What It’s Like to Be a Crypto Journalist: An Honest Take

Wonder what awaits at the bottom of the crypto journalism rabbit hole? Spoiler: tea is sometimes served to the sound of the Mad Hatter’s mumbling, with only the Cheshire Cat’s grin left after the next scandal fades.

Sometimes it feels like the rules are written on the fly, and reason is left somewhere at the surface. 

However, if you’re curious, jump in. One thing’s certain: it won’t be dull.

What It’s Like to Live in Alice’s World

In crypto journalism, you’re not just carefully observing trends and analyzing what’s happening. It often feels like stepping into Lewis Carroll’s Looking-Glass, where you have to run as fast as you can just to stay in place. To move even a single step forward, you’ll need to go twice as fast. (Possibly the first real insight for newcomers—Ed.)

At first, it sounds like an exaggeration—until, within a week, you need to: 

• Make sense of a new protocol and its tokenomics
• Read through three white papers
• Explain it all in a way that makes sense not just to your industry peers, but also to your aunt, who still calls every cryptocurrency “those bitcoins”

If you’re not a blogger but a journalist at a crypto media outlet, there’s no room for slow research or steadily building expertise on a single topic. Your article is due today, and every day starts from zero. Yesterday, you were deep into the challenges of DAOs, and today, you need to turn around an expert piece on modular blockchains. Just as you start to grasp ZK-rollups, a new update drops, and your piece needs a full rewrite. 

And so it goes, in an endless cycle. 

Surprisingly, most crypto journalists come from humanities backgrounds, with only a handful holding technical degrees. 

When crypto media have to choose between a technically savvy candidate who struggles with writing and a strong writer who can shape a compelling story, the writer usually wins. After all, if a bear can learn to ride a bike, someone fluent in shaping ideas can just as well figure out the latest Ethereum upgrade or the mempool.

Write Fast—Or Better Yet, Write It Yesterday

A traditional journalist might spend days refining a column. A crypto journalist knows that if you’re editing a piece about a new project the next day, there’s a real chance it’s already outdated. Not because the writing is poor (it might be excellent), but because overnight there have been four new releases, two hard forks, and a couple of memecoins that spiked 600% and then collapsed to zero.

You’ve done the work: researched the topic, reached out to the project team, asked tough questions. Then the editor looks at it and says, “This is already outdated. The team just tweeted they’ve rebuilt everything.”

In crypto journalism, “do it well” isn’t enough. You also have to do it fast—and be prepared for your piece to become obsolete before you’ve even made it to the kitchen for a cup of tea.

Scam or Livelihood?

This profession also involves moments of moral choice. It’s a rare privilege to work for a well-funded, independent media outlet that pays for original reporting and creative work. More often, that’s not the case. You won’t always choose what to write. That decision often comes from the advertising department.

You might receive a draft from a project team: a polished story about a potential unicorn, full of praise, slick slides, and a refined press release. Your job is to adapt it into something readable and engaging. But what if the project seems questionable? The team is anonymous, the token’s purpose unclear, and the roadmap reads like Elon Musk talking about a mission to Mars.

Yes, there will be a “Sponsored” label at the top and a disclaimer at the bottom. But most readers won’t reach those lines, and many will assume that if it’s published, someone has vetted the content.

In such cases, you can’t write what you really think. The piece is commissioned work—paid content that keeps the project running and spares you the look of reproach from a cat sitting beside an empty bowl.

It’s a compromise you’ll face more often than expected in this often-romanticized profession.

Speaking to Both Geeks and Beginners

You’re writing for three audiences, not one. 

The first is someone who’s just bought their first altcoins on an exchange. They might not yet know the difference between Ethereum and essential oil, but already feel like a rising shark in the crypto market. To them, it all seems simple—“buy and get rich.” Your article might be the one that helps them take the space more seriously. 

The second is the experienced developer who won’t miss the chance to comment that your explanation of the Tendermint consensus mechanism wasn’t entirely accurate.

You have to appeal to both. Write too simply, and you’ll be seen as a dilettante. Write too technically, and you’ll be called a snob. Striking the balance between accessible and in-depth is as easy as configuring a working blockchain node. 

Most importantly, you have to write in a way that doesn’t lose any of these readers by the second paragraph, because (yes!) the time a user spends on the page directly affects monetization.

The third—and most attentive—reader is your editor. They might flag anything from a fuzzy structure and overly long subheadings to a cautious tone that reads like formality. What they want is a piece that hooks quickly, stays focused, answers every question (even the obvious ones), and doesn’t get too technical (because they’re still thinking about that first reader).

If the piece doesn’t meet the mark, it gets sent back for revision.

The headline needs to be clickable—but not clickbait. Honest. Ideally, with numbers and names. It should also include the word “Explained” along with two relevant SEO keywords. Yes, all of that, at once.

Welcome to a World Where Everything Is Absurd

Some days, you open the news and see that yet another project lost $300 million because the developers stored access keys centrally and forgot to secure them. And you catch yourself thinking, “Well, at least it’s a respectable sum this time.” In crypto, if the losses don’t have six zeros, it’s barely newsworthy.

• The stories get louder.
• The numbers, more convincing.
• The failures, more dramatic.

Because by tomorrow, someone else will be reporting on a $500 million exploit, and your modest hundred million won’t impress anyone anymore.

Or you find yourself reading the white paper of a new project, with 12 pages filled with abstract reflections on the philosophy of Web3, and just one paragraph explaining how any of it is actually supposed to work. No mention of a business model. No explanation of how investors might profit.

At first, you’re surprised. Then you start making ironic remarks during editorial meetings. Eventually, you stop asking questions altogether. And that’s a troubling sign. Because when everything starts to resemble a theatre of the absurd, you risk no longer taking the dangers seriously—just like your readers.

However, remember that crypto journalism is a responsibility. On the other side of the screen are real money, real lives, and real trust.

And so you sit down to write again. Because someone has to explain it—clearly, simply. Or at least try.