Owners are coming clean about what it’s really like to start a laundromat. The businesses became a social media sensation thanks to videos of overflowing quarter buckets promising easy passive income. But people who took the plunge tell The Wall Street Journal the reality involves costly repairs, long hours and dog hair.
Atusa Parsa bought a laundromat in Fullerton, California, three years ago after TikTok convinced her it was a great investment. Nobody online mentioned she’d need police help to clear drug dealers out of the bathroom.
A small laundromat costs about $300,000, and the average profit margin is 24%, says Brian Wallace, CEO of the Coin Laundry Association. He adds that it isn’t “some magic business where you show up once a week and collect quarters.” Nancy Connolly, who left corporate finance this year to buy one in Charleston, now films herself wiping dog hair out of washers instead of counting cash.
Carlos Ochoa, known as Laundromat Money to his 2 million TikTok followers, helped kick off the trend five years ago. But now even he cautions against dumping your nest egg into one laundry basket. “People are getting trapped into looking at all these videos that glamorize the industry and they forgo any other due diligence,” he says.
Owners are coming clean about what it’s really like to start a laundromat. The businesses became a social media sensation thanks to videos of overflowing quarter buckets promising easy passive income. But people who took the plunge tell The Wall Street Journal the reality involves costly repairs, long hours and dog hair.
Atusa Parsa bought a laundromat in Fullerton, California, three years ago after TikTok convinced her it was a great investment. Nobody online mentioned she’d need police help to clear drug dealers out of the bathroom.
A small laundromat costs about $300,000, and the average profit margin is 24%, says Brian Wallace, CEO of the Coin Laundry Association. He adds that it isn’t “some magic business where you show up once a week and collect quarters.” Nancy Connolly, who left corporate finance this year to buy one in Charleston, now films herself wiping dog hair out of washers instead of counting cash.
Carlos Ochoa, known as Laundromat Money to his 2 million TikTok followers, helped kick off the trend five years ago. But now even he cautions against dumping your nest egg into one laundry basket. “People are getting trapped into looking at all these videos that glamorize the industry and they forgo any other due diligence,” he says.
