How Bali Became Ground Zero for Expat Fakepreneurs and Wannabe CEOs
Indonesia is a land of opportunity, growth, and (wait for it!) expat entrepreneurs who don’t actually do anything. Welcome to startup theater, where the only thing being scaled is the volume of their self-promotion, and the only thing being disrupted is your patience as you endure yet another "game-changing business idea" that, much like their bank accounts, remains entirely conceptual.
You know the type. They talk a big game, dropping terms like "market penetration," and "monetization strategy" with the confidence of a TED speaker, yet their actual business output consists of a half-finished Squarespace site, an inactive LinkedIn, and a business card so glossy it blinds you to the fact that nothing tangible exists.
They aren’t here to build businesses. No, no. They’re here to play the part of a businessperson. To sip oat milk lattes in co-working spaces, attend networking events that are 90% selfies and 10% business jargon, and throw around vague, noncommittal phrases like "We're still in stealth mode."
But let’s not pretend this is unique to Indonesia. The global startup grift has infected every digital nomad hotspot from Chiang Mai to Medellín. But in Jakarta and Bali, where the cost of living is low and the illusion of success is easy to maintain, it has reached epidemic levels.
So let’s examine how hustle culture meets rich kid cosplay, and uncover why this nonsense needs to stop.
The LinkedIn Theater Troupe: Where Every Expat is a "Founder" (But Not a Business Owner)
What’s the easiest way to become a CEO without the hassle of actually running a company? Simple: Move to Indonesia, buy a stock logo, and start calling yourself one. Congratulations! You’re now an entrepreneur. No business model? No problem. No revenue? Even better.
This is the LinkedIn Theater Troupe, an exclusive club of expats who have mastered the art of appearing important while doing absolutely nothing. Their real talent? Making vague job titles sound like multi-million dollar operations.
Here’s how the naming game works:
"Founder & Visionary" – Because "guy with an idea" doesn’t sound as powerful.
"Investor & Advisor" – For what? Doesn’t matter.
"Scaling Consultant" – Assisting other imaginary businesses in expanding their imaginary operations.
These individuals aren’t here to build businesses; they’re here to perform entrepreneurship like it’s a community theater production of The Wolf of Wall Street. Their real day-to-day activities?
Drinking artisanal coffee in co-working spaces.
Dropping the words “scalability,” “ecosystem,” and “disruption” into casual conversations.
Attending networking events where everyone is a “CEO” but nobody seems to have a product.
And let’s talk about their favorite topic: fundraising. They speak about it as if they’re negotiating Series A investments with Sequoia Capital, but in reality, their “funding round” consists of asking their parents for another cash injection.
For all the big talk of financial models, aggressive expansion, and market potential, they never, ever mention revenue. You know, that tiny, insignificant detail that separates a business from a very expensive hobby.
So, if they aren’t making money… how are they still here, sipping coconut lattes, dressed in linen, pretending to “scale” their non-existent companies?
Ah. Now we get to the real business model.
The Passive Income Safety Net: It’s Not a Business, It’s a Lifestyle Subsidy
Real entrepreneurs? They bet the farm on their ventures. They max out credit cards, lose sleep over payroll, and spend their days fighting to keep the lights on.
The expat fakepreneur? They order an extra-large matcha latte, settle into their beanbag chair at a co-working space, and patiently wait for the next bank transfer from back home.
You see, their business model is about subsidizing an extended tropical sabbatical while maintaining the illusion of ambition.
Let’s break down the three primary revenue streams keeping these non-businesses afloat:
1. Rental Income from the West
What they say: “Yeah, I own a property back in Sydney/London/New York, but I’m all-in on my startup.”
What they mean: “I collect rent from tenants actually working for a living while I pretend to be a visionary.”
Every month, like clockwork, their property manager funnels rent money into their account, allowing them to "bootstrap" their company (read: fund their beachfront lifestyle while achieving absolutely nothing).
2. Family Money (Which They Pretend Doesn’t Exist)
What they say: “I believe in bootstrapping.”
What they mean: “My parents bankroll my lifestyle, and I will avoid acknowledging this at all costs.”
It's the silent lifeline of the trust-fund entrepreneur. While they wax poetic about "financial independence", there’s a quiet, unseen force keeping them afloat: a generous monthly stipend from their unsuspecting parents.
The best part? They genuinely believe they’re self-made. It’s not a trust fund if you never call it that.
3. Crypto Gains (From 2021, Now Rapidly Disappearing)
What they say: “I’ve always been into alternative finance and decentralization.”
What they mean: “I YOLO’d into Dogecoin and, for a brief, glorious moment, felt like a financial genius.”
These are the ones who rode the crypto boom and, for a short period, thought they were the next Warren Buffett. Now? They’re slowly burning through what’s left, hoping another bull run arrives before they have to (gasp!) get a real job.
Why This is So Infuriating
A real entrepreneur wakes up every morning with the pressure of survival. The fakepreneur? They have no urgency, no risk, and no accountability.
