WHY BITCOIN WILL NEVER BE POPULAR
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Bitcoin was never designed to please. It wasn't intended to seduce, reassure, or seamlessly integrate into existing habits. From its inception, it presented itself as a cold, demanding, silent object, almost hostile to the average user. And that's precisely why it works. Where popular technologies seek buy-in, Bitcoin imposes responsibility. Where mass-market systems promise simplicity, it introduces complexity as a filter. Where the modern world organizes everything around delegation, Bitcoin brutally reintroduces individual responsibility.
Recent history is replete with so-called revolutionary technologies that succeeded precisely because they absolved the user of all real responsibility. Social networks liberated speech by eliminating the cost of posting. Online banks facilitated access to money while maintaining central control. Platforms simplified the world in exchange for total control. Bitcoin does the opposite. It facilitates nothing without something in return. It liberates nothing without demanding a minimum level of understanding. It protects no one from their own mistakes. It offers no customer service, no recourse, and no forgiveness.
This is where the fundamental misunderstanding surrounding mass adoption arises. Many project onto Bitcoin a trajectory similar to that of the internet, smartphones, or social networks: a marginal phase, then acceleration, then widespread adoption. But this analogy is misleading. The internet triumphed because it gradually masked its complexity. Bitcoin, however, cannot conceal its own without betraying itself. Any attempt to make it “easy” necessarily comes at the cost of delegation, and therefore a reintroduction of what it was supposed to eliminate.
The majority of people don't want to be sovereign. Not for lack of intelligence, but out of an instinctive awareness of the psychological cost of sovereignty. Being responsible means taking responsibility for mistakes without mediation. It means bearing the loss without the possibility of shifting blame. It means living with the constant anxiety of doing wrong. The traditional financial system was built precisely to absorb this anxiety. It promises security in exchange for obedience, stability in exchange for dispossession. Bitcoin removes this implicit pact. It leaves the individual alone to face their choices.
In this context, delegation is not a moral failing. It is a deeply ingrained social mechanism. For centuries, human societies have been structured around specialization and delegated trust. Citizens delegate security to the state, savings to the bank, truth to the expert, and memory to the institution. Bitcoin breaks with this architecture. It recognizes no legitimate authority outside the protocol. It does not distinguish between expert and layperson. It grants no privilege to reputation. It treats all participants the same, with the same indifference.
This indifference is intolerable for a social system based on mediation. It is also intolerable for the majority of individuals. Because being treated as an absolute equal means receiving no special protection whatsoever. The private key is not a romantic symbol of freedom. It is a burden. An object that encapsulates, in a few words, the entirety of financial responsibility. One mistake, one oversight, one loss, and there is no one to call. No form. No recourse. No exceptions.
This is why self-custody will remain a minority practice. Not because it is technically inaccessible, but because it is existentially demanding. It requires accepting a mature relationship with money, free from any infantilization. It demands relinquishing the illusion of absolute protection. It forces us to recognize that sovereignty is not a comfortable right, but a permanent responsibility.
ETFs, custody platforms, and banks offering Bitcoin are often presented as necessary steps toward mass adoption. In reality, they are primarily workarounds. They allow individuals to be exposed to the price without engaging with the protocol. They offer returns without the responsibility. They reintroduce hierarchy, mediation, and dependency. They make Bitcoin compatible with the very world it challenges. And this is precisely why they are far more successful than self-custody.
But this adoption isn't about Bitcoin itself. It's about adopting a derivative, a financial abstraction that retains the name but discards its essence. Bitcoin held through an intermediary is no longer a means of escaping the system, but a product integrated into it. It becomes just another asset, subject to the same logic of control, regulation, and potential confiscation. It ceases to be a disruptive force and becomes merely a variable.
Bitcoin doesn't need to be loved. It doesn't need to be understood by everyone. It doesn't need to convince a majority. Its robustness doesn't rely on popular support, but on the consistency of its rules and the persistence of those willing to bear the cost. It's enough for a sufficiently determined minority to keep running nodes, mining, verifying, and refusing delegation. The rest of the world can ignore it, criticize it, or caricature it. The protocol will continue to produce blocks.
The mistake lies in confusing popularity with resilience. The most popular systems are often the most fragile, because their stability depends on opinion, comfort, and immediate gratification. Bitcoin, however, is designed to survive unpopularity. It offers no emotional incentive to stay. It doesn't reward loyalty. It doesn't punish abandonment. It simply exists according to its own rules, regardless of the narrative surrounding it.
This lack of a need for approval is deeply unsettling for a culture obsessed with validation. It explains why so much discourse seeks to “sell” it, to make it acceptable, to normalize it. As if Bitcoin had to justify its existence to the world. As if it needed a positive narrative to continue. Yet Bitcoin is precisely what remains when narratives fail.
There will always be a temptation to transform Bitcoin into a popular religion, a cultural movement, a rallying symbol. But these attempts inevitably fail, because the protocol does not reward fervor. It recognizes neither faith, nor intention, nor morality. It recognizes only valid signatures and adherence to rules. This coldness is its strength. It prevents any lasting ideological capture.
Bitcoin is not popular because it doesn't appeal to any collective identity. It doesn't promise a better future, only a more honest framework. It doesn't guarantee justice, only predictability. It doesn't correct human inequalities, it makes them more visible. It doesn't erase violence from the world, it removes it from currency.
In a world saturated with products designed to be loved, Bitcoin is a tool designed to work. Its purpose is not universal adoption, but universal accessibility. The difference is crucial. Accessible means that anyone can use it if they accept its rules. Adopted means that everyone will. And nothing in human history suggests that the majority will willingly choose responsibility when a delegated alternative exists.
Bitcoin will survive precisely because it's not suited to the majority. Because it selects those who are willing to slow down, to learn, to doubt, to bear the weight of their choices. Because it refuses to be simplified to the point of becoming harmless. Because it doesn't seek to win the hearts of the masses, but to offer an escape route to those who feel the need for it. It will never be popular. And that's perfectly fine.
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