A Slightly Crowded Exit for the Infinite Growth Engine

It is a well-documented phenomenon in the natural world that when a very large object enters a very small space, things tend to get a bit squashed. If one attempts to fit a grand piano into a broom cupboard, for instance, the result is rarely a more musical cupboard, but rather a very frustrated pianist and a cupboard that is no longer fit for its primary purpose of housing mops. The financial markets, it seems, are currently contemplating a similar experiment, though with significantly more zeros and slightly fewer mops.

The objects in question are OpenAI and SpaceX, two entities that have spent the last few years existing in a state of semi-mythical private valuation. They have been the unicorns of the tech world, though 'unicorn' feels like a somewhat inadequate term for companies valued at hundreds of billions of dollars. Perhaps 'leviathan' or 'small moon' would be more appropriate. For a long time, these companies have operated in the comfortable shadows of private equity, where valuations are determined by a mixture of complex spreadsheets and what one can only assume is a very enthusiastic game of charades.

However, the whispers of an impending float—a 'mega-IPO', to use the technical term for 'a lot of people trying to get through a door at once'—have begun to circulate. And with these whispers comes the inevitable warning from the analyst community: that the arrival of these giants on the public stage might actually signal the 'market top'. It is a bit like being told that the arrival of the main course at a dinner party is actually a sign that the house is about to be repossessed.

There is a certain understated irony in the idea that the very companies meant to represent the infinite future of humanity—one taking us to the stars, the other teaching our toasters how to write poetry—might be the ones to bring the current financial party to a grinding halt. It suggests that the market has a finite capacity for optimism, and that OpenAI and SpaceX might just be the final, very expensive straws that break the camel's back. Or, more accurately, the final two-hundred-billion-dollar straws that cause the camel to reconsider its entire career path.

One cannot help but feel a certain sympathy for the institutional investor. For years, they have been told that Artificial Intelligence is the new electricity, the new internet, the new sliced bread. They have watched as valuations have climbed higher and higher, fueled by the promise of a world where every problem is solved by a sufficiently clever algorithm. But now, as the biggest players prepare to take their bow, the mood is shifting. It is as if the audience, having spent three hours watching a very impressive magic show, has suddenly noticed that the magician is sweating quite profusely and that the rabbit looks suspiciously like a folded-up tea towel.

The 'market top' is a curious concept. It is the moment when everyone who wanted to buy has already bought, and the only people left are those looking for someone else to sell to. It is the financial equivalent of a game of musical chairs where the music has stopped, but instead of a chair, you are left holding a significant stake in a company that builds reusable rockets. While a reusable rocket is undoubtedly a very impressive thing to have, it is notoriously difficult to use as a seat in a crowded room.

There is also the matter of the 'exit'. In the world of venture capital, the IPO is the ultimate goal, the moment when the early believers can finally turn their paper wealth into actual, spendable currency. It is the point where the dream becomes a line item on a balance sheet. But if everyone tries to exit at the same time, the door tends to get jammed. We are looking at a situation where the exit is so large and so crowded that it might actually be more of a structural collapse. It is a bit like everyone in a theatre deciding to leave at the same time, only to find that the lobby has been replaced by a very large, very expensive AI model that is currently hallucinating a fire exit.

I once knew a man who spent three years building a scale model of the Eiffel Tower out of matchsticks. When he finally finished, he realized he couldn't get it out of his basement without taking the house apart. He eventually decided to live in the basement and charge people five pounds to look at it through the window. There is a lesson there, I suspect, for the current crop of tech giants. Being very large and very impressive is all well and good, but if you can't fit through the door of the public market without causing a minor economic crisis, you might find yourself stuck in the basement of private valuation for a very long time.

The analysts' warnings are, of course, just that—warnings. The market has a remarkable ability to ignore reality for far longer than anyone expects. It is entirely possible that the OpenAI IPO will be a roaring success, that SpaceX will continue to launch satellites and valuations into the stratosphere, and that we will all live in a future of automated bliss and orbital holidays. But for now, there is a sense of quiet apprehension. The giants are approaching the gate, and the gate looks awfully small.

Perhaps the most whimsical aspect of the whole affair is the idea that we are using the most advanced technology in human history to recreate the same boom-and-bust cycles that we've been enjoying since the days of the tulip bulb. We have replaced the tulip with the Large Language Model, but the human desire to buy something today because we think someone else will pay more for it tomorrow remains entirely unchanged. It is a comforting thought, in a way. No matter how much the world changes, we can always rely on our ability to get a bit carried away with a good story.

In the end, the arrival of OpenAI and SpaceX on the public markets will be a test of more than just their business models. It will be a test of our collective appetite for the infinite. We have been told for years that the sky is the limit, but as it turns out, the limit might actually be the size of the lobby and the patience of the people holding the chairs. And if the music really is about to stop, one can only hope that the landing is as reusable as one of Mr. Musk's rockets.