Because when your entire startup experiment is funded by passive income, failure is just a signal to pivot to another vague, unprofitable idea.
But does this realization stop them? Of course not! Which brings us to… the fake business culture they’ve built around themselves.
The Startup Cult: An Economy Built on Vague Promises and Instagram Stories
The 'Expat Startup Cult' is where business is secondary to personal branding, and "traction" is measured in Instagram likes, not revenue. Here, every day is a carefully curated performance, where the main product being marketed is the illusion of success.
This is where the real grift happens; not in actually building a company, but in manufacturing credibility through mutual validation. No one here is selling a product, launching a service, or solving a problem. Instead, they’re selling each other on the belief that something big is happening.
It’s a human centipede of LinkedIn endorsements, where everyone is too invested in the illusion to question it.
1. A fakepreneur creates a vague “startup.”
The website is a single landing page, the "product" exists only as a mood board, and their first user? A cousin who felt too guilty to say no.
2. Another fakepreneur calls themselves a “mentor” and gives advice on how to grow that startup.
"Have you considered scaling?"
"You need to focus on traction."
"It’s all about community-building, bro."
(Translation: They have never built a business in their life, but they’ve read a lot of Medium articles.)
3. A third fakepreneur starts a “business accelerator” that helps the first two fakepreneurs connect with other fakepreneurs.
Of course, it’s a paid accelerator, where attendees shell out $500 to sit in a room with people just as clueless as them and listen to someone explain how “networking is the key to success.”
4. They all post about each other on LinkedIn, tagging each other in praise-filled posts about “grindset.”
“So inspired by my convo today with [INSERT FAKE CEO NAME]. Their vision is truly NEXT LEVEL! 🚀🔥”
“Proud to be mentoring this rockstar entrepreneur who is about to DISRUPT THE INDUSTRY! 🚀”
“Huge shoutout to [INSERT FAKE ACCELERATOR] for fostering such an incredible startup ecosystem. #Hustle #GrowthMindset”
And suddenly—BOOM! They’ve tricked the social circle into believing something is actually happening.
The reality? Nothing is happening.
No revenue. No customers. No functioning business. Just an endless cycle of people throwing the same buzzwords at each other, producing nothing but LinkedIn dopamine hits and carefully filtered co-working space selfies.
But what happens when the illusion finally breaks? When the rental income dries up, the investors don’t materialize, or someone asks for actual proof of traction?
Well… let’s just say, the exit strategy is always pre-planned.
The Great Vanishing Act: When Reality Hits and the Money Runs Out
Every fakepreneur’s journey begins with delusions of grandeur and ends with a hastily booked one-way flight back home.
At first, life in Indonesia is easy. The monthly rental income rolls in, the networking events provide endless opportunities for vague chatter, and the Instagram stories make it all look so convincing. But then, one day, the inevitable happens:
The passive income dries up. (Maybe that London flat isn’t renting as well as it used to.)
The trust fund is suddenly “discussed” by a disapproving family member.
The crypto wallet, once a source of smug confidence, has collapsed under the weight of bad investments and meme coin hype.
And then? Panic.
The fake startup evaporates overnight. One moment, they were “scaling operations”, and the next? Crickets.
The 'Great Expat Entrepreneurial Lifecycle' Ends in Three Predictable Stages:
Disappearing From Social Media – The once-daily LinkedIn posts about “hustle” and “building something big”? Gone. Their website? Still says "Coming Soon." It’s as if they were never here.
New Identity Pivot – The rebrand begins. Yesterday, they were a “Founder & Visionary.” Today, they’re a Mindset Coach, a Personal Branding Consultant, or even a Life Coach (despite their own life being in free fall).
The Great Escape – Quietly, without fanfare, they book a flight home. No one in the expat scene acknowledges their disappearance because, honestly, there are already ten new fakepreneurs to replace them.
And just like that, they vanish. Their grand startup? Forgotten. Their business card? In a trash bin outside a coworking space.
Meanwhile, the next wave of hopeful expat “entrepreneurs” arrives, wide-eyed and ready to play the exact same game.
And so, the cycle of delusion continues.
The 'Expat Fakepreneurial Spectacle' is a toxic sideshow that actively undermines the real business community.
Why is it so fundamentally, offensively wrong?
It wastes the time of real entrepreneurs. People actually trying to build something have to wade through an ocean of nonsense before finding genuine collaborators.
It misleads aspiring business owners. It tricks people into thinking success is just about networking and good branding, rather than blood, sweat, and actual customers.
It destroys trust in expat-led businesses. Locals see the revolving door of expat startups that fizzle out in six months and rightfully become skeptical of any foreigner claiming to be a “founder.”
It makes hardworking entrepreneurs look silly. The real ones, the ones actually grinding, get lumped in with the posers.
These people are actively creating a culture of illusion, distraction, and noise.
Want to spot the fakes? Just ask:
🔥 "How does your business actually make money?"
Watch them panic. Watch them pivot. Then? Walk away.
These people aren’t entrepreneurs. They’re just on an extended, self-important holiday, waiting for the bank transfer from home to arrive.