in crypto, where retail users often act on these narratives, the absence of accountability persists. The industry does not suffer from too many predictions. It suffers from none being audited.

Legal amateurism: 42% U.S. token projects sued post-$50M raises (Cornerstone 2025); Head of Legal tenure 11 months, from BigLaw sans crypto.

Quotes: “90% leadership never shipped profitable products” (VC partner, Telegram 2025); “Raised $120M via Twitter VCs—no product” (rugged founder, Spaces).

Easy money attracted amateurs who build slow (whining about tech debt without understanding early trade-offs), sign bad deals, and chase hype—killing vision.

Why Amateur Leadership Thrives in Web3

The most important question is not why so many underqualified leaders exist in Web3, but why the system keeps selecting them. In most industries, incompetence is expensive and therefore short-lived. In crypto, incompetence is often rewarded — at least temporarily.

The first reason is capital structure. Traditional startups are capital-constrained. Revenue, margins, and unit economics impose discipline early. Crypto startups, by contrast, frequently raise eight- or nine-figure sums before shipping a viable product. Tokens substitute for revenue, and speculative demand replaces customer validation. This allows founders to survive for years without proving that anyone would pay for what they are building. In that environment, storytelling becomes more valuable than execution.

Second is the narrative-driven nature of crypto investing. Venture capital in Web3 has been unusually tolerant of ambiguity. Whitepapers, roadmaps, Discord activity, and social reach often substitute for fundamentals. When capital is allocated based on narrative momentum rather than operational milestones, leaders optimize for visibility. This selects for founders who are good at fundraising, Twitter, and conference panels — not for those who are good at hiring, shipping, and managing complexity.

Third is the absence of professional governance. As the data shows, the majority of token projects lack independent board members, formal oversight, or meaningful accountability structures. In traditional companies, weak leadership is constrained by boards, audits, and investor pressure. In Web3, founders frequently control both the company and the token, insulating themselves from consequences even as execution falters. Poor decisions compound rather than correct.

Fourth is talent asymmetry. Many crypto leaders have never managed senior professionals. When they do hire experienced operators from Big Tech or finance, the relationship often fails. Veterans expect clarity, accountability, and prioritization. Crypto leadership often offers ambiguity, constant pivots, and narrative whiplash. The result is rapid churn at the executive level, reinforcing the perception that “crypto just moves fast” when the reality is managerial instability.

Fifth is moral hazard. Founders can extract significant personal wealth long before product-market fit through token allocations, liquidity events, advisory deals, and secondary sales. When downside is socialized and upside is privatized, there is little incentive to endure the unglamorous work of building durable systems. Compare this to traditional founders whose wealth is locked in illiquid equity for a decade or more.

The consequences are predictable. Strategy becomes incoherent. Roadmaps expand endlessly. Core products stagnate while new initiatives are announced to reset sentiment. Technical debt is blamed on speed rather than poor architectural choices. Marketing fills the vacuum left by execution.

This leadership failure also explains why obvious lessons are not learned. FTX, Luna, Three Arrows Capital, Celsius, Harmony, and countless smaller collapses were not edge cases. They were symptoms—echoed by well-documented Layer-1 failures. Each collapse followed the same pattern: concentrated control, weak governance, unchecked leverage, and leaders operating beyond their competence. Yet each cycle, the industry insists these were anomalies rather than structural outcomes.

Even now, many of the same figures continue to attract capital, attention, and platforms. The market has not punished incompetence decisively because the incentive system still rewards narrative momentum over operational reality.

Until that changes, Web3 will continue to recycle the same leadership profiles — confident, articulate, underqualified — while more capable operators stay away or exit early.

And when leadership fails systematically, journalism should act as the immune system.

In Web3, it does not.

Early‑stage technology is not about building perfect systems. It is about building learning systems. In mature companies, architectural perfection reduces risk. In startups, it often increases it by delaying feedback.

Many crypto teams oscillate between two extremes: reckless speed and paralysing perfection. The latter is frequently justified as “security” or “future‑proofing,” but in practice it reflects uncertainty about what actually needs to be built. Without real users, there is nothing to optimise for.

A useful analogy is scaffolding versus monuments. Early products are scaffolding: temporary structures designed to be replaced as understanding improves. Treating scaffolding like a monument wastes time and resources. The goal is not elegance; it is information.

When CTOs prioritise theoretical robustness over validated demand, teams accrue the wrong kind of technical debt: complexity without learning. By the time reality intrudes, the architecture is brittle not because it was rushed, but because it was built for assumptions that never held.

