KaiOnChain

I didn’t take Binance Square’s Write to Earn seriously at first. I’ve been around crypto long enough to be skeptical of anything that promises “earn by posting.” Most of the time it turns into low-effort spam or a short-lived incentive that quietly disappears. But after watching how Square evolved, reading through the rules properly, and spending real time researching how the payouts actually work, my view changed.

What surprised me wasn’t the earning part. It was how intentional the system feels.

I’ve been watching Binance Square grow into something closer to a native crypto publishing layer than a social feed. The Write to Earn program fits into that vision. It doesn’t reward noise, hype threads, or recycled Twitter takes. It rewards usefulness, timing, and relevance to real trading activity happening on Binance.

When I started digging into it, I realized Write to Earn isn’t passive income. It’s closer to performance-based publishing. Your content only earns for a limited window after you publish it, which forces you to think about timing, not just ideas. I spent hours testing this by posting during high-volatility moments versus quiet market days. The difference was obvious. Content tied to active markets, price movement, or trader questions performs far better than evergreen explainers dumped at random.

Another thing I had to unlearn was the assumption that everything counts. It doesn’t. I learned the hard way that if a trade carries zero fees, there’s nothing for the system to share with you. That includes some stablecoin pairs and promotional fee-free markets. You can write the most insightful analysis in the world, but if the underlying trades generate no fees, there’s no commission to earn from. It’s logical, but not something most people think about until they notice gaps in their earnings.

I also spent time looking into referrals because that’s where a lot of confusion lives. If someone signs up to Binance using your referral link, you’re not stacking Write to Earn rewards on top of that. Those users fall under the standard referral program instead. At first, that felt disappointing. Then I realized it actually prevents gaming the system. Write to Earn is about influencing open-market behavior through content, not double-dipping on your own referral funnel.

And yes, I checked whether self-trading works. It doesn’t. You can’t earn from your own trades, no matter how clever you try to be. I respect that constraint. It keeps the program aligned with its purpose: rewarding writers who help other users make informed decisions, not those trying to farm commissions internally.

What changed my perspective most was watching older posts decay. Your content doesn’t earn forever. After about seven days, it’s effectively done from an earning perspective. That sounds harsh, but it actually makes Square feel alive. The feed rewards presence, consistency, and ongoing contribution. I found myself thinking more like a researcher than a marketer, asking what traders are confused about today, not what will sound impressive long-term.

The tools matter too. I ignored cashtags and chart widgets at first. Big mistake. Once I started using them properly, engagement improved and earnings followed. Charts anchor your writing in real market context, and cashtags help Square understand what your post is actually about. They’re not decoration. They’re infrastructure.

After spending time with the rules, watching patterns, and doing my own research instead of guessing, I’ve come to see Write to Earn as a quiet but serious experiment. It doesn’t shout about itself. It doesn’t guarantee income. It simply aligns incentives between writers, traders, and the platform.

If you treat it like a quick hack, you’ll be disappointed. If you treat it like a place to share real insight, stay active, and respect how markets actually work, it can become a meaningful side stream. Not because Binance is giving away money, but because your words are connected to real economic activity.

That’s what surprised me in the end. Write to Earn isn’t about writing more. It’s about writing at the right time, with the right context, for people who are actually doing something.

#BinanceSquare #writetoearn #CryptoContent

I came into VANAR expecting the usual “chain thesis,” because that’s still how most projects frame themselves. But the longer I looked at what they’ve actually shipped—and how they describe what’s coming—that framing started to feel inverted. VANAR doesn’t read like a network waiting for developers to invent use cases. It reads like a product stack that already knows what it wants to be, and uses a chain as infrastructure rather than identity.

The clearest signal is how they lay out the stack themselves. Base chain first, then Neutron, then Kayon, followed by two explicitly “coming soon” layers: Axon and Flows. That’s not how token ecosystems usually present themselves. It looks much closer to a software roadmap, where each layer exists to unlock the next, not to justify the one below it.

That’s where the “Web2 feel” starts to make sense. In Web2, nobody sells a database as the product. They sell systems that make data usable: stored, searchable, portable, and able to drive workflows. VANAR appears to be aiming for the same structure, except with storage and proofs anchored inside the chain rather than locked in private infrastructure. You can reasonably debate whether the chain needs to exist at all—but the product strategy itself is clearly not the standard L1 playbook.

