The scene seems like something out of a science fiction novel written during the height of the 21st-century California boom, but it’s as real as the dust blown by the fans of data farms: NVIDIA became the first company to reach a market valuation of $4 trillion. Four trillion. With a “b” for bubble, Bitcoin, Biden, and Big Tech.
The news, which swept through financial news outlets like a stampede of figures, is as much a feat as it is a question. Because while the data crunches with enthusiasm—on July 9, NVIDIA shares rose 2.5% and closed at $135.58—the question that no one dares to ask out loud hangs like silicon in the air: is this sustainable?
The official answer: chips. But not just any chips. They make graphics processing units (GPUs) that have become the brain cells of generative artificial intelligence. They are the invisible engines behind ChatGPT, Amazon servers, defense systems, and even the most demanding video games. The company, founded in 1993 by Jensen Huang, went from designing graphics cards for gamers to becoming the essential supplier of the algorithmic age.
The problem is that when a company becomes “essential” to everything, it usually ceases to be visible. Or worse: it becomes invisible to the controls, brakes, and prudence of the markets.
Huang, the Steve Jobs of Silicon
It’s no coincidence that investors are obsessed with Jensen Huang. The CEO of NVIDIA is already a cult figure in Silicon Valley, both for his theatrical presentations and his long-term vision. He is the new guru who promises that everything we touch, use, look at, or say will be interpreted by an NVIDIA chip.
The financial logic is brutal: while Microsoft and Apple struggle between hardware, software, and services, NVIDIA sells the heart of the machine directly. And it sells it at a high price.
NVIDIA’s market value, which now surpasses giants like Apple and Microsoft, has a paradoxical root. It’s not based on current revenues (although they are substantial), but on expectations. NVIDIA makes money, yes, but it trades as if it will control 100% of the AI market in the next 10 years.
What if it doesn’t achieve this? What if an alternative emerges? What if the United States more tightly regulates chip exports to China? What if…?
That’s the problem with expectations: they inflate faster than actual returns.
What we are seeing is not just a corporate triumph. It is the consolidation of a new geopolitical paradigm: chips are the new oil. And like any extractive rush, its cycle is short, explosive, and catastrophic if it doesn’t diversify.
33% of the total AI market today depends on NVIDIA. Big Tech is chained to its GPUs, just as factories once depended on coal or automakers on steel. And that—although it sounds like futuristic music for Wall Street portfolios—is a sign of systemic fragility.
In 2024, NVIDIA was the most profitable company in the world. So far in 2025, it has already tripled its revenue for all of 2022. But all this is happening in a context where the real economy—employment, inflation, wealth distribution—seems to live in another dimension. A dimension without chips, without AI, without record stock market results.
The risk of all this isn’t that NVIDIA will collapse (although it could). The risk is that the entire architecture of 21st-century expectations is built on a single company. As if the future were mortgaged to a single bill of silicon.
Now comes the most dangerous part of the cycle: blind worship. Because when a product becomes a religion, its downfall isn’t economic, it’s emotional. The funds will continue buying. Central banks will celebrate it as a sign of technological recovery. And ordinary citizens, once again, will be left out of the spoils.
There’s not much more to say. Just remember that in 1999, during the dot-com bubble, companies with no revenue reached valuations of $1 trillion. Today, NVIDIA is worth four times that. With real products, yes. But also with the same speculative fever disguised as modernity.
Welcome to the age of technological monotheism.
NVIDIA, the $4 Trillion Silicon Goddess: Now Who’s Saving Us from Chips?
In the 21st century, humanity no longer worships clay gods or golden idols. It worships companies that make chips. Yesterday it was Apple, then Microsoft. Today it’s NVIDIA’s turn, which just broke the all-time record by becoming the first company to reach a market capitalization of $4 trillion. And it did so, of course, Silicon Valley-style: quickly, without asking permission, and without looking back.
But what does it really mean when a microprocessor company is worth more than the GDP of Germany? What does it mean when the entire planet depends—technologically, financially, and even geopolitically—on a single supplier of graphics units?
Spoiler alert: it’s not good news. It’s an alarm signal that Wall Street celebrates with champagne, but that real analysts should read for what it is: a thermometer of global financial delirium.
It’s nothing new for the market to overvalue. It did so with .com in the 1990s, with mortgages in 2008, and with cryptocurrencies two years ago. But the NVIDIA phenomenon has a lethal peculiarity: there’s no smoke here. There’s hardware. There’s engineering. There are tangible realities.
And yet, the logic remains bubble-like: NVIDIA today trades more for what it could do than for what it has actually done. Its flagship product—GPUs—became essential for training artificial intelligence models, from OpenAI to Tesla. But from there to assuming it will dominate the future of all global computing is a huge chasm.
A chasm that the markets crossed in one leap, as if history had taught us absolutely nothing.
Jensen Huang is today the most powerful figure in the tech world. More than Elon Musk, more than Mark Zuckerberg, more than Sundar Pichai. While they depend on the mood of users or state regulations, Huang controls the most valuable asset of the new digital order: the hardware that makes AI possible.
From a modest startup in the 1990s to the beating heart of the fourth industrial revolution, NVIDIA has mutated into something more than a company. It’s geostrategic infrastructure.
Today, wars are not fought only with missiles, but with algorithms. And algorithms run on chips. And chips, if they’re serious, bear the NVIDIA logo.
The question that no one on Wall Street dares to ask is uncomfortable and urgent: what happens if NVIDIA fails?
What if a cheaper Chinese competitor emerges? What if countries regulate chip exports? What if a key company—like Microsoft or Amazon—decides to change suppliers? Or what if financial cycles simply adjust and the stock, which today sells like holy water, collapses like so many others?
Because in historical terms, no hegemony lasts forever. Not that of Rome, nor that of the dollar, nor that of Intel, nor that of Facebook. Stock market euphoria does not immunize against collapse.
What NVIDIA has achieved is no small feat. But what the global economy is doing with it is dangerous. Because behind the $4 trillion is a brutal transfer of trust toward a single technological variable. The idea that a single player can sustain the entire architecture of global artificial intelligence is as fragile as it is arrogant.
In that sense, NVIDIA is not the crowning glory of progress. It is its symptom. And possibly, its Achilles’ heel.
Unlike previous bubbles, this time the problem isn’t air. It’s silicon. And that makes it more real, more tangible, more dangerous. Because when air explodes, it dissipates. But when silicon collapses, it takes the entire digital infrastructure of the planet with it.
In other words: if NVIDIA falls, it’s not just a stock that collapses. It’s an entire pillar of contemporary civilization that collapses. Or at least, the story we’re building about what we think the future will be like.
And as always, history isn’t written by technologists. It’s written by markets. By interests. By ambitions.
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