Professional execution is not slower. It is faster where speed matters and careful where it matters. Crypto too often confuses caution with competence.

Crypto Journalism Failures – Sponsored Content Over Scrutiny

Real journalism exists to challenge power, interrogate incentives, and expose contradictions. Crypto media often does the opposite: it lubricates the ecosystem with press releases, sponsored narratives, and recycled predictions—especially during periods when advertising budgets surge.

When an industry can generate enormous value, enable billions in fraud, and still avoid prize-winning investigative coverage, it’s worth asking: is the media ecosystem structurally incentivised to report, or to sell distribution?

This creates a media environment where high-status predictions get printed even when they repeatedly miss, and where paid narratives often outcompete investigative scrutiny, crowding out independent third-party recognition. The incentives don’t reward being right; they reward being publishable and promotable.

Exchange Evolution or Devolution? – From Web3 to Digital Casinos

Exchanges pivoted from Web3 infrastructure to leveraged speculation, like the emperor switching outfits mid-parade. The numbers make this shift unmistakable: derivatives now dominate exchange economics.

By October 2025, Binance disclosed that roughly 93% of its revenue came from derivatives fees and funding rates. Spot trading—the activity most aligned with Web3’s original promise of ownership and settlement—is down approximately 74% from its 2021 peak.

Spot trading did not die because people suddenly lost interest in owning crypto assets. It died because the industry failed to create compelling reasons to hold, use, or transact with them outside of speculation.

Retail exhaustion is the most visible factor. After multiple cycles of hype, collapses, and bailouts, retail participants have learned that long‑term holding rarely outperforms opportunistic trading unless one enters exceptionally early. The promise of “buy and hold” has been undermined by repeated dilution, unlock schedules, and governance failures. For many users, spot exposure now feels like subsidising insiders rather than participating in upside.

At the same time, Web3 failed to deliver new, mass‑market use cases that require spot ownership. Payments never escaped volatility. NFTs failed to sustain utility beyond speculation. DeFi became increasingly abstract and yield‑driven. Outside a narrow group of power users, there was little reason to hold assets on‑chain except as collateral for further trading.

Speculation crowded out utility because it was more profitable to serve. Exchanges discovered that derivatives monetised attention far more efficiently than spot markets. Just as online casinos outperform savings products in revenue per user, leverage products outperform custody and settlement in fee generation. Once this asymmetry became clear, spot markets became loss leaders rather than strategic priorities.

This mirrors patterns seen in options trading booms in traditional finance. When platforms like Robinhood popularised options, underlying equity ownership stagnated while notional volume exploded. Activity increased, but participation narrowed. The market appeared vibrant while becoming more fragile. Crypto followed the same path, but faster and with fewer guardrails.

Spot trading requires belief in long‑term value. Derivatives only require volatility. In an industry that increasingly struggles to articulate durable value creation, volatility became the easier product to sell.

South Korea illustrates the regulatory asymmetry clearly. Traditional gambling is illegal for Korean citizens, even abroad, under Article 246. Yet crypto derivatives remain classified as speculative investment rather than gambling. The result is one of the highest per-capita leveraged trading populations globally, with Upbit and Bithumb regularly exceeding $10B in daily volume—over 95% of it derivatives.

Security failures further expose the casino model’s fragility. In February 2025, Bybit suffered a $1.5B exploit attributed to North Korean Lazarus Group actors exploiting a supply-chain UI vulnerability—an operational failure inconsistent with platforms claiming to be the future of global finance.

The NFT boom-and-bust provides a parallel case study in narrative chasing.

Exchanges quickly pivoted to new narratives: tokenized stocks, real-world assets (RWAs), and prediction markets. RWAs now represent roughly $18–24B in on-chain capitalization (RWA.xyz). Binance launched tokenized equities such as xApple. Polymarket processed an estimated $18–20B in volume in 2025, and Coinbase announced plans to enter the category in December.

The shift toward a derivatives‑first ecosystem produces consequences that compound quietly over time.

First, leverage loops replace genuine demand. Volume becomes self‑referential: traders trade because other traders are trading. Liquidations trigger more liquidations. Funding incentives pull capital in and push it out again. On‑chain activity appears healthy, but it is decoupled from any underlying economic use. When volatility compresses, the entire structure thins rapidly.

Second, self‑custody norms erode. If most meaningful activity happens inside custodial derivatives platforms, users have little incentive to learn wallet management, key security, or on‑chain interaction. Crypto becomes something you log into, not something you own. This undermines one of Web3’s core claims: reducing reliance on trusted intermediaries.

