Peer-pressured into crypto: what it feels like for a working-class guy

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I grew up in a working class family in the suburbs of Bristol. Not ‘Victoria Beckham’ working class where I got taken to school in a Rolls Royce, but a banged-up-car-shared-between-us kind of working class. We had beans and frozen nuggets for dinner and never went on holiday. My parents were usually stressed about things like bills and mortgage payments so they could never relax. It was always ‘how are we going to sort the next thing?’ 

Breaking out big

From the age of 11, I knew I wanted to be comfortable. I didn’t have a thirst for blood when it came to money, but I wanted to be stress-free. I tried hard at school, aced it, and got a university degree in something with a clear career trajectory: quantity surveying. Straight out of university I got a job that paid £40,000. 

It’s a peculiar feeling making more money than your parents ever had. I saw them fight tooth and nail to keep us warm, clothed, and fed. And here I was, straight out of university and on more money. I was excited about my pay, but also felt like a fraud. 

Rolex o’clock

Feelings of displacement and apprehension slowly dissipated and I managed to integrate into my workplace. It was a whole new world. We’d go out for ‘client’ lunches and expense a £400 bill. On a night out, my workmates, all wearing a Rolex or something similar, would get taxis everywhere. We’d go to bars where it looked out of place to get a pint. 

Over the next two years, I got promotion after promotion, jumping from £40,000 to £58,000 quicker than any 26-year-old should. I quickly found myself losing my roots. Money became an end rather than a means. I’d obsess over watches and cars. I got myself a Mercedes A Class on lease. I wasn’t saving as much as I should have, but I was in this world of wealth and couldn’t help myself. 

In my industry, everyone has money, so there’s a lot of talk about it. Investment is our water cooler chat. Over a drink, my co-workers would take the piss out of me for sitting on my money. I was silly, they’d say, to just have an ISA. I didn’t have a mortgage either, which made me a laughing stock.

Crypto’s calling

One day, I got tired of being made to feel stupid and caved in. It was mid-2021 and crypto was all the noise. Some of my workmates had quite literally made thousands. The boom was well under way, so I thought I’d put some of my savings (£2,000) into crypto and see how it went. I was still going out and spending lavishly (£1200 on nights out, restaurants, and midweek drinks), not to mention all the monthly costs I had picked up: my car (£400), gym membership (£130) and rent (£1400).

Within a couple of months, my money had almost doubled. It was pure adrenaline. It felt like a cheat code; I was managing to save despite living this mad lifestyle. I thought, if I invest all my savings (£11,000 at the time) and manage to doubled the amount, I would have a mortgage. So I put all of it in and, for a month or two, saw it grow (£12,200). It felt really addictive. 

And then crypto started to crash. What people don’t understand is that, with crypto, you’re insulated by fanatic communities, like the ones on Reddit. People truly thought it would recover. It was just a ‘blip’ enforced by old-hat regulatory bodies; old money trying to claw onto this new wild west. 

The crypto crash

Blinded by my initial returns, I decided to keep my money in Bitcoin, but my pot got smaller and smaller and I began to panic. I wanted to pull out, but couldn’t let go of the initial thrill of instant returns. My little free ATM. So I stuck. I wasn’t sure who I had become. I was stressed and found myself going to the gym in the middle of night because I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t fully be myself, just like my parents when I was growing up. 

By winter of 2022, my £11,000 had dropped to £4,000. I felt like an idiot. All the people I had told about my initial makings were asking me about Bitcoin. I told them I pulled out when it was on top. When I did eventually withdraw, my losses came to £7,000. My mortgage plan had gone out the window and my outgoings were still sky-high. 

Sobering up (sort of)

The sobering reality of losing that much money (money which, years ago, would have changed my parents life) made me take stock. In a bid to become less materialistic, I downgraded my car and found a cheaper flat. I now stick with traditional ways of saving. The steady and secure return of ISAs feels a lot calmer. 

People still talk about money at work. They’re currently mad on stocks. Tesla is the one they mention most. Despite feeling like I’ve had this breakthrough, or a breakdown, depending on how you see it, it’s hard to describe how hard it is to stay grounded. Money is a game to the people in my world. You’re made to feel like an idiot if you’re not at the table. I’m sure I will get swept up in it again, but I know that I won’t lose my sense of self again. In this world, it’s the most important thing I have.