Rejecting the public market to raise 30 billion: Musk's most expensive bet to reach Mars

In recent weeks, Wall Street has been bubbling. On December 13th, SpaceX completed its latest private funding round with a valuation of $800 billion, sending a clear signal: the company is ready for its stock market debut in 2026. Internal plans aim to raise more than $30 billion, positioning this event as the largest initial public offering in history, surpassing Saudi Aramco’s record in 2019. And if Musk achieves his final valuation goal of $1.5 trillion, SpaceX would directly enter the top 20 global publicly traded companies.

For those familiar with Musk’s story, this turn is particularly ironic. Just three years ago, at an internal conference in 2022, the entrepreneur told his employees directly: “Going public is an invitation to pain.” Today, he signs the documents to do exactly that. What changed? The answer is simple but overwhelming: Mars.

When the giants mocked the rookie

To understand why Musk needs so much money, we must go back to 2001. At that time, the 30-year-old billionaire had just sold his stake in PayPal and had hundreds of millions in cash. While other entrepreneurs built social networks or applications, Musk decided to do something that seemed completely irrational: build rockets from scratch.

The space industry at that time was an exclusive club of governments and giant corporations like Boeing and Lockheed Martin. The idea that an internet entrepreneur would want to enter this field was seen not only as ambitious but as delusional. Musk’s first attempt to buy a refurbished Dnieper rocket in Russia ended humbling: a Russian designer spat on him, implying he understood nothing. “If you don’t have money, get out,” they told him.

On the flight back, while his colleagues were demoralized, Musk kept typing. Then he turned around and showed a simple spreadsheet: “Hey, I think we can do it ourselves.” Thus, SpaceX was born in February 2002, in a 75,000-square-foot warehouse in El Segundo, California, with the remaining $100 million from Musk’s coffers.

The price of dreaming

The first years were one disaster after another. Falcon 1 exploded 25 seconds after launch in 2006. The second attempt in 2007 crashed. The third in 2008 was catastrophic: the propulsion stages collided, and debris fell into the Pacific.

And then came the hardest blow. Armstrong, the man who walked on the Moon, publicly declared he didn’t believe in Musk’s project. “You don’t understand what you don’t know,” declared Musk’s childhood idol. Reflecting on those moments in a later interview, Musk couldn’t hold back tears. “These people are my heroes; it was really hard,” he said.

But 2008 was not only the year of ridicule. It was also the year SpaceX ran out of money. The financial crisis was hitting the planet, Tesla was bankrupt, his marriage was falling apart, and the company’s funds only covered one last launch. If the fourth attempt failed, everything would disappear.

On September 28, 2008, Falcon 1 launched for the fourth time. Nine minutes later, the payload entered orbit. The control room erupted in applause. SpaceX not only survived; it became the first private company in the world to successfully launch a rocket into orbit. A week later, NASA called: a $1.6 billion contract for 12 missions to the space station. “I love NASA,” Musk exclaimed, and changed his computer password to “ilovenasa.”

The thought that changed everything

Saved from ruin, Musk did something that seemed even more radical: insist that rockets should be reusable. Almost all internal engineers opposed it. The industry consensus was that, like disposable paper cups, rockets were by definition single-use.

But Musk applied first principles thinking. He opened a spreadsheet and broke down all the construction costs. What he found was disturbing: traditional giants had artificially inflated prices dozens of times. A screw cost hundreds of dollars. Why? Because they could. Not because it was necessary.

“If rockets can’t be reused, space exploration will always be a game for a few,” Musk reasoned. “If an airplane were thrown away after a single flight, no one could afford to fly.”

On December 21, 2015, the vision became reality. A Falcon 9 launched from Cape Canaveral, completed its mission, and then its first stage returned vertically to the launch site, landing as if in a science fiction movie. The old rules of the space industry were shattered.

Stainless steel vs. carbon fiber

With reusable rockets mastered, Musk faced the next challenge: building the Starship capable of reaching Mars. Conventional wisdom said he needed high-tech materials, expensive and complex carbon fiber. SpaceX invested in giant molds.

Then Musk went back to first principles and did the math: carbon fiber costs $135 per kilo; 304 stainless steel (the same as pots and pans) costs just $3 per kilo. “But steel is too heavy!” protested engineers.

Musk pointed out a physical truth they had ignored: the melting point. Carbon fiber burns easily during reentry; stainless steel withstands 1,400 degrees. Additionally, its strength increases at ultra-low temperatures of liquid oxygen. Adding the thermal protection system needed for carbon fiber, the “heavy” stainless steel rocket weighs the same as a carbon fiber one but costs 40 times less.

This decision freed SpaceX from the chains of precision manufacturing. They didn’t need clean rooms or sophisticated aerospace equipment. They could assemble shops in the Texas desert, weld rockets like water tanks, and if something exploded, simply sweep up the remains and continue the next day. “Doing top-tier engineering with cheap materials” became SpaceX’s competitive advantage.

The billion-dollar business

From $1.3 billion in 2012 to $800 billion today, SpaceX’s valuation trajectory has been extraordinary. But it’s not the rockets that justify these numbers.

It’s Starlink.

Before Starlink, SpaceX was just spectacular videos of explosions or landings for the general public. Starlink changed everything: a constellation of thousands of satellites in low orbit that has become the world’s largest internet provider. With a receiver the size of a pizza box, anyone can connect from anywhere: a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean, a war-torn remote region, an isolated mountain.

It’s not space exploration. It’s basic infrastructure, like water or electricity. And it’s a money-printing machine.

By November 2025, Starlink has 7.65 million active subscribers and over 24.5 million actual users. The North American market accounts for 43% of subscriptions, while Korea, Southeast Asia, and other emerging markets make up 40% of new users. SpaceX’s projected revenue for 2025 is $15 billion, with an estimate of $22-24 billion for 2026, more than 80% coming from Starlink.

SpaceX has quietly completed a transformation: from a space contractor dependent on government contracts to a global telecommunications giant with an impenetrable monopoly moat.

The interstellar toll

So, why does Musk need $30 billion now? According to his roadmap, in two years a Starship will perform an uncrewed landing on Mars. In four years, astronauts will step onto the red soil. His ultimate vision: build a self-sustaining city on Mars within 20 years through 1,000 Starship launches.

“The only purpose of accumulating wealth is to make humanity a multiplanetary species,” Musk has said multiple times. From this perspective, SpaceX’s IPO is not a traditional “exit.” It’s an expensive “refueling.”

The billions raised on the stock market will not go to yachts or mansions. They will turn into fuel, steel, oxygen. Paving the long road to Mars.

Twenty-three years ago, when Musk promised to build rockets, the world saw him as a nobody. Today, that nobody is about to make history again: capturing in a single public offering the largest amount ever raised for a human dream. The biggest IPO in history will not be to maximize profits on Wall Street but to step onto another planet.