A visual representation of bitcoin on Oct. 23, 2017, in London (Dan Kitwood/Getty Images)

I believe I first heard about bitcoin some years back in between one of those breaks that happen during MSNBC’s Morning Joe, a program I turn to when I want to immediately begin the day by cursing out people I see on television for not knowing what they’re talking about. I barely pay attention to those reports because 1) I do not invest in the stock market presently, and 2) numbers and I go together about as well as Future and his baby mamas. It frankly sounded like some rich-people shit, and while I aspire to overcome my student loan debt and join the tax bracket I feel is my destiny, I try to fight in my weight class until I get my weight up.

However, in recent months I have been given unsolicited intel about the cryptocurrency from a source both online and offline: niggas.


Niggas like my barber. Now, before it sounds like I’m reading him, let me make clear that I would never do such a thing. Like, we just reunited, and as someone with a hairline that has been in an abusive relationship with previous barbers, I dare not fuck with the nigga who does my fades. Besides, we are friends on Facebook, which means he may very well see this post in the future.

That aside, that nigga knows I don’t care about bitcoin because he brings it up to me every single week. About a month ago, he went on and on about how bitcoin is the wave and that if I wanted to stop “writing all those articles,” I need to get into bitcoin. He proceeded to whip out his phone and show me some chart that I gathered was to show how much one bitcoin equals in U.S. dollars.

Now, when I’m in the barbershop, I tend to ignore the chatter around me (it’s best that I, as a gay black man who pays attention to socioeconomic matters, ignore anything said for the sake of my hairline) and just scroll Twitter—or, when I have to keep my head up, sing Migos and Anita Baker in my head.


So as I shifted from “All Ass” to “Giving You the Best That I Got,” I wasn’t anticipating an informational on how I needed to put some money into bitcoin to, you know, get out of the ghetto like the final episode of Good Times.

“You don’t care, Mike?”

Listen. As talkative as I am, I am pretty skilled in nonverbal communication. Shoutout to my mama who gave me the trait of having facial expressions that work as hard as Beyoncé and her dancers on the Formation World Tour. But even he got me to speak a lil’ more.


“I just paid a student loan and some other bills. I ain’t bitcoining a damn thing, but I get it.” Translation: I ain’t got no damn $11,000 or whatever it is for a bitcoin.

“But you got that book money.”


My barber let me be, and I wished him well on his journey to become Trap Thurston Howell III. For the record, the fade was nice. Soon after that conversation, out of the blue, someone else hit me up from back home talking about bitcoin, too. This was a reminder of the burdens of having not changed your number since high school.


However, unlike my barber, this person was a bit of a scammer, and yes, I have a book coming out soon, and I’ll be damned if you catch the kid sleeping as I Josephine Johnny my way to one of my longtime goals.

And I have long known that the minute I search something, my spam mail and social media feeds suddenly feature related material, but ohmigod, a lot of y’all are out here talking about bitcoin like it’s the new Mega Millions. That and other virtual currencies whose names I don’t remember ’cause, as with bitcoin, I couldn’t give a smooth damn. Again, I will deal with that rich-folks shit when I get the coin. Again, my student loans are oppressive.

Listen, I know we all gotta make it in Trump’s America, so hustle, hustle hard and all that, but beloveds, know your audience.


I don’t know when bitcoin got so lit among many of our folks. It’s giving me SoulCycle, veganism and “insert black girl singer with weird accent” here. Not saying you’re wrong but, like, chill out. If you know me and are into this, do me a favor: Don’t talk to me about that bitcoin shit.

I do not want to talk about bitcoin in a house.

I do not want to talk about bitcoin in the shop.

I do not want to talk about bitcoin here or there.

I do not want to talk about bitcoin anywhere.

I do not like talking about bitcoin.

No, for real, nigga—I do not like conversations about bitcoin, so go try Sam-I-Am because if it’s not clear by now, Michael Arceneaux truly does not care.