At the base layer, VANAR’s older documentation is unusually blunt about priorities. They emphasize stable, low fees and block times that don’t make interactive products feel slow. The whitepaper talks about a “fixed-fee” design goal—fixed relative to dollar value—and repeats the idea that fees should stay tiny enough for high-frequency usage. The point isn’t innovation for its own sake. It’s predictability, so everything above can behave like normal software where users don’t think about cost every time they click.

Of course, descriptions aren’t usage. If you’re doing real diligence, you still have to ask whether the chain is actually alive. VANAR’s explorer shows very large cumulative transaction and address counts—numbers big enough that they can’t be dismissed outright, even if you remain skeptical about how much is organic. They don’t prove product-market fit, but they do establish that the network is producing blocks and carrying sustained activity rather than sitting idle.

Where VANAR becomes more interesting is Neutron. It’s not framed as “storage” in the lazy sense. Instead, they describe it as a compression and restructuring system that turns raw files into compact “Seeds” designed to live onchain and be queried later like active memory, not treated as inert blobs. The headline claim is aggressive: compressing something on the order of 25MB down to ~50KB using semantic, heuristic, and algorithmic layers.

That claim shouldn’t be accepted just because it’s printed. It’s a test case, not a fact: what kinds of data compress that well, how consistent is it, what’s lost, and what does “verifiable” actually mean once the data is transformed? But even with skepticism, the direction is clear. VANAR is trying to turn data into a reusable primitive that can move across applications and workflows instead of being trapped inside a single vendor’s database.

This is also why myNeutron matters more than it might look at first glance. It’s not just an app bolted onto a chain—it’s a distribution wedge. The product is positioned as a personal knowledge base where users capture pages, files, notes, and prior work, then reuse that context instead of rebuilding it each time. If people actually adopt this as a daily utility, the chain stops being abstract infrastructure and becomes the rails underneath a habit.

One detail I’m watching closely is monetization. CoinMarketCap’s VANAR updates page explicitly mentions an “AI Tool Subscription Model (2026)” tied to products like myNeutron, with the stated goal of creating sustainable onchain demand. That’s a very different posture from the usual crypto strategy of perpetual incentives. Charging money is uncomfortable—but it’s also a signal that someone is at least trying to test whether the product stands on its own economics.

Once you view Neutron as memory, Kayon is easier to interpret. VANAR positions it as a reasoning layer that operates on Seeds and enterprise data, turning stored context into insights and workflows that can be traced and checked rather than treated as black-box outputs. I’m not interested in generic “AI + blockchain” claims here. What matters is the architectural separation: memory first, reasoning on top. That’s how durable software systems evolve—one layer stabilizes, then another makes it useful at scale.

Kayon is also where I’d push hardest as an investor. “Auditable” can mean very different things. It can mean “we log what happened,” or it can mean “independent parties can verify key steps and inputs.” VANAR’s public language leans toward the stronger interpretation. The open question is whether the implementation holds up under real-world messiness, and whether external builders can rely on it without custom handholding.

The top of the stack is where the thesis either becomes real or stays a diagram. Axon and Flows are still explicitly upcoming, and VANAR treats them as such. Independent writeups from late January 2026 describe Axon as an agent-ready contract system and Flows as tooling for automated onchain workflows. That’s exactly the kind of description that can sound compelling and still fail if execution slips or developer experience is clumsy.

But it’s also the missing piece. In Web2, the leap from “we store data” to “teams run their business on this” is workflow—automation, orchestration, and the boring glue that turns tools into operating layers. If VANAR ships Flows in a way that actually lets teams define reliable multi-step processes, then Neutron and Kayon stop being clever features and start looking like foundational primitives.

One thing I do appreciate is narrative consistency. VANAR’s blog shows frequent posts through early February 2026 that reinforce the same structure: memory APIs, an intelligence layer, and composable workflows. Consistency doesn’t guarantee substance, but it matters. Projects that are improvising tend to contradict themselves. Here, the same stack keeps reappearing: memory → reasoning → orchestration → applications.

I’m still careful about evidence. A lot of third-party “analysis” is just commentary echoed as research. I treat it mainly as a way to see which claims are propagating. Multiple recent posts repeat the same Neutron compression numbers and roadmap framing—but those are downstream of VANAR’s own messaging. That’s narrative spread, not independent validation.

So what’s my actual read?

VANAR is betting that the next wave of crypto usage won’t be driven by more standalone dApps, but by better primitives for memory, context, and workflow—things that make software coherent over time, not just across wallets. Neutron aims to make data compact and reusable onchain. myNeutron aims to turn that into habit. Kayon aims to make memory actionable without sacrificing traceability. Axon and Flows aim to make all of it composable into real processes.

