Chasing Passive Income, Americans Turn to Vending Machines
How candy and soda machines became an unlikely trending investment idea of the 2020s
How candy and soda machines became an unlikely trending investment idea of the 2020s
With a brick of cash in his hand and a grin on his face, Jaime Ibanez shows his half-million YouTube subscribers a path to earning money without burning many calories: Vending machines.
In videos with titles such as “This Is HOW MUCH My Vending Machines Made IN 7 DAYS!!” the swoopy-haired 23-year-old Texan makes the rounds to his 51 machines, stocking them and taking the profits.
His channel promotes the idea that with diligence and luck, anyone can go from snacks to riches.
Vending machines might seem an unlikely candidate for trending investment of the 2020s, but the idea has captured the imagination of Americans dreaming of easier money. Some pursue chips and soda as a side hustle because their regular paychecks aren’t enough for them to get by. Others bet on vending machines as a ticket to upward mobility, to quitting their jobs and becoming their own boss.
The startup cost is low and the formula simple. Buy a used machine for $1,500, load it up with products from Costco , charge a 100% markup and let the crinkled dollars roll in. But turning a profit takes real work, and the machines can be a losing proposition when stuck in locations without enough hungry foot traffic.
There is a fair amount of competition, too. America has three million vending machines, an $18.2 billion industry, with the average machine generating about $525 in monthly revenue, according to the National Automatic Merchandising Association.
More than half of operators bring in less than $1 million a year, according to trade publication Automatic Merchandiser. Many are individuals who have other jobs.
Social media has fuelled the notion of finding financial freedom in vending machines. Between 2019 and 2023, the number of posts or comments mentioning passive income and vending machines more than tripled on X and increased by a factor of six on Instagram, according to Sprinklr, a social-media management platform. Google search interest in passive income increased some 75% during that same period.
“There’s a real sense that doing things the so-called right way won’t necessarily land you in the middle class,” said Lana Swartz, a media-studies professor at the University of Virginia who researches financial technologies. “If the old rules no longer apply, then there’s a searching for new rules to get ahead or to get by.”
Some vending-machine newbies say they are on their way to building an automated empire. Others’ dreams get snagged like a bag of Funyuns on a faulty coil.
Last spring Rob Smith, a 30-year-old truck driver in Orlando, Fla., spent $4,000 on his first machine, a credit-card reader and a load of snacks and drinks.
He recently acquired his fourth machine, which is at an industrial bakery. His first three machines take up three to five hours of his week and bring in about $1,500 a month in revenue, which works out to roughly $750 in profit.
“I’ve made sales at four o’clock in the morning, when I was sleeping,” he said. “That machine is still working whether I’m there or not.”
He hopes to scale up to 30 machines and quit his job.
Smith started looking for extra income because his goal of buying a house felt out of reach with only his day job’s pay. He chose vending specifically after he witnessed a colleague complain about a malfunctioning machine at work and then use it anyway.
“He still put his $2 in,” Smith said. “I was like, ‘I need to get a vending machine as soon as possible.’ ”
Some budding vendors pay $300 or more for online courses to learn the trade. Smith relied on YouTube, Instagram and Reddit to get going.
At one point, he stocked a machine with orange soda against the advice he got in an online forum. When it didn’t sell, he and his family had to drink three dozen cans themselves.
Tom and Missi Hakes of Midway, Ala., started vending after Missi, 40, saw videos on YouTube about the business. The idea seemed more appealing than their stints driving for Uber, shopping for Instacart and trying to make it as YouTubers.
The Hakes, who both have full-time jobs in health insurance, scouted out locations in Atlanta, the closest big city and two hours away. After their best lead fell through, they paid a woman they found on Facebook Marketplace $500 to find a location for them.
She sent them to two spots that didn’t work out, including a cheerleading gym. The manager there was on board until she learned that the Hakes hadn’t operated a vending machine before.
Tom, 48, posted on a forum wondering how to address questions about their industry experience. At their next meeting, with the owner of a gym, they reluctantly followed some of the forum’s advice: They lied and said they had a few machines.
“We didn’t want to get another no,” said Tom.
He then spent a month repairing a used machine they bought for $1,400, staying up on some nights until 2 a.m.
When it was ready, Tom and Missi struggled to wrangle it into the 15-foot U-Haul truck they rented.
“Two people is not enough to move an 800-pound machine,” she said.
The Hakes spent about $2,500 on their vending business, as well as 20 to 30 hours a week for much of last fall.
They pay $50 a month to park it in the gym and it costs about $330 to fill up. It is currently grossing about $30 a week.
If anything, the income has been too passive, Tom said, “because it’s not really doing a lot of sales.”
If the machine isn’t selling more by summer, the Hakes will consider leaving the location, or perhaps vending machines overall.
Used vending machines of questionable quality sell online for as little as $500. More reliable ones cost in the range of $1,000 to $2,000, according to veteran vendors. A new machine with a touch screen and a robotic arm could cost upward of $7,000.
Many used machines have a maintenance issue about once a year, and they need to be cleaned. Cash is dirty, said Ben Gaskill of Everest Ice and Water Systems, a vending-machine maker. “Somebody digs around for coins in the bottom of their purse and it’s got grape jelly on it.”
