What’s the difference between a cryptocurrency like Bitcoin, and a multi-level marketing business like Herbalife? One is a scam and a cult that will consume your life, leave you unable to think or talk about anything else to a degree that alienates you from all your friends, and leave you much poorer than you were when you started dabbling in it. The other sells vitamins and stuff.
Okay, maybe that’s going a bit too far. The jury is very much out on whether cryptocurrency is just a passing fad or something that will revolutionise the way we spend, save and even govern ourselves. (A third possibility, which is that it will stick around on the side without completely changing the world, is a dark horse.) But even crypto backers have to concede that a shiny new, futuristic, much-talked-about and barely comprehensible product really lends itself to fly-by-night get-rick-quick schemes and fraudsters.
OneCoin is probably the most notorious example of a cryptocurrency scam. And its co-founder, Ruja Ignatova, has spent the last few years on the run as a result. Her rise, fall and disappearance was covered in an excellent BBC podcast, The Missing Crypto Queen, which has now been adapted and expanded into a compulsively readable book by its host.1
The most powerful force in the universe isn’t gravity nor nuclear fusion nor Boban Marjanović. It’s FOMO - fear of missing out. That’s what has brought me back to Twitter after I’ve quit and deleted my account (I’m still resisting so far, but the lure is still there, like just one cigarette for old time’s sake) and what has led me to drop a little money on crypto in my Weathsimple account.
Hey, maybe it will come back. At least I didn’t throw everything I had at crypto, like some people now learning about market volatility and investment diversification the hard way.
The Bulgarian-born, German-raised Ignatova’s stroke of genius was pairing crypto FOMO with multi-level marketing. Some of Europe’s most successful MLM salespeople - the tiny handful atop the pyramid legitimate business who actually money at it - jumped aboard early, and before long, buyers around the world were throwing their good money into what was dubbed a “Bitcoin killer.”
To get around some legal hurdles, OneCoin officially sold “information packages” about investing in cryptocurrency (at least one of which was plagiarised from a …For Dummies book) with some of this supposedly revolutionary cryptocurrency as a bonus. Ignatova and her associates never really explained how it worked, but many starry-eyed crypto novices were dazzled by promises of untold wealth- the kind early investors in Bitcoin eventually earned - and glitzy conventions which sometimes featured A-list entertainers and sponsorship from legitimate companies.
And there was the alleged Forbes magazine cover shown above, which added legitimacy to Ignatova’s scheme. In reality it was just a special advertising supplement in the Bulgarian edition, but OneCoin salespeople were more than willing to let their marks believe otherwise. Surely a respected business publication would never put a fraud artist on its cover, right?
While Ignatova was announcing that even more OneCoins were going to be distributed and that the value of each coin would immediately double - Siri, how does supply and demand work? - a few online MLM watchdogs were keeping an eye on the OneCoin phenomenon. At least someone was, because many government regulators, especially in OneCoin’s home base of Bulgaria were asleep at the switch if not on the take. The tide really began to turn when a Swedish programmer was asked to create a blockchain for OneCoin. The thing is, this was after the company had already announced that its blockchain was up and running.
The whole thing began to unravel shortly thereafter, and many of Ignatova’s colleagues - including her brother - were arrested. But the crypto queen herself hopped on a Ryanair flight (who’d look for a business titan flying on freaking Ryanair, she must have been thinking) and hasn’t been conclusively found since then. As with most Ponzi schemes, the people who got in and out early made good money. The ones who came in later - including a distressing number of would-be investors from Africa - were the ones who got screwed.
Was OneCoin a legitimate business that got out of hand, or a scam from the beginning? Ignatova isn’t making herself available for interviews, so we can’t know for sure. There’s no doubt it became an elaborate, deliberate fraud, though, as illustrated by one experiment in which people bought and sold small amounts of OneCoin and compared it to the company “blockchain” listing, only to find their transactions conspicuously absent. It was little more than a random number generator.
Where is she now? The book drops a few hints, including the possibility that she may have fled in her expensive yacht and has been living mostly in international waters since then, but nothing definitive. Hopefully, this book will bring even more attention to the case and lead someone to recognise her.
And yet, even after OneCoin has been exposed as a massive fraud, the true believers are still out there, mostly in poorer countries where the story has received less coverage and some people are hungry for the American Bulgarian Dream. You won’t find it on one of these legitimate crypto exchanges plastered on F1 cars and advertised by Matt Damon, but there may be a friend of a friend of a friend out there willing to take your money for a product that may not exist.
Earlier in this piece, I linked to a YouTube video exposing OneCoin’s “educational” documents as plagiarised. At least one commenter wasn’t having it:
Even when people realize they’ve been scammed, it can take a long time for them to admit it. To anyone else, or to themselves.