What isn’t earned yet is proof of durable, non-cosmetic demand. Explorer metrics show activity, but they don’t tell you whether Neutron solves a painful problem or whether transactions are being pushed through by campaigns. A real subscription rollout, if it happens at scale, would be a meaningful milestone precisely because it forces that question into the open.

That’s why my conclusion is conditional.

VANAR isn’t interesting because it calls itself AI-native or uses new labels for old ideas. It’s interesting because it’s trying to build a stack the way software companies build stacks: predictable base layer, reusable memory, usable reasoning, then workflow tooling that lets others build without reinventing plumbing. If the top layers land and teams adopt them for boring, repeated workflows, the “Web2 feel on Web3 rails” becomes a real advantage. If Axon and Flows don’t materialize—or if Neutron turns out to be more branding than primitive—then the thesis compresses down into “a chain with a nice product,” and that’s a much smaller outcome.

$VANRY @Vanarchain #Vanar

When I hear “users can pay fees in SPL tokens,” my reaction isn’t excitement. It’s relief. Not because it’s novel, but because it finally admits something most systems quietly ignore: making users acquire a specific gas token is an onboarding tax that has nothing to do with the thing they actually came to do. It’s logistics. And forcing users to personally manage logistics is one of the fastest ways to make a good product feel broken.

So yes, this is a UX shift. But the more important change is where responsibility lives.

In the traditional model, the chain makes the user the fee manager. Want to mint, swap, stake, vote—do anything at all? First, go acquire the correct token just to be allowed to press buttons. If you don’t have it, you don’t get a normal product warning. You get a failed transaction, an opaque error, and a detour that makes people question whether the whole system is worth the effort. That isn’t a learning curve. It’s friction disguised as protocol purity.

Fogo’s move to SPL-based fee payment quietly flips this dynamic. The user stops being the one who has to plan for fees. The application stack takes that burden on. And once you do that, you’re making a decision that’s much bigger than convenience: you’re embedding a fee-underwriting layer into the default user experience.

Fees don’t vanish. Someone still pays them. What changes is who fronts the cost, who recovers it, and who sets the rules along the way.

If a user pays in Token A but the network ultimately settles fees in Token B, there’s always a conversion step somewhere—even if it’s hidden. Sometimes it’s an on-chain swap. Sometimes it’s a relayer accepting Token A, paying the network fee, and reconciling later. Sometimes it’s inventory management: holding a basket of assets, netting flows internally, hedging exposure when needed. Regardless of the mechanism, it creates a pricing surface that suddenly matters a lot.

What rate does the user effectively get at execution time? Is there a spread? Who controls it? How does it behave under volatility?

That’s where the real story is. Not “you can pay in SPL tokens,” but “a new class of operator is now pricing your access to execution.”

This is why the “better onboarding” framing feels incomplete. Better onboarding is the visible effect. The deeper change is market structure. In native-gas-only systems, demand for the fee token is diffuse. Millions of small balances. Constant micro top-ups. Constant tiny failures when someone is short by a few cents. It’s messy, but it’s distributed.

With SPL-denominated fee flows, demand becomes professionalized. A smaller group of actors—paymasters, relayers, infrastructure providers—end up holding the native fee inventory and managing it like working capital. They don’t top up; they provision, rebalance, and defend against risk. That concentrates operational power in ways people tend to overlook until stress reveals it.

And stress always reveals it.

In a native-gas model, failure is usually local. You personally didn’t have enough gas. You personally set the wrong priority fee. It’s frustrating, but legible. In a paymaster model, failure modes become networked. The paymaster hits limits. Accepted tokens change. Spreads widen. Services go down. Oracles lag. Volatility spikes. Abuse protections trigger. Congestion policies shift. The user still experiences it as “the app failed,” but the cause lives in a layer most users don’t even know exists.

That isn’t inherently bad. In many ways, it’s the right direction. But it means trust moves up the stack. Users won’t care how elegant the architecture is if their experience depends on a small number of underwriting endpoints behaving correctly when conditions are ugly.

There’s another subtle shift that’s easy to miss. When you reduce repeated signature prompts and enable longer-lived interaction flows, you’re not just smoothing UX—you’re changing the security posture of the average user journey. You’re trading frequent explicit confirmation for delegated authority. Delegation can be safe if it’s tightly scoped, but it raises the cost of bad session boundaries, compromised front-ends, and poorly designed permission models.

