In the eyes of algorithms, there is no difference between oil and Memecoin

In 1974, then-U.S. Secretary of State Henry Kissinger flew to Riyadh and struck a deal that would change the global landscape: Saudi Arabia would sell oil exclusively for U.S. dollars, and those dollars would then be used to purchase U.S. Treasury bonds.

At that time, Nixon had just severed the dollar’s link to gold, U.S. domestic inflation was spiraling out of control, dollar reserves were depleting, gold was flowing out in large quantities, and the Bretton Woods system was collapsing. Many believed that the golden age of the dollar had come to an end.

But the deal Kissinger made with Saudi Arabia established what would later be called the “Petrodollar” system. It was this system that allowed the dollar to continue for another half-century after the gold standard collapsed.

Because of this, whenever someone threatens to block the oil routes, it’s not just an energy issue for the U.S., but a direct challenge to the very foundation of the dollar system. That’s why the Strait of Hormuz, a narrow choke point like a throat, has always been considered a critical strategic point that must be defended at all costs—sometimes even with military force.

Understanding this historical background helps us better grasp today’s situation, even fifty years later.

This early morning, most people in China were still asleep. But in the global crude oil futures market, a violent fluctuation lasting less than an hour wiped out hundreds of millions of dollars in market value.

The trigger was a social media post.

U.S. Energy Secretary Chris Wright posted on X: “The U.S. Navy has successfully escorted a tanker through the Strait of Hormuz to ensure the continued flow of oil to global markets.”

Within minutes of this tweet, WTI crude oil prices plummeted sharply, dropping as much as 17%, briefly falling below $80 per barrel. In recent weeks, due to tensions in the Middle East, Brent crude had surged from $70 to $120.

For traders betting on rising oil prices, this moment was a nightmare.

But the story quickly reversed.

Less than an hour later, White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt held an emergency press conference to clarify: the U.S. Navy was not escorting any tankers. Soon after, Chris Wright silently deleted the post without explanation. Oil prices rebounded but never returned to their original levels.

The post was up and deleted in less than sixty minutes. But its impact on global financial markets left a mark far beyond that hour.

Since the escalation of the U.S.-Iran conflict in late February, the battle over oil has intensified. Especially after Iran announced it would block the Strait of Hormuz, a narrow waterway responsible for about one-fifth of global oil transportation, the closure caused a huge shock to the world energy market. As tensions escalated, international oil prices soared from $70 to $120 per barrel within days, and the energy market entered a state of high alert.

Almost all traders were waiting for the same signal: when would the Strait of Hormuz reopen? In this collective anxiety, any small change could trigger violent price swings. The rapid decline triggered by the energy minister’s post was a direct reflection of this collective sentiment.

So, why could oil prices drop 17% in just a few minutes? Because humans are too slow to react, but algorithms are not. Today’s financial markets see a significant portion of trading volume driven by high-frequency trading algorithms and AI trading systems. They scan the entire internet in real-time, including government officials’ social media accounts, capturing keywords and automatically executing trades.

The post contained three key words: Navy, Escorted, Hormuz. When algorithms detect these words and analyze the context, they quickly conclude: the blockade is lifted, supply is restored, and the logic for rising oil prices is weakened.

So, the program immediately sold.

All this happened in about 0.003 seconds.

Algorithms don’t call to confirm whether the tanker actually crossed the strait; they only recognize text and prioritize speed. An unverified post, within this mechanized “collective unconscious,” can instantly lead to hundreds of millions of dollars in market value evaporating.

A real tanker crossing the Strait of Hormuz takes hours of navigation, actual military escort, fuel costs, and real risks. But a post about “escort” can cause this major commodity’s price to fluctuate wildly in just 0.003 seconds.

In other words, crude oil—once dominated by supply-demand fundamentals, inventory data, and production agreements—has now, to some extent, become no different from a Meme.

During the last U.S. election, Trump and Musk keenly recognized this era of information. Trump created Truth Social, and Musk bought Twitter.

Today, in the age of information, social media accounts of government officials have become one of the most sensitive sources of market information. This also means that power itself has begun to acquire some Meme-like qualities: extremely fast dissemination, high emotional intensity, and a high risk of misinterpretation and amplification.

Traditional policy communication is slow and rigorous. White House statements, State Department bulletins, Defense Department press conferences—all these mechanisms involve verification, proofreading, and multiple layers of confirmation. But when officials post policy-related information directly on X, these steps are bypassed.

Looking ahead, as AI Agents become more advanced, the speed of information capture and trading will increase exponentially, with boom-and-bust swings happening within milliseconds.

From a broader perspective, this may indicate a larger shift: we are entering an era of “asset Meme-ification.” Almost any financial asset could, at any moment, be driven by emotion, narrative, and social media.

Kissinger’s deal to sustain the dollar with oil lasted fifty years. But he probably never imagined that one day, oil itself would become a Meme.

No asset has a truly unbreakable fundamental moat. All moats are fundamentally built on some form of consensus. Under the dual acceleration of social media and algorithmic trading, this consensus is more fragile and dangerous than ever before.

Perhaps, in a sense, this is the victory of Meme.