I had almost $4,600 at one point but squandered that
Across the United States, a generation of young men — many feeling economically left behind — have turned to prediction markets as both a financial instrument and a rite of passage. Platforms like Kalshi and Polymarket now count nearly 40 percent of men aged 18 to 34 among their users, drawn by the promise of rapid returns and the social currency of being right when the stakes are real. Yet the mathematics are unforgiving: median users lose money, and the vast majority of profits flow to a vanishingly small elite. What unfolds here is an old human story — the tension between the desire to leap and the gravity that pulls most leapers back down.
- Financial anxiety is the accelerant — three in four young men say they feel economically behind, and prediction markets offer the seductive illusion of a shortcut past years of slow accumulation.
- The platforms are engineered for engagement: yes-or-no contracts on everything from alien disclosure to debate catchphrases turn economic desperation into something that feels like skill.
- The numbers quietly devastate the fantasy — median returns sit at negative 8 percent, and on Polymarket, two-thirds of all profits are captured by just one-tenth of one percent of accounts.
- Insider trading scandals — involving a soldier, a former congressman, and a market manipulator — have drawn regulators closer, exposing a system where information asymmetry compounds the amateur's disadvantage.
- Behavioral experts point to overconfidence and status-seeking as the psychological engines, while users like Steven Zhang keep playing with money they can afford to lose, because being in the game is its own reward.
Thomas Christian Owens opened a Kalshi account in January as a birthday gift to himself. The 29-year-old engineer from Oklahoma City deposited $500, hoping to earn a little extra — maybe help some family members. Early results were electric: a $50 basketball bet returned $456, and a three-part combo wager turned $196 into nearly $1,700. His account climbed to $4,600. Then, within a month, the losses arrived. He ended up below his original deposit, and now caps individual bets at $100, moving carefully through a market that once seemed to reward him.
Owens is part of a striking demographic wave. Nearly 40 percent of men aged 18 to 34 now use prediction markets, with Kalshi reporting that three of its four million active users are male. The appeal is intuitive: bet on almost anything — sports, politics, world events — through simple yes-or-no contracts. Get it right and you profit; get it wrong and you lose your stake. Behavioral finance researchers aren't surprised by the male dominance. Men tend toward overconfidence in financial decisions, are less averse to loss, and are drawn by the social prestige of being seen as a skilled, high-stakes trader.
Underneath the thrill, though, lies financial anxiety. Seventy-five percent of men in a recent survey said they feel economically behind and view speculative markets as a way to catch up. Prediction markets offer the feeling of agency in an economy that can feel indifferent. But the aggregate reality is harsh: median users lose 8 percent of what they invest, and on Polymarket, more than two-thirds of all profits flow to just 0.1 percent of accounts. A few traders have made hundreds of millions; most everyone else is subsidizing them.
The industry has also attracted legal scrutiny. Insider trading cases have implicated a market speculator, a U.S. special forces soldier, and former Representative George Santos — each allegedly using privileged information to guarantee wins that ordinary users could never achieve. Regulators are watching more closely.
Still, young men keep logging in. Steven Zhang, a 20-year-old UCLA student, lost his first $20 on Polymarket and came back. He now keeps $150 on Kalshi — money he's prepared to lose — betting on NBA commentary and geopolitical outcomes. For him, as for Owens and thousands like them, the point isn't purely profit. It's participation. In a world where economic progress can feel impossibly slow, being in the game — right or wrong — is itself a form of agency.
Thomas Christian Owens was looking for a birthday present to himself. In January, the 29-year-old manufacturing engineer from Oklahoma City opened an account on Kalshi, one of the largest prediction markets in the United States. Three months later, after depositing $500, he began placing bets on events he thought he could predict. He wasn't chasing a fortune. He wanted pocket money, maybe enough to help a few struggling family members. What he found instead was a lesson in how quickly confidence can turn to loss.
