“Oh … sorry, Adair – is he around?” I stammered, having expected to greet the chairman of the insignificantly-sized investment company Kermitted Asset Management – only to find my laptop screen filled with fur, teeth and whiskers. The freakishly large hamster looked at me blankly – he has many unexpected skills but talking isn’t one of them – before letting out a yelp of surprise and suddenly disappearing from view.
“Sorry about that,” the chairman apologised as he took the place of his pet-turned-bodyguard. “The little chap has been impossible since we opened a Robinhood account for him.” “You’ve got Adair trading shares?” I asked in disbelief. “You make it sound like I’m forcing him,” sighed the chairman. “In reality, we can’t keep him away from the screen – if I hadn’t given him my phone, he’d already be trying to muscle in on our call.
“That’s the trouble with this ‘gamification of investment’ business – it’s all too easy to start and increasingly difficult to stop.” “Only if you have a notional grasp of the possibility of making cash,” I protested. “And surely you’re not telling me …?” “Oh, good heavens, no,” laughed the chairman. “He just spends his day staring intently at various screens and occasionally hitting buttons on a keyboard.”
“That pretty much sums up my lockdown,” I sighed. “So is he winning?” “Surprisingly enough, yes,” the chairman replied. “I helped him get into that GamesStop excitement early-doors and, for whatever reason, Adair’s bouts of button-hitting have dovetailed neatly with the stock’s lurches in price.” “I suppose that makes as much sense as anything else in the saga,” I shrugged. “Except … what put you onto GameStop?”
“Not what but who,” said the chairman. “I was relaxing one day by browsing a few of the more entertaining investor forums when I came across some posts from a ‘Zeitgeist’. I don’t imagine that’s his real name but it certainly catches the eye and, anyway, he was explaining how he and his chums were looking to ‘stick it to the man’ by taking on a bunch of hedge funds who had been shorting GameStop.”
“I hate to break it to you,” I said. “But when people use that phrase, you’re almost exactly ‘the man’ they have in mind.” “But that’s precisely my point,” laughed the chairman. “Can you think of a better hedge for Kermitted than being on the side of Zeitgeist and his gang?” “Again, that has a certain logic to it,” I conceded. “So have you picked up any other, er, tips from him since?”
“Zeitgeist?” replied the chairman. “Sadly not. Straight after that he lost his access privileges.” “The regulator can do that?” I asked in surprise. “Oh, it wasn’t the regulator,” said the chairman. “It was his mother. Something to do with not handing in his chemistry homework, I heard.” “Ha,” I snorted. “Swapping share tips with schoolboys. I bet that made you feel silly.” “Au contraire,” the chairman protested. “It made me feel nostalgic.
“Surely you realise you can never be sure who is behind any internet alias. Or even what – as illustrated by old ‘StockGod99’ pawing away at my phone on the floor. What’s more, there was a time – not 25 years ago, in fact – when it felt as if every third person posting on a bulletin board was in their teens. To read the press, you’d think the internet and markets had never collided before but communication and investing go hand-in-hand.
“And while the tech might be a bit shinier this time around, the rules of engagement are still the same.” “And they are?” I prompted. “Well,” began the chairman. “As you know, it’s not in my nature to be early into investments but, when it come to retail investors and their prime motivation – FOMO – that really is the only way to make money.
“Spot the trend – hey, if you’re feeling creative, by all means start it – buy in and don’t get greedy. Always leave a little behind for the next guy when you sell.” “Isn’t that what some professional investors have been doing for decades?” I said. “Steady,” warned the chairman. “You’re on dangerous ground there. Speaking of which, any idea how to post videos on TikTok?”
