We were just two marketers with a camera, a mic, and a dream: hit South Beach, Miami, just in time for the Spring Break madness, and ask the burning question of our time— "Do you own Bitcoin?"

The plan was simple. The vibe? Electric. The beach? Perfect. The crypto takes? Chaotic at best. We were in for some fun.

Arrival: The American Dream in Flip-Flops

Upon arriving in the land of milk and honey, it felt like it should- Major traffic jams, horns honking, highways that look like the last spaghetti noodles on the plate. Microphones in-hand, branded t-shirts hugging our soon-to-be sunburned shoulders, full of hope and Celcius. The idea was to catch Gen Zers between tequila shots and TikToks to ask them what they really thought about Bitcoin and if they hodl any. In our heads, we’d walk away with viral gold: sunlit soundbites about decentralization, digital freedom, and maybe even a few young ladies yelling, "HODL 'TIL I DIE!" But no. Oh no. Apparently, we missed the memo. South Beach isn’t a spring break paradise anymore.

The People Were Not Happy

Before we could even see what prospects were roaming the winding legendary trail of spring break shenanigans, we had to find a place to land the Unbankmobile. Ocean Drive was packed with late afternoon travelers. Hectic traffic is a good sign, we thought. Parking lot after parking lot was blocked off, desperate shoppers dotted into each valet spot, every spot was taken. We kept heading north until we pulled into a public park in the hopes someone leaving would give us the reprieve from having whitened knuckles wrapped around a steering wheel. The line moved slowly, stopping every few spots to wait for a car ahead of us to pull out and the car behind them to pull in. The van ahead of us stopped, a car to their right trying to back out of their space. The van ahead of us tried reversing to make space, but we were packed in that line like pringles. They pulled ahead and the car pulled out of the spot. As they cleared the spot, we pulled in and parked. Finally, we thought.

That’s when we noticed a man walking up to Acura. He knocked angrily on the window to get our attention. “You took my spot,” he said with a deep Russian accent. “Are you serious?” “You pulled off, that car backed out, and I took the open spot. I don’t know what to tell you,” we said. He started shaking, “Are you serious? You are shit. You are piece of shit.” “Ok, thanks,” we said as we rolled the window up in his face. The man shuttered in rage with his face contorting and his fists balling up before turning and walking back to his car that was still blocking the line. The two of us burst out laughing at the interaction and waited in the car to make sure he didn't come back to Soviet up the Unbankmobile.

Once the coast was clear of comrades, we gathered our bags and headed towards the beach. Looking ahead of us, reality began to set in…

We headed towards the white sand of South Beach. We’re here. This is what we’ve been waiting for. We pushed up the short path through sea grapes out to the stretch of beach that is home to years of wild parties and endless social media content.

But instead of scantly-clad collegiate academics blowing off steam from the previous semester, we were greeted with a sea of empty beach chairs and groups of men with thick accents and leather skin puffing cigars like Bond villains on PTO.

We found an exit from trudging through the sand and a pathway back to the trail. The land side of the trail had condo pools and hotel workout areas and strange names. There were people, but nobody our age and younger.

We looked around and started to question if we missed spring break. Might as well ask some people where everyone was as we walk…

The Clientele

A group of middle-aged women sat on a bended concrete barrier. We approached with smiles. “Hi there! We’re doing a quick video on Bitcoin—” Before we could finish, one of them waved a hand like a palmetto bug flew into her hair. “No camera.” “We do not talk to camera.” “You go.” We turned quickly and walked away from them.

Next up: a group of retirees soaking up the sun like turtles on a log. We figured: these folks have time, stories, and probably grandkids who’ve tried to explain what a Sat is. Nope. “Bitcoin? Oh honey, that’s fake money.” “I don’t want my face on your TikToks.” “You should be ashamed! Go get a real job!” They looked at us with the disgust one might display towards raw sewage.

Midday Meltdown

By 2 PM, we’d talked to more angry strangers than we had in our entire lives. The camera guy was sweating through his shirt, the other was limping from old knees. One of us was questioning our major, the other was Googling “where everyone is for spring break.” And yet—amidst the storm of rejection, something clicked. This was the story. Not the canned, overproduced, influencer-approved crypto hype piece. No. This was the raw truth: people are disconnected and incongruent, and because of that, maybe even a little scared of what Bitcoin represents. It's not just about finance—it’s about trust, change, and the fact a string of code is helping us all reconnect from our fiat and social media driven society.

We came for clarity. We got chaos. We wanted hot takes. We got cold shoulders.

But damn it, we learned something valuable: the Bitcoin conversation is far from over. It’s just not happening where you think. Sometimes it's on Discord servers. Sometimes it’s on Reddit. And sometimes it’s not happening at all because Vladimir said you need to leave now.

So here’s to the weird, the wild, and the wallet-less. South Beach, we’ll be back. Probably with disguises.

—The Unbank Street Team