They Did Their Own ‘Research.’ Now What?

A couple of weeks ago, the crash of two linked cryptocurrencies caused tens of billions of dollars in value to evaporate from digital wallets around the world.

Cryptocurrencies are notoriously volatile, but this wasn’t your average down day: People who thought they knew what they were getting into had, in the space of 24 hours, lost nearly everything. Messages of desperation flooded a Reddit forum for traders of one of the currencies, a coin called Luna, prompting moderators to share phone numbers for international crisis hotlines. Some posters (or “Lunatics,” as the currency’s creator, Do Kwon, has referred to them) shared hope for a turnaround or bailout; most were panicking, mourning and seeking advice.

“My friends who I recommended Luna to all hate me now,” one user wrote. “We all lost our life savings and they have kids. What do I do?” Among the consolations and scolding about mixing friends and business was a rather harsh reply: “DYOR before investing in ANYTHING! No one to blame but themselves.”

“DYOR” is shorthand for “do your own research,” a phrase that, on its face, amounts to excellent if obvious advice — a reminder to stay informed and vigilant against groupthink.

But in the context of a broad collapse of trust in institutions and the experts who speak for them, it has come to mean something more specific. A common refrain in battles about Covid-19 and vaccination, politics and conspiracy theories, parenting, drugs, food, stock trading and media, it signals not just a rejection of authority but often trust in another kind.

DYOR is an attitude, if not quite a practice, that has been adopted by some athletes, musicians, pundits and even politicians to build a sort of outsider credibility. “Do your own research” is an idea central to Joe Rogan’s interview podcast, the most listened to program on Spotify, where external claims of expertise are synonymous with admissions of malice. In its current usage, DYOR is often an appeal to join in, rendered in the language of opting out.

Nowhere are the contradictions of DYOR on such vivid display as in the world of crypto, where the phrase is a rallying cry, a disclaimer, a meme and a joke — an invitation to a community as well as a reminder of its harsh limits.

Against Consensus

Melissa Carrion, a professor at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, who studies the rhetoric of health and medicine, spoke to 50 mothers who had refused one or more vaccines for their children for a study published in 2017.

“Across the board, every single one of them gave some variation of the advice that a mother ‘should do her own research,’” she said in a phone interview. “It was this kind of worldview that was less about the result of the research than the individual process of doing it themselves.”

“There’s this idea that the goal of science is consensus,” Professor Carrion said. “The model they brought to it was that we didn’t need consensus.” She noted that the women she surveyed often used singular rather than plural pronouns. “It was ‘she needs to do her own research,” Professor Carrion said, rather than we need to do ours. Unlike some critical health movements in the past, this was an individualist endeavor.

Anti-vaccine rhetoric is DYOR in a pure anti-expert form. Medicine is a highly credentialed field addressing life-or-death matters which, as practiced, expects a great deal of trust from patients. For a medical expert to warn of the perils of “doing your own research” on vaccines, for example, is to either preach to the converted or to demand trust where it has already been lost.

One of the enticing aspects of cryptocurrencies, which pose an alternative to traditional financial institutions, is that expertise is available to anyone who wants to claim it. There are people who’ve gotten rich, people who know a lot about blockchains and people who believe in the liberating power of digital currencies. There is some recent institutional interest. But nobody’s been around very long, which makes the idea of “researching” your way to prosperity feel more credible.

Earlier this year, in a New York Times guest essay about DYOR and medicine, Nathan Ballantyne and David Dunning cited research suggesting that people new to subject areas are, like some experts, “vulnerable to hubris.” They caution that newcomers can “quickly become unreasonably confident after just a small amount of exposure to the subject,” a phenomenon known as the “beginner’s bubble.”

Cryptocurrency trading, in contrast to medicine, might represent DYOR in pure no-expert form. Virtually everyone is operating in a beginners’ bubble, whether they’re worried about it or not, betting with and against one another, in hopes of making money.

Just DYOR

In crypto, the uses of DYOR are various and contradictory, earnest and ironic sometimes within the same discussion. Breathless investment pitches for new coins are punctuated with “NFA/DYOR” (not financial advice), or admonitions not to invest more than you can afford to lose, which many people are obviously ignoring; stories about getting rich are prefaced with DYOR; requests for advice about which coins to hold are answered with DYOR. It is the siren song of crypto investing.

Here, so-called research materials are often limited to a white paper, marketing materials and testimonials, the “due diligence” posts of others, the reputations of a currency’s creators and the general sentiment of other possible buyers. Will they buy-in, too? Will we take this coin to the moon?

In that way — the momentum of a group — crypto investing isn’t altogether distinct from how people have invested in the stock market for decades. Though here it is tinged with a rebellious, anti-authoritarian streak: We’re outsiders, in this together; we’re doing something sort of ridiculous, but also sort of cool. Though DYOR may be used to foster a sense of community, what it actually describes is participation in a market.

A year ago, Luna boosters (and a few skeptics) in online forums offered the same advice to gathered audiences of potential buyers reading their posts, looking for tips: just DYOR. Thousands invested in both Luna and TerraUSD. The price of Luna climbed from around $5 to over $100. After the crash, at least one Reddit user suggested that the situation highlighted the “limit” of DYOR; the coin’s price had fallen to nearly zero.

“Now it seems like DYOR can only do so much,” the user wrote. Eventually, the user said, you end up relying on “trust.”

For another user, however, DYOR had in fact done a different kind of “so much”: “I did my research,” they wrote, “and I stayed away.”

For Context is a column that explores the edges of digital culture.