So I don’t ask whether this is convenient. Of course it is. The question is who is now responsible for abuse prevention, limit setting, and guardrails—without turning the product back into friction.

Once apps decide how fees are paid, they inherit the user’s expectations. If you sponsor or route fees, you don’t get to point at the protocol when something breaks. From the user’s perspective, there is no separation. The product either works or it doesn’t. Fees become part of product reliability, not just protocol mechanics.

That’s where a new competitive surface opens up.

Applications won’t just compete on features. They’ll compete on execution quality: success rates, cost predictability, transparency around limits, responsiveness to edge cases, and behavior during chaotic markets. The apps that feel “solid” will be the ones backed by underwriting layers that are disciplined, conservative, and boring in the best possible way.

If you’re thinking long-term, the interesting outcome isn’t that users stop buying the gas token. It’s that a fee-underwriting market emerges, and the best operators quietly become default rails for the ecosystem. They’ll influence which assets are practically usable, which flows feel effortless, and which products feel fragile.

That’s why this feels strategic rather than cosmetic. It’s a chain choosing to treat fees as infrastructure—something specialists manage—rather than a ritual every user must perform. It’s an attempt to make usage feel normal: you arrive with the asset you already have, you do the thing you intended to do, and the system handles the plumbing.

The conviction thesis is simple. The long-term value of this design will be decided under stress. In calm markets, almost any fee abstraction looks good. In volatile, adversarial, congested conditions, only well-run underwriting systems continue to function without quietly taxing users through spreads, sudden restrictions, or unreliable execution.

So the real question isn’t “can users pay in SPL tokens?” It’s “who underwrites that promise, how do they price it, and what happens when conditions get ugly?”

$FOGO @Fogo Official #fogo

I have been watching the collectibles space evolve for years, and during the time I spent on research into Real-World Asset crypto projects, Collect on Fanable stood out as one of the more practical ideas I’ve come across. Fanable isn’t trying to replace collecting or turn it into something abstract. Instead, it takes something people already love—physical collectibles like Pokémon cards, comics, and memorabilia—and quietly removes the biggest pain point: slow, risky, real-world trading.

From what I’ve seen while watching this sector closely, Fanable sits at the intersection of traditional collecting and blockchain infrastructure. The concept is simple but powerful. You still own a real, physical item, but the ownership itself becomes digital, liquid, and easy to transfer. During the time I spent studying how Fanable works, it became clear that this project fits neatly into the RWA narrative, where blockchains aren’t just about tokens, but about representing real things with real value. The fact that Fanable has backing and support from names like Ripple, Polygon, Borderless Capital, and Morningstar Ventures also tells me this isn’t a casual experiment—it’s something built with long-term intent.

What really caught my attention as I was watching the platform’s design is how it handles trust. Instead of asking users to rely on peer-to-peer shipping or blind faith, Fanable uses professional, insured vaults to store collectibles. When you send an item in, it’s authenticated, graded, and stored by security firms that already operate at institutional standards. From my research, this step is critical because it removes disputes around authenticity and condition, which have always been a problem in collectible markets.

Once an item is secured, Fanable creates what they call a Digital Ownership Certificate on the blockchain. I like to think of it as a digital title deed. While researching this mechanism, I realized this is where the real innovation lives. Ownership becomes something you can trade instantly without touching the physical object at all. As long as you hold that certificate in your wallet, the item is legally yours, even though it never leaves the vault. I’ve watched enough markets to know how much friction this removes, especially for high-value items that people are afraid to ship.

Trading, in this setup, becomes almost effortless. Based on what I’ve seen, selling a collectible on Fanable feels closer to sending a message than running a logistics operation. Ownership changes hands digitally, the vault never opens, and the item remains protected the entire time. If someone eventually wants the real object in their hands, they can redeem it, which burns the digital certificate and triggers physical delivery. From a systems perspective, I spent a lot of time thinking about this flow, and it’s surprisingly clean. Digital speed on the front end, real-world settlement only when it’s actually needed.

The COLLECT token ties everything together. During my research, I noticed that it’s not just a speculative asset bolted onto the platform. It functions as the internal currency for buying and selling, a reward mechanism for users who participate and hold tokens, and a governance tool that gives holders a voice in how the ecosystem evolves. I’ve watched many platforms fail by ignoring governance, so seeing COLLECT integrated into decision-making tells me Fanable is aiming for a community-driven model rather than a closed marketplace.

