Every crypto evangelist agrees: link rot is a bug. The NFT that points to an image on a server that goes offline? A catastrophic failure. The domain that expires and gets squatted? A loss of history.
I’m arguing the opposite: link rot is a feature.
The consensus is unanimous. Centralized URL dependence is a fatal flaw.
Moxie Marlinspike created an NFT that displayed as a masterpiece on OpenSea but showed a poop emoji in your wallet. His point: “You don’t own the art—you own a pointer.”
The solutionists responded predictably. Projects like OnChainMonkey and Autoglyphs put art data directly on-chain. Maximum permanence. Zero link rot. Problem solved.
But they’re solving the wrong problem.
There’s one place where expiration and squatting are celebrated: ENS domains.
Your mollusk.eth domain? Stop paying rent and it expires. Snipers and squatters claim it immediately. Nobody calls this theft. It’s just how utility works.
The interesting question: why do we treat utility as renewable but artifacts as permanent?
Most NFTs are just a few lines of code containing a function called tokenURI. This function returns a URL. That’s it.
tokenURI(1337) → "https://api.coolproject.com/token/1337"
The blockchain doesn’t store images. It stores pointers.
The secure way: The URI points to an IPFS hash (ipfs://QmHypotheticalHash...). The hash is derived from the content itself—change one pixel and the hash changes. Even if the domain dies, the data exists on the decentralized network.
The insecure way: The URI points to a centralized domain (https://api.coolproject.com/token/1). The blockchain only knows “go look at this URL.” It has no idea what’s there.
When the insecure project stops paying their GoDaddy bill:
coolproject.com for $10/token/1 with your own dataThe blockchain didn’t change. The smart contract didn’t change. The tokens didn’t change. Only the content changed—because the content was never on-chain to begin with.
The fundamental confusion: people believe they’re buying objects (the JPEG). They’re actually buying coordinates (Token ID + Contract Address).
This maps perfectly to physical real estate. You own a plot of land. The building on it collapses. You still own the land. A developer clears the rubble and builds a skyscraper. You still hold the deed to that coordinate—regardless of what structure currently sits on it.
An NFT is a deed to a coordinate in URI-space. The content at that coordinate is a separate concern.
An NFT consists of three layers:
If the original artist minted token #1337, the domain expired, someone else claimed it, and they uploaded new art… is it the same NFT?
Legally? Philosophically? Artistically?
The blockchain says yes: same token, same owner, same chain of provenance.
The content says no: different art, different intent, different meaning.
This is not a bug. This is the Ship of Theseus as a smart contract.
Here’s what actually happens when a domain expires:
The crypto community calls this theft or vandalism. They have a point—once you control the domain, you control reality:
This has happened. The Raccoon Secret Society developer changed all NFT images to piles of bones with a message mocking buyers. Countless 2017-2020 projects sit as expired domains, waiting.
But here’s another way to see it: adaptive reuse.
Old warehouses become loft apartments. Abandoned churches become event venues. The structure remains; the purpose transforms.
The original project is gone. The infrastructure sat vacant. Someone found a new use for it. The address is the same. The meaning is different.
This isn’t theft. It’s repurposing abandoned infrastructure.
In traditional business, when a company fails, its assets don’t vanish—they get liquidated and sold to new owners who can manage them better.
A dead domain is a bankrupt asset. Link rot is simply the market signaling that the current manager has failed to meet their obligations.
Someone claiming the domain is a form of restructuring. The market is efficiently reallocating control to a party willing to pay the maintenance costs. If the original creator cannot sustain the project, a new steward takes over—protecting or transforming the value for whoever still holds the tokens.
The domain renewal fee isn’t really $12/year. It’s a solvency test: “Can this project clear the lowest possible bar for continued operation?” If not, the assets get redistributed to someone who can.
This prevents the blockchain from becoming a cluttered graveyard of dead links. Instead, it becomes a living ecosystem where abandoned assets are liquidated and recycled.
Here’s what the permanent-blockchain maximalists don’t want to discuss: 99% of on-chain data is garbage.
Failed projects. Rug pulls. Abandoned experiments. Spam. Wash trading artifacts.
Do we really want to preserve all of this forever?
The blockchain itself can’t forget. But the URLs can. The domains can. The content layers can.
This is the garbage collection that blockchains lack. The centralized dependencies are the release valve.
When the servers die, the garbage naturally disappears. What remains is the valuable: the projects with enough momentum to maintain their infrastructure.
Link rot is natural selection for digital artifacts.
This is the cyberpunk theory of digital property:
The corporate towers (servers) fall. The street kids (squatters) move in. They paint graffiti on the walls. The original meaning is lost, but the structure remains.
And maybe the graffiti is more interesting than what was there before.
The NFT space is so obsessed with permanence that it forgot: culture evolves through decay and renewal.
Renaissance artists painted over medieval works. Musicians sample and remix. Cities tear down buildings and build new ones.
Why should digital artifacts be different?
A 100-year-old NFT might pass through fifty different eras—starting as pixel art, becoming a corporate billboard during a takeover, evolving into an access key for a VR world. Each era defined by whoever maintained the infrastructure at the time.
The token persists. The meaning transforms. The coordinate remains yours.
Here’s what this enables:
Round 1: Original mint (2021)
cool-apes.ioRound 2: Abandonment (2023)
Round 3: Renewal (2025)
cool-apes.ioIs this good? Bad? Legitimate? Theft?
It doesn’t matter. The mechanism exists. The blockchain permits it. The tokens remain valid. The new content serves a different purpose than the old.
If you’re holding NFTs:
https://, you own a pointer. If it starts with ipfs://, you own content.If you’re building NFT projects:
The blockchain maximalists ask: “How do we prevent link rot?”
The better question: “What happens when we stop trying to prevent it?”
We get digital real estate that cycles through owners. We get artifacts that evolve through generations. We get a web that can forget its mistakes and make room for new ones.
We get digital urban renewal.
The towers fall. The squatters move in. The city lives on.