Let’s be honest: a lot of folks who say they “follow the IPO calendar” are not telling the truth. They don’t wake up in the morning and say, “Ooh, what a fun day for new listings!” They look at TikTok, cry over their bank balances, and then remember that Reddit once made them buy AMC for $60.
But corporate America wants to keep people hoping, and the IPO calendar is the best way to sell that lie. It’s the holy grail of “maybe I’ll get rich this time.” The IPO calendar is a list of all the firms that aim to “go public” and let you, a regular person with emotional problems and a Robinhood account, acquire their shares at a high price. It’s like Wall Street’s version of a movie schedule, but every new movie costs you rent, and half of the sequels end in bankruptcy.
Step 1: Knowing the IPO Calendar (Or at Least Acting Like You Do) The word “calendar” in “IPO calendar” makes it appear posh and orderly, like Google’s Google Doc for capitalism. But here’s a spoiler: it’s basically a public wish list for businesses that think they’re ready to handle their money like an adult. The calendar shows you when a company plans to “go public,” how much each share will cost, and if you’ll ever be able to buy one. That’s all there is to it. This isn’t your usual calendar. No pictures of lovely dogs. No quotes that inspire you. It’s just a parade of billionaires ringing bells and saying it’s for “community growth.” Every week, there are fresh “anticipated” IPOs, which means that the company still hasn’t decided if it’s broke or fancy. “Tech startup hoping rates will drop before Thursday.” “Not another delivery app that loses $100 million every three months.” If you want to know how IPOs get on this calendar, think of it like applying to college. The tuition is billions of dollars, and everyone lies about their GPA.
Step 2: The Pre-IPO Buzz, or Watching Adults Go Crazy Over Future PowerPoints Before an IPO goes public, the excitement is too much to handle. It’s like Taylor Swift’s secret album release when CNBC anchors talk about it. Companies put on “roadshows,” which are flashy PowerPoint presentations aimed to attract wealthy investors. It’s about “transparency” in the law. It’s marketing based on feelings. There will be in the PowerPoint: A mission statement that isn’t clear, like “Empowering a better tomorrow.” Four graphs that go up because being hopeful sells. Words like “AI,” “cloud,” and “synergy” were repeated over and over again until the slide deck cried. Investors love it. You, me, and the folks who Google “what is market cap” are not invited. When we finally get in, it’s like purchasing concert tickets after the bots: the best seats are gone, and all that’s left is heartbreak. Have you ever noticed that the media constantly says that a company’s IPO is “much anticipated”? In PR terms, that means “We really need this not to crash.” A 26-year-old Wall Street analyst is explaining why a company that lost $500 million last year is “well-positioned for growth through market leverage.” Sure, Chad.
Step 3: IPO Day, the Day with the Most Arrogance. On IPO Day, capitalism pretends to be a self-help seminar. There are bells ringing, champagne, fake smiles, and awkward handshakes that all say, “We made it (for now)!” But let’s turn off the lights: It’s open season as soon as the shares hit the market. The price goes through the roof for about fifteen minutes, then crashes around midday, and then settles at “disappointing but not catastrophic.” Here are several signs that your IPO day went well: The CEO cried on CNBC. People on Twitter were talking about the stock ticker. Reddit said it was a hoax, yet they still put money into it. Half of IPOs are like hypebeast sneakers: they cost too much right away, aren’t worth the wait, and are full of people who don’t really understand supply and demand. And don’t fall for headlines like “IPO pops 30% on debut.” In other words, insiders sold high while you were having trouble logging into Fidelity. If you can watch an IPO without feeling bad about your personal bank account, you either have a lot of money or you’re dead inside.
Step 4: The Post-IPO Hangover (a Regretful Love Story) When the excitement of the IPO dies down, reality hits you harder than your alarm clock on Monday. By the second week, financial influencers stop pretending to care. By the third week, experts are using phrases like “underperforming,” and by the fourth week, your shares look like bitcoin did in 2022. The corporation sometimes wishes it hadn’t gone public. Sometimes the investors are quite sorry they joined. Everyone loses, save the founders who sold their shares before you hit “Buy.” People who have IPO hangovers often say things such, “This was a long-term play.” (It wasn’t.) “Right now, markets are just not sure.” (They always are.) “We still believe in the mission.” (Translation: We can’t cry in public since it’s against the law.) Do you remember Robinhood’s IPO? Or Rivian’s? They both got a lot of excitement, and then gravity said, “Lmao.” Those charts didn’t look like “upward growth”; they looked more like an EKG monitor for despair. But every earnings call starts with the same thing: “We’re excited about the future.” The future, where math and responsibility don’t exist, of course.
Step 5: Why People Still Care About IPO Calendars In any case The problem is, IPOs are like reality TV. They are strange, untidy, and hard to stop playing. Following the IPO schedule makes you feel like a financial insider, even if you never buy in. It makes doomscrolling into “research.” We also love to fail. We do, so don’t lie. The modern way to have schadenfreude is to see a hyped-up startup fail after it goes public. Two weeks later, the same folks who told you to “BUY IT NOW” will tweet “saw that coming.” But there is also this fragile hope that you might see the next Amazon early. something you’ll be able to say to your kids, “I put money into that before it blew up.” Will you? No. But hope doesn’t cost anything. And that’s the only portion of the market that never changes.
Step 6: The Secret Formula (That Isn’t Real) This is a universal truth: no one—analysts, hedge funds, or finance influencers called Kyle—really knows which IPOs will succeed. It’s as hard to “time” IPOs as it is to stick to a diet at Cheesecake Factory. You can act like you know what you’re doing, but deep down, you’re not. “The market’s opening up again” is one of the new mantras that comes out every hot IPO season. “Investors are very hopeful.” “It’s a great time to grow.” Translation: “Nobody learned anything from the last crash.” For hustlers, markets and IPOs are like astrology. You look at the “calendar,” read predictions, look too closely at patterns, and tell yourself that Mercury is in “valuation retrograde.” If a business says it’s “revolutionizing” anything, it’s not. It’s essentially putting AI on a PowerPoint slide.
Step 7: Should you care about the IPO calendar? Yes. If you think it’s fun to see the Hunger Games of capitalism. The IPO calendar is like a financial advent calendar: you open each new listing expecting for chocolate, but instead you get lawsuits from shareholders. But it’s fun. It teaches you something. It’s crazy. For people who adore money but don’t have any, it’s the perfect mix of hope and despair. Be careful. Make fun of it. When you’re actually simply vibing, act like you’re “diversifying your portfolio.” No matter how many IPOs fail or how many stocks drop, there’s always another one coming up that promises “innovation,” “momentum,” and maybe, if we’re lucky, a new reason not to pay rent. Good job, You’re an IPO Calendar Expert Now (At Least Emotionally) So that’s all there is. You now know what the IPO calendar is, which means you can nod at headlines, roll your eyes at hoopla, and check your brokerage app during lunch like a sad stockbroker. The businesses will keep going public. The calendar will keep offering chances. And you’ll keep saying, “This one might be different.” It won’t be. But thinking it’s true is half the enjoyment. So go ahead and write down the date of your IPO. People who are delusional are lucky. Congratulations! You’ve made it this far. You’re now smarter, poorer, and a little more cynical. Welcome to being an adult.