I was also watching closely when COLLECT gained visibility through Binance. The trading competition launched in February 2025 pushed the token into a much wider audience via Binance Alpha and Binance Wallet. While promotions don’t define a project’s quality, they do show that there’s enough demand and structure for major exchanges to support it. From my perspective, this kind of exposure accelerates liquidity, which is exactly what a collectibles-focused RWA platform needs to succeed.

After spending time on research and watching how Collect on Fanable positions itself, my takeaway is that this project isn’t about hype or flashy promises. It’s about solving a real problem that collectors have lived with for decades. Turning physical collectibles into instantly tradable digital ownership while keeping the real item safe is a quiet but meaningful shift. Of course, I’ve also seen enough crypto cycles to know that risk is always present, especially when tokens are involved. Prices move fast, narratives change, and nothing is guaranteed. That’s why I always remind myself—and anyone reading—to do their own research before committing capital.

Still, from everything I have observed, Collect on Fanable represents a thoughtful attempt to bridge the physical and digital worlds in a way that actually makes sense for everyday users, not just crypto natives.

#CollectOnFanable
#CollectToken

Es nenācu uz Fogo, jo tīkoju pēc vēl viena ātrā ķēdes. Es nācu, jo biju nogurusi no tā, ka izlikos, ka ātrums joprojām skaidro kaut ko. Katra nopietna Layer 1 tagad apgalvo veiktspēju. Katrs ceļa karte sola mērogu. Un tomēr, kad ierodas reāli lietotāji, tās pašas plaisas turpina parādīties—lietotnes kļūst trauslas, maksas uzvedas dīvaini, un izstrādātāji sāk projektēt ap ķēdi, nevis cilvēkiem, kas to izmanto. Šis disconnect bija tas, kas mani satrauca, nevis caurlaidības trūkums.

Tas, kas mani pievilka tuvāk, bija klusa jautājums, no kura es nevarēju atbrīvoties: kas notiks, ja veiktspēja nemaz nav iezīme, bet pieņēmums, uz kura balstās viss pārējais? Ja jūs pārtraucat uztvert ātrumu kā sasniegumu un sākat to uztvert kā doto, kāda veida sistēmu jūs beigās izstrādājat? Fogo šķita kā mēģinājums atbildēt uz to, nesakot to skaļi.

Es jau ilgu laiku sekoju blokķēdes privātuma attīstībai, un pēc tam, kad esmu pavadījis nopietnu laiku pētot Mimblewimble, man kļuva skaidrs, ka šis protokols pārstāv ļoti atšķirīgu domāšanas veidu par to, kā blokķēdēm būtu jādarbojas. Mimblewimble nav tikai uzlabojums vai atjauninājums esošām sistēmām, piemēram, Bitcoin. Tā ir pamatīga pārveidošana tam, kā tiek veidotas, glabātas un verificētas transakcijas, ar privātumu un mērogojamību iekļautu jau sākumā, nevis pievienotu vēlāk.

Es esmu skatījies Bitcoin pietiekami ilgi, lai redzētu, kā tas pārvietojas no noslēpumaina eksperimenta, par kuru diskutē forumos, uz globālu aktīvu, par kuru debatē valdības, iestādes un ikdienas investori. Gadu gaitā esmu pavadījis daudz laika pētījumos, cenšoties saprast ne tikai to, kur Bitcoin cena varētu doties, bet arī to, kas to patiesībā tur. Īpašumtiesības ir svarīgas. Tās veido likviditāti, svārstīgumu un pat ilgtermiņa filozofiju aiz paša Bitcoin. Un jo dziļāk es devos, jo skaidrāk kļuva, ka Bitcoin īpašumtiesības stāsta par varu, kas lēni mainās.

Nākamā Web3 nodaļa netiks rakstīta ar hype cikliem vai skaļām solījumiem. To rakstīs ikdienas cilvēki, kas to lieto, pat nedomājot par zem tā esošo tehnoloģiju. Tāpēc Vanar man turpina izcelties.

Vanar necenš uzsākt būt tikai vēl viens Layer 1 jau pārpildītā telpā. Tas tiek būvēts ar ļoti specifisku mērķi prātā: reāla pasaules pieņemšana, kas patiešām ir jēgpilna. Uzsvars nav uz ietekmīgu kriptovalūtu iekšējo cilvēku pārsteigšanu — tas ir par infrastruktūras radīšanu, kurā zīmoli, spēlētāji, radītāji un parasti lietotāji var dabiski iekļauties.

