The first thing you notice on your arrival is the density. Not of bodies, but of signals. A thousand pings, pings of pings, messages nested inside GIFs, inside wallets, inside promises. The alleys here are Discord channels, the stalls are pinned posts, and the air is thick with the smell of opportunity… or maybe that’s just the ozone tang of a server farm running hot.

You keep moving. The corridors narrow. Above you, layers of code and commerce stack like illegal extensions, the kind that once sprouted on Kowloon’s rooftops, where residents built extra rooms without permits. A pixelated noodle shop sells generative koi that swim only in augmented ponds. A tattooist offers blockchain-verified skin designs “minted directly on your dermis.”

Everyone smiles here. Everyone says “GM.” The greetings are warm, the eyes are calculating. You can’t tell if the man waving you over is an artist, a hustler, or both. In this place, the difference is academic.

Somewhere in the shadows, a rug is being pulled. Somewhere else, a fortune is being made. The two events may be the same.

It grew like coral, with each new structure clinging to the last, each resident improvising their own patch of space. By the late 1980s, 35,000 people lived in just 2.6 hectares, making it one of the most densely populated places on Earth. No central authority, no master blueprint, just the relentless pressure of need and opportunity.

The NFT Cryptoart space is much the same.

In 2021, art-related NFT sales hit $2.9 billion, with projects sprouting overnight, smart contracts stacked on top of one another, marketplaces forming like makeshift stalls. There is no zoning, no oversight, no single architect. Decentralisation is both its selling point and its structural flaw.

In both worlds, the absence of authority breeds ingenuity. It also breeds instability.

As the tour continues, you turn into a side street… or maybe it’s a sidechain? The signage is dazzling: neon gradients, animated avatars, slogans promising “the next blue-chip.”

A stall sells procedurally generated landscapes that shift with the weather in your city. Next to it, a vendor hawks a coin you’ve never heard of, its whitepaper printed on a single crumpled page. A gallery invites you in, but the door is just a Discord invite link.

A man in a bomber jacket leans in close. “Floor price is about to moon,” he whispers, as if sharing a family secret. His breath smells of energy drinks and desperation.

You nod, though you’re not sure if you believe him, or if he believes himself. In 2022, the floor price of a Bored Ape Yacht Club NFT halved in just three months. Here, fortunes turn faster than you can refresh the feed.

In Kowloon, you could find dentists without licenses, noodle shops without permits, and gambling dens run by the triads. Yet you could also find families who had lived there for generations, neighbours who shared meals, and children playing in rooftop gardens.

In NFTs, pseudonymous artists, flippers, rug-pullers, and genuine innovators all share the same cramped digital space. The “GM” culture acts as a kind of social adhesive, a daily ritual of optimism that can mask predatory behaviour. More than 80% of NFTs created for free on OpenSea have been identified as fraud or spam.

Both communities thrive on proximity. Both blur the line between survival and exploitation.

Back on the tour, you climb a staircase that seems to have no end, emerging into sudden light. In Kowloon, the rooftops were a patchwork of gardens, chicken coops, and illegal extensions; one of the few places residents could find air and sun. Here, they’re private Telegram groups, invite-only X Spaces, and encrypted channels where “alpha” is traded like contraband.

And yet, from up here, the city looks almost beautiful. The chaos resolves into a kind of pattern. A living organism, pulsing with energy. You can almost forget the scams, the collapses, the betrayals. Almost.

A rumour can double the worth of a stall, or wipe it out. Trust is the only real currency, and it’s always in short supply.

In the Walled City, cash changed hands in back rooms. With NFTs, it’s crypto in a hot wallet, one click away from vanishing. Rug pulls make up nearly 40% of crypto scams, costing users $2.8 billion in a single year. The speed of the market is intoxicating, but it leaves no time for reflection.

Eventually, the tour comes to a close. You find yourself at the edge of the city. The noise fades. The light changes. You step through a gap in the wall, or maybe you just close the tab.

Outside, the air feels different. Cleaner, quieter. You realise how much you’d adapted to the chaos, how normal it had begun to feel. You think of Kowloon’s demolition in 1993–94, and the way its myth grew larger than the place itself. You wonder if NFTs will follow the same path…

Kowloon lives on in photographs, in urban legend, in the memories of those who called it home. The NFT space may one day be the same, as a story told in screenshots, in archived smart contracts, in the nostalgia of those who survived its boom and bust.

The question is whether that myth will be a cautionary tale or a celebration. And whether, when we tell it, we’ll remember the beauty as vividly as the rot.

References

Kowloon Walled City population density (35,000 in 2.6 hectares)
→ Wikipedia overview
→ Rare Historical Photos deep dive

NFT art sales in 2021 ($2.9 billion peak)
→ CryptoPotato market analysis
→ InsideBitcoins report

Bored Ape Yacht Club floor price collapse (2022)
→ NFT Evening report
→ The Block’s year-end summary

OpenSea free NFT fraud rate (over 80%)
→ VICE investigation
→ Engadget coverage

Crypto rug pulls (40% of scams, $2.8B lost)
→ Chainalysis report
→ Sifted article on NFT heists

Kowloon demolition (1993–94)
→ Wikipedia timeline
→ HowStuffWorks retrospective

Dan | BloqDigital is a lighting designer and digital artist based in the UK, who writes about Art, Technology, Web3 and Culture.

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