Vendors shop warehouse stores like Costco and Sam’s Club to stock up. One machine’s worth of snacks or drinks can cost $200 to $300 a month. Owners then charge about twice what they paid for each product, or more. Prices of food from vending machines were up 10.6% year over year in January, according to Labor Department data.
The top-selling items in vending machines are cold drinks, snacks and candy, according to the latest data from Automatic Merchandiser magazine.
“No matter how healthy you try to make the machines, people are going to buy that Snickers bar,” said Lory Strickland, who sells courses and one-on-one coaching with her husband, Barry, under the name The Vending Mentors.
Selling online classes and coaching can sometimes be more lucrative than a given moneymaking idea itself, said Swartz, the University of Virginia professor.
In online forums, she said, “there’s the joke that if there are people making courses about it, then it’s already oversaturated as a side hustle.”
To capitalise on interest in vending, some experienced operators started selling their expertise to supplement the income coming in from their machines. Some transitioned primarily to training.
Hyping the vending-machine dream predates the internet, though. The first machines in the U.S. sold gum and appeared on train platforms in 1888.
In the 1940s, media outlets cautioned about “get-rich-quick schemes” promoted by “unscrupulous agents involving vending machines.” In 1960, the magazine now known as Kiplinger Personal Finance warned of “vultures in the business” who promised “that an $800 investment may produce $200 a month, and that only a few hours of work a week are required to enjoy such rich pickings.”
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From tax residency and superannuation to offshore investments and property, the financial implications of coming home can be more complex than leaving.
Every year, thousands of Australians make the decision to pack up life overseas and come home.
After years, sometimes decades, building careers, accumulating assets, and growing families in places like Dubai, London, Singapore, or Hong Kong, the pull back is understandable.
What most don’t appreciate until it’s too late is that the return journey is often far more financially complex than the departure.
Leaving Australia is, financially speaking, a relatively clean event.
You depart, you potentially become a non-resident for tax purposes, and a new set of rules applies.
Coming back, however, means reconciling everything you’ve accumulated offshore with an Australian tax system that hasn’t been standing still waiting for you.
The first and most costly mistake is misunderstanding when Australian tax residency resumes.
Many returning expats assume residency only kicks in once they’ve formally re-established themselves, signed a lease, updated their address, started a job. The ATO doesn’t see it that way.
Under Australian tax law, residency can recommence the moment you land with the intention of remaining. That means any taxable events, investment income, asset disposals, foreign account distributions that occur after that point are potentially assessable in Australia, even if they’re sitting in offshore accounts you haven’t touched.
One of the most underappreciated issues for returning expats is what’s been happening inside their superannuation fund while they’ve been away.
Contributions may have paused, but fees, insurance premiums, and investment volatility haven’t. Some returning clients are genuinely shocked by how much ground their super has lost to fees during periods of lower balances or inappropriate investment settings.
The more strategic issue is what to do on the way back. If you hold foreign pension arrangements, a UK SIPP or QROPS, a 401(k), and international savings schemes, the question of whether and how to repatriate those funds requires careful planning before you return.
Once you’re a tax resident again, distributions from certain foreign structures can be assessable as ordinary income, and the window to manage that exposure closes.
Returning to Australia doesn’t sever your obligations in the countries where you’ve been living.
Foreign-held shares, managed funds, or investment accounts will be picked up by Australian tax reporting requirements from the moment residency resumes.
The Foreign Investment Fund rules, transferor trust provisions, and the reporting obligations under Australia’s tax information exchange agreements mean these holdings need to be declared and, in some cases, restructured.
Leaving investments sitting offshore in structures that made sense as a non-resident but create compliance headaches as a resident is one of the most common and expensive mistakes we see.
The restructuring cost, if it’s even possible post-return, typically dwarfs what it would have cost to plan properly in advance.
There are two distinct property problems for returning expats.
The first is what they’ve held while away, an Australian property rented out during the absence.
Depending on how long the property was the main residence and how it was treated during the rental period, the CGT calculation on eventual sale can be complex.
The six-year absence rule provides some relief, but it’s not automatic and has conditions that are frequently misunderstood.
The second is re-entry into the Australian property market.
After years of asset accumulation offshore, many returnees assume they’re well-positioned to buy.
The challenge is that their financial picture, including foreign income history, offshore assets and currency, doesn’t translate neatly into Australian mortgage serviceability.
Lenders read foreign income conservatively, and what looks like a strong balance sheet can create unexpected borrowing capacity issues.
The single most effective thing an expat can do is start planning the return 12 to 18 months before departure.
That timeline allows for managed asset disposals under non-resident rules where advantageous, superannuation catch-up strategies, foreign structure rationalisation, and property decisions that aren’t being made under time pressure.
The irony is that most Australians sought financial advice before they left on how to exit cleanly.
Far fewer seek the same rigour on the way back in. Given the complexity involved, that’s an expensive oversight.
Coming home should be a financial clean slate. With the right planning, it can be. Without it, you’ll spend the first few years back unwinding decisions that didn’t have to be problems at all.
Brett Evans is the founder of Atlas Wealth and the author of The Expat’s Handbook.
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