Money in the Air: The Mirage of the Get-Rich-Quick Online Culture in Thailand

Scroll through Thai social media feeds these days, and you will find a new mantra floating around: #เงินอยู่ในอากาศ, or “money is in the air”. Originated from a Thai series on Netflix, Mad Unicorn, the phrase is now being used by netizens eagerly sharing posts that boast about how they have turned their social media content into quick cash. Some flaunt screenshots of their earnings, others parade photos, real or AI-generated, of lavish lifestyles that are non-existent. To the casual viewer, it looks like all it takes is savvy content creation, minimal investment, and viral engagement to transform your life overnight, just like how the show implied that opportunities for a better life were always out there for grabs. But beneath the glimmer lies a much darker matrix of illusion, manipulation, and structural risk.

On one level, these posts feed the dream that anyone can strike gold online. The subtext is simple: if you post, if you engage, if you’re clever enough, you too can monetise your content and rake in thousands. In a precarious economy where stable jobs are scarce and wages stagnant, the idea of turning posts into profit feels like a breakthrough. But what is left unsaid is that social media income is rarely as easily accessible as these stories suggest. For every creator who makes money, countless others struggle with algorithms, platform policies, and the exhausting treadmill of daily posting.

A paper on Thai influencers highlights how they constantly juggle authenticity with commercial intent, carefully curating content to appeal while hiding the transactional mechanics behind the scenes. What is presented as spontaneous expression is often a strategic performance engineered to attract attention and convert that attention into dollars. In reality, not everyone is eligible for the monetisation programmes run by various social media platforms. For instance, Facebook’s content monetisation is now by invitation only whereas eligibility for TikTok’s Creator Rewards Program requires at least 10,000 followers and 100,000 views in the preceding 30 days.

The rise of #moneyisintheair is … a reminder of how fragile financial hope has become in an economy where wages stagnate and traditional jobs feel insecure.

Additionally, where monetisation metrics consider the number of posts as one of the factors, some creators are now turning to AI to help them churn out videos and images without much context, diluting the overall quality of news feeds. Some even create Facebook groups to share AI prompts that can be used on Google’s Gemini to create content such as that in Figure 1 and encourage group members to like and share each other’s posts, artificially fudging engagement metrics for one another.

On another level, the very act of posting about sudden wealth is itself a clever form of monetisation. Worse, some images posted are mere illusions, derived from AI to project a façade of success. The very act of publishing the success story becomes the vehicle for monetisation: more clicks, shares, and comments feed into visibility, which can attract brand deals, ad revenue, or affiliate links. In effect, the narrative is its own product, which is a loop that may resemble a Ponzi scheme more than genuine entrepreneurship. In the digital version of a pyramid, the wealth (or appearance of wealth) flows upwards to a few, while many lower-tier participants invest their time, attention, and even money, hoping for returns that never materialise.

The role of influencers in facilitating or legitimising Ponzi schemes is well documented. The “success stories” they promote can serve as implicit endorsements, coaxing followers into risky opportunities. In financial spheres, the phenomenon of “finfluencers” amplifying risky or fraudulent schemes is well known as some use exaggerated claims or hype to pump up the value of stocks they buy at low price only to dump them at profit later, leaving their followers exposed. The same logic applies when social media monetisation is portrayed as effortless, when in fact it carries high hidden costs. These hidden costs include the constant labour of maintaining visibility, posting frequently, monitoring analytics, and responding to engagement in order to satisfy platform algorithms. Creators also bear the financial risks of equipment, advertising, and unpaid trial-and-error, which rarely appear in success narratives.

This cycle exposes a deeper vulnerability in our digital culture: the way virality preys on aspiration. Luxurious lifestyles – whether real, rented, or AI-generated – become normalised on our screens. At its core business model, social media does not just reflect consumer desires, it manufactures them, conditioning users to equate visibility with value and wealth with worth. This is not just a matter of aesthetics. In Thailand, about 89 per cent of Thai consumers say social media affects their purchasing behaviour. The pressure to “perform success” can push young people into debt, risky ventures, or mental strain, chasing a mirage painted in polished posts. In a “click economy” where virality is the currency, content creators and social influencers become complicit in producing content that only serves what users want to see, including emotionally charged content and the illusion of getting rich quickly. The rise of #moneyisintheair is not simply a quirky trend; it is a reminder of how fragile financial hope has become in an economy where wages stagnate and traditional jobs feel insecure. It lures with splendour, but the ground beneath is unstable, hidden, and often designed only to funnel value upwards.

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