Third, on‑chain utility is hollowed out. Builders follow incentives. When exchanges and capital reward financial primitives that generate turnover—perpetuals, leverage tokens, prediction markets—talent flows away from slower, harder problems like identity, payments, governance, and infrastructure. What gets built reflects what gets funded.

Fourth, user expectations shift. New entrants are trained to view crypto as a high‑risk betting environment rather than a toolkit for ownership or coordination. Losses are normalised. Blow‑ups are framed as entertainment. This narrows the audience to those comfortable with gambling dynamics, further shrinking the addressable market.

Finally, systemic risk increases. Highly leveraged ecosystems are brittle. When stress events occur—exchange hacks, regulatory action, liquidity shocks—the feedback loops that once amplified volume amplify collapse instead. The same mechanisms that generate profits in calm periods accelerate damage in crises.

These effects explain why Web3 can generate enormous revenue while failing to broaden its user base or societal relevance. The industry has optimised for extractive efficiency rather than adoption depth. Over time, that trade‑off becomes existential.

As one former exchange executive put it: “Crypto trading is gambling with extra steps.” The quote resonates because the incentives align. Exchanges did not accidentally become digital casinos—they followed the revenue.

From Infrastructure to House Edge

Spot trading is structurally low-margin. Fees compress quickly, self-custody is possible, and volume depends on genuine demand. Derivatives, by contrast, generate layered revenue: funding rates, liquidation engines, leverage premiums, and internal market-making. None of this requires meaningful on-chain interaction.

Once exchanges discovered that perpetuals could generate 8–15× the revenue of spot markets, the strategic direction was set. Wallet education, decentralization rhetoric, and on-chain experimentation were tolerated only insofar as they supported onboarding into leverage products.

This explains the contradiction at the heart of modern exchanges: public celebrations of decentralization paired with interfaces that discourage withdrawals, and self-custody blog posts alongside business models optimized to keep assets on-platform.

Regulatory Arbitrage as Business Model

The South Korean case is not unique. Globally, where spot trading faces licensing, custody rules, and consumer protection, derivatives are routed through offshore entities and permissive jurisdictions. Risk is displaced, not reduced. The legal label changes; the economic function does not.

Product Whiplash and Narrative Chasing

NFT marketplaces, RWAs, tokenized stocks, and prediction markets follow the same pattern: each is framed as the future of Web3, each is adopted opportunistically, and each is abandoned or deprioritized when volumes fail to meet expectations. There are no post-mortems—only pivots.

The Cost to Web3’s Original Thesis

When the most powerful actors in the ecosystem optimize for leverage-based revenue, capital and talent flow away from genuinely decentralized infrastructure. Builders working on self-custody, composability, and permissionless systems compete against products designed to maximize churn and extraction.

When exchanges become casinos, Web3 stops being a technological movement and becomes a financial entertainment industry.

And when the industry’s most profitable actors are incentivized to keep users inside closed systems, it is unsurprising that serious professionals hesitate to participate.

Which brings us to the final failure mode: talent.

Systemic Unprofessionalism – The Talent Drought

If every prior section explains what went wrong in Web3, the talent drought explains why it is not self-correcting.

In functional industries, failure triggers adaptation. Bad companies die. Good operators replace them. Talent migrates toward opportunity. Over time, competence compounds.

Crypto has not followed that pattern.

Instead, the industry has entered a negative selection loop: the people most capable of fixing the problems increasingly choose not to participate, while those least qualified continue to circulate internally.

The Numbers: Professionals Are Opting Out

By 2025, the signal is unmistakable.

Y Combinator’s Winter 2025 batch included only four crypto/Web3 startups, down from thirty-one at the peak of the last cycle. Andreessen Horowitz’s crypto fellowship applications fell 82% from their 2022 highs. Among verified senior engineers on Blind, just 3.8% said they would consider a crypto role at equal pay, compared to 27% in 2021.

This is not a compensation problem. It is a credibility problem.

Top engineers, operators, and executives increasingly view crypto as a career risk. Not because the technology lacks promise, but because the surrounding environment lacks professionalism, stability, and accountability.

Experience Gaps Are Structural, Not Accidental

The data on founder and employee backgrounds reinforces this.

Only 9% of crypto founders between 2021–2025 had a prior exit, compared to 41% in SaaS and fintech. Just 11% had previously built a profitable company, versus 38% in adjacent sectors. More than one-third of founders were students or had fewer than two years of professional experience when they raised capital.