Es neredzu Fogo kā tikai vēl vienu Layer 1, kas cenšas pievērst uzmanību pārpildītā ciklā. Tas, kas uzreiz izceļas, ir pamats: augstas veiktspējas ķēde, kas veidota uz Solana virtuālās mašīnas. Tas vien norāda uz uzmanību uz ātrumu, efektivitāti un reālu izpildi — nevis teorētisko caurlaidspēju.

Bet īstā maiņa nav izpildē. Tā ir nodoms.

Fogo nav paredzēts cilvēkiem, kas klikšķina pogas. Tas ir paredzēts autonomām sistēmām. AI aģenti nesadarbojas kā lietotāji — tie ģenerē pastāvīgas darbības, prasa atmiņu, loģiku, automatizāciju un paredzamu risinājumu. Lielākā daļa blokķēžu nav veidotas šai realitātei. Fogo tajā ieiet no pirmās dienas.

Es esmu pavadījusi daudz laika, vērojot robežu starp tradicionālajām finansēm un kriptovalūtām, un pēdējo mēnešu laikā esmu dziļi iegājusi tajā, kā platformas pārveido piekļuvi globālajiem tirgiem. Pavadot stundas, pētot Binance Futures, viena lieta man kļuva skaidra: tas nav tikai par jaunu biržu pievienošanu — tas ir par to, kā cilvēki kopumā mijiedarbojas ar finanšu aktīviem.

Tas, kas patiešām piesaistīja manu uzmanību, ir tas, kā Binance Futures tagad ļauj tirgotājiem spekulēt uz lieliem tradicionāliem aktīviem tāpat kā viņi tirgo kriptovalūtu. Zeltu, sudrabu, Tesla, Amazon — aktīvi, kas kādreiz dzīvoja stingri regulētās, laika ierobežotās tirgos — tagad ir pieejami visu diennakti, norēķinoties USDT, un pieejami bez milzīgas iepriekšējas kapitāla ieguldīšanas. Esmu uzmanīgi vērojusi šo tendenci, un šķiet, ka tā ir klusa, bet spēcīga pārmaiņa.

Veidojiet caurules, nevis kampaņas—un ļaujiet lietotājiem vairoties
Vanar nesniedz sevi kā ķēdi, kas konkurē ātrumā, TPS vai kripto-dabīgā tehniskā bravūrā. Kopš tās dibināšanas tā ir izstrādāta, lai risinātu daudz grūtāku un sekmīgāku problēmu: kā ienest ikdienas lietotājus ķēdē, noturēt tos tur un ļaut viņiem piedalīties, nekad nejūtoties kā svešā ekosistēmā.

Šī atšķirība ir svarīga. Lielākā daļa blokķēžu mēģina piesaistīt uzmanību, galvenokārt runājot ar kripto iekšējiem cilvēkiem. Vanar, savukārt, ir izstrādāta ap pazīstamību. Tā sastop lietotājus tur, kur viņi jau pavada laiku—spēles, izklaide, zīmolu pieredzes, nozīmīgi kolekcionējami priekšmeti un ekskluzīva piekļuve—un klusi integrē blokķēdi zem virsmas. Pieņemšana notiek nevis tāpēc, ka lietotāji ir pārliecināti par ideoloģiju, bet tāpēc, ka pieredze šķiet dabiska.

Moments, kad ķēde sāk šķist garlaicīga, bieži ir brīdis, kad tā sāk uzvarēt.

Novērtējot Fogo kā nopietnu Layer 1, pirmais jautājums nav par maksimālo TPS ideālos apstākļos. Reāli lietotāji nedzīvo benchmarkos. Viņi dzīvo haosā: satiksmes pieauguma laikā, ātru tokenu maiņu, spēļu ciklu, kas aktivizē mikrotransakcijas, nepacietīgu klikšķu dēļ, ko izraisa novērots aizkavējums, un maki, kas izmet neskaidras kļūdas. Šie mirkļi nosaka, vai tīkls ir lietojams — nevis tā labākajā dienā, bet sliktākajā.

Fogo ambīcijas būt par augstas veiktspējas L1, kas balstīta uz Solana Virtuālo Mašīnu, ir atkarīgas no tās neredzamās kārtas izturības: daļas, par kuru lietotāji nedomā, bet to jūt tūlīt, kad tā sabojājas. Šī kārta nosaka, vai lietotāji atgriezīsies rīt.