Owens had some early wins. One basketball bet turned $50 into $456—an 800 percent return. Another combo wager, bundling three separate predictions about professional games, turned $196 into nearly $1,700. At his peak, his account held almost $4,600. Then the losses came. Within a month of starting, he was underwater. His account eventually dropped to $1,700, below what he had put in. Now he limits his bets to under $100 at a time, moving cautiously through a market that had seemed to reward his confidence.
Owens is not alone. Close to 40 percent of men between 18 and 34 now use prediction markets, according to an April survey from Navigator Research. On Kalshi, roughly 3 million of the platform's 4 million active users are male. Six in ten users overall fall between 18 and 34. The draw is straightforward: these platforms let you bet on almost anything—whether the U.S. government will acknowledge aliens, which team wins the World Cup, what words a politician will say during a debate. You put money down on a yes or no contract priced between zero and one dollar. Get it right, you win a dollar per contract. Get it wrong, you lose your stake. The thrill, as one young trader put it, is knowing you could be right or wrong and having real money on the outcome.
Behavioral finance experts say it should not be surprising that young men dominate these platforms. Men tend to express more confidence in financial decisions and are more willing to take risks. They care less about losing money they already have—what economists call the endowment effect. There is also the social dimension. Success in prediction markets carries status. As one researcher noted, there is prestige in being seen as skilled at high-stakes trading. Which young man does not want to be the Wolf of Wall Street?
But there is another driver: financial anxiety. In a recent survey by Northwestern Mutual, 75 percent of men said they feel financially behind and believe speculative investments like prediction markets could help them catch up. That compares to 69 percent of women. When people feel trapped, risky shortcuts start to look reasonable. Headlines about rising prices and economic uncertainty add pressure. A prediction market account becomes a way to leap forward instead of grinding forward.
The reality, though, is brutal. According to research from Citizens, the median return on investment for a prediction market user is negative 8 percent. That means for every $100 spent, the average person loses $8. On Polymarket, another major platform, a Wall Street Journal analysis found that more than 67 percent of all profits went to just 0.1 percent of accounts. A handful of users have made hundreds of millions. Everyone else is playing a game where the house always wins, even if the house is just the aggregate of smarter traders.
The platforms have also drawn regulatory scrutiny. Several high-profile insider trading cases have emerged. A man was accused of making more than $1.2 million on Polymarket by betting on confidential company information. A U.S. special forces soldier allegedly placed bets on Venezuelan leader Nicolás Maduro before news of a U.S. raid became public. Former Representative George Santos faces charges for alleged insider trading on Kalshi. These cases suggest that while most users are amateurs chasing thrills or financial rescue, some are using privileged information to guarantee wins.
Steven Zhang, a 20-year-old UCLA student, first encountered prediction markets through a social media ad inviting him to bet on what President Trump would say during a debate. He and friends put $20 into Polymarket in 2024 and lost it all. He now trades on Kalshi, betting on things like what NBA announcers will say or geopolitical events. He keeps $150 in his account—money he is comfortable losing. He knows the odds. He is playing anyway. For him, as for thousands of young men like Owens, the game itself is the point. Whether they win or lose, they are in the game, and that matters.
Citas Notables
Knowing that you could be right or wrong, I think, is part of the game— Steven Zhang, UCLA student and Kalshi trader
When people feel behind, sometimes risky choices can look like a shortcut— John Roberts, chief field officer at Northwestern Mutual
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why do you think young men are drawn to these markets when the math says they'll lose?
Because losing eight dollars on a hundred doesn't feel like losing. It feels like playing. And playing feels like you're doing something about being behind.
But they know the odds, right? They've read that 67 percent of profits go to 0.1 percent of traders.
Knowing and believing are different things. Every early win—and there are early wins—tells you that you're the exception. You're the one who will be right.
Is it just overconfidence, or is something else happening?
It's also that these markets offer something real that a regular job doesn't: the chance to be visibly, dramatically right. To have proof. To have status among your peers.
What about the men who are using insider information? Does that change how we should think about this?
It shows the markets aren't just rigged by math. They're rigged by access. Most users don't know who has information they don't.
So what happens to someone like Owens? Does he keep playing?
He keeps playing smaller. He's learned something, but not enough to stop. The account is still open.