Among employees, the picture is similar. LinkedIn data from the top 100 crypto companies by market capitalization shows:

• 61% of employees joined crypto as their first or second job
• Only 12% had ever worked at a company exceeding $1 billion in revenue
• 47% of marketing hires had no prior marketing experience outside crypto

This is not how mature industries scale. It is how echo chambers form.

Churn as a Symptom of Low Standards

Executive churn provides another revealing signal.

Crypto CEOs average 1.8 years of tenure, CTOs 1.4 years, and CMOs just 11 months. In traditional technology firms, comparable roles average between five and seven years.

High churn is often framed as “the pace of innovation.” In practice, it reflects poor hiring standards, weak governance, unrealistic expectations created by hype-driven fundraising, and a lack of institutional memory.

When leadership resets every year, mistakes are not learned from. They are repeated.

Resume Inflation and Governance Failure

The talent problem is further compounded by credibility erosion.

Background-check firms reported that 41% of C-level crypto hires between 2022–2024 materially exaggerated or fabricated prior roles. Claims of senior positions at major banks, funds, or tech companies routinely collapsed under verification.

Governance structures offer little resistance. According to Messari’s 2025 governance report, 68% of token projects that raised over $50 million had zero independent directors, and 84% relied on multisig arrangements with fewer than five signers, often composed entirely of founders.

In such environments, competent professionals face asymmetric downside. They carry reputational risk without corresponding authority.

Why the Best People Walk Away

Senior professionals compare crypto to other options—AI, enterprise software, infrastructure, climate tech—and see lower regulatory clarity, shorter executive tenures, higher reputational risk, worse data quality, and weaker governance.

They opt out.

The result is not merely a shortage of talent, but a self-reinforcing selection bias. As professionals leave, standards fall further. As standards fall, more professionals leave.

This is the quiet failure mode of Web3. Not collapse. Hollowing-out.

Conclusion: Clothing the Emperor — Or Letting Him Walk

In The Emperor’s New Clothes, the story does not end with reform. It ends with recognition. The child speaks. The illusion breaks. The emperor, now aware of his nakedness, continues walking.

Exposure alone does not guarantee correction. It merely removes the excuse of ignorance.

Web3 now sits at that same inflection point. The evidence is no longer ambiguous. Marketing metrics are hollow. User numbers are inflated. Leadership churn is extreme. Journalism is compromised. Exchanges have optimized for extraction rather than infrastructure. Serious professionals are opting out in record numbers.

The most dangerous outcome for Web3 is not collapse. It is stagnation—an ecosystem that survives financially while failing intellectually.

If Web3 wants a future beyond speculative loops, it will need fewer slogans and more discipline: real metrics, real governance, real accountability, and leaders capable of operating through cycles rather than hype.

The emperor has been exposed. What happens next depends on whether Web3 decides to get dressed—or keep walking.

Frequently Asked Questions

Is Web3 actually failing in 2025?Available data suggests stagnation rather than collapse. User activity, spot volumes, and new project formation have declined relative to prior cycles, even as prices remain elevated.

Why do crypto exchanges focus on derivatives instead of spot trading?Derivatives generate significantly higher margins, predictable fee income, and capital efficiency compared to spot trading, especially in low-growth environments.

Are crypto user numbers inflated?Multiple industry reports indicate high account overlap, inactive wallets, and wash trading, meaning headline user figures often overstate real engagement.

Why are experienced executives reluctant to join Web3 companies?Short executive tenures, governance weaknesses, reputational risk, and unclear accountability structures reduce the attractiveness of senior roles.

Can Web3 still professionalise?Possibly—but doing so would require structural changes to incentives, governance, and metrics, not simply better narratives or rebranding.

Conclusion: Clothing the Emperor – A Call for Professionals

The child has spoken: Web3’s emperor is naked, exposed by years of normalised incompetence and cosmetic success metrics. The industry’s problem isn’t that the technology has no potential—it’s that too many of the organisations built around it were never held to professional standards when it mattered most.

If Web3 wants a future beyond speculative loops, it will need fewer slogans and more discipline: real metrics, real governance, real product delivery, and leaders who can operate through cycles rather than only in bull markets. The next era—if it arrives—won’t be defined by louder narratives. It will be defined by boring competence.

That may sound like an insult to the culture that grew Web3—but it’s the opposite. It’s respect for the underlying idea: that trust can be engineered, transparency can be improved, and financial infrastructure can be made more resilient. None of that happens via hype alone. It happens via consistent, accountable execution.

And if that shift doesn’t happen, then the “amateur hour” critique won’t just be a rant. It will be the post-mortem.