Let’s get one thing straight. When a guy worth a reported $300 million starts talking about what he’d do with his “last million,” it’s not financial advice. It’s performance art. It’s a fantasy camp for the aspiring rich, a little piece of theater where the stakes are as real as the sincerity in a politician’s smile.
I watched the clip of Robert Herjavec on stage with Grant Cardone at the 10X Growth Conference. The crowd went nuts when he said he’d dump his last million into real estate. They cheered like he’d just revealed the cure for the common cold. And I just sat there, staring at my screen, thinking: are you people for real?
Herjavec’s reasoning? “Because desperate people do stupid s–t,” he says. “You’ve got to take desperation out of the equation.”
Let’s translate that from billionaire-speak. What he’s really saying is, "If I were suddenly demoted from 'unimaginably wealthy' to merely 'very, very rich,' I'd use my emergency million to create a passive income stream so I could feel secure again." It’s a move to protect his psyche, not his survival. For the rest of us, desperation isn't an "equation" you can solve with a seven-figure wire transfer. It's the rising cost of groceries. It’s the fear of a medical bill wiping you out. His "desperation" is a hypothetical inconvenience; ours is a daily reality.
The Million-Dollar Safety Net
Herjavec’s grand plan, as outlined in Shark Tank Investor Robert Herjavec: Where I'd Put a Million, is to take that million, buy some real estate, “get an income stream, and then forget it existed.” Then he’d go out and “do other crazy stuff.” It’s presented as this rugged, back-to-basics strategy. Build a foundation. Simple. Solid.
But this isn't building a foundation; it's parking your diamond-encrusted yacht in a slightly smaller, also diamond-encrusted marina while you figure out which private jet to buy next. His "foundation" is an income-generating asset that insulates him from risk. For a normal person, a foundation is a steady paycheck and a prayer that the car doesn't break down. What kind of hands-off, "forget it existed" real estate investment with a million bucks generates enough cash flow to let you go do "crazy stuff" without a worry in the world? Is he buying an apartment building in cash? Are we just ignoring taxes, maintenance, and the nightmare of property management?
The whole exchange feels like a closed loop of self-congratulation. You’ve got Herjavec, the TV Shark, and Cardone, the real estate mogul, patting each other on the back about how real estate is the "best kept secret on planet Earth." A secret? Give me a break. It's the oldest play in the book for people who already have capital. To them, its a no-brainer. For everyone else, the barrier to entry might as well be a brick wall.
It’s like watching two master chefs declare that the secret to a great meal is starting with the highest-quality, most expensive ingredients. Thanks for the tip, guys. I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m staring down a package of ramen.
The Man Behind the Money
So it’s easy to write him off as just another out-of-touch tycoon selling a dream. And honestly, I was ready to. But then you dig a little deeper, and the story gets… complicated. It always does.
Before Shark Tank, Herjavec’s big TV ritual was watching Dancing with the Stars every Monday with his mom, Katica. It was their thing. When she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, he’d go to the hospital and they’d have viewing parties on the ward. She told him he was beautiful and should be on the show. He laughed it off but made a promise: "Mom, if they ever ask me, I’ll do it for you."
She passed away, and years later, the call came. He said yes without a second thought. And on that dance floor, in a swirl of sequins and spray tans, he met his future wife, Kym Johnson. It's a fulfillment of the promise at the heart of How Robert Herjavec’s Mother Inspired His ‘DWTS’ Story.
This is a bad story. No, "bad" doesn't cover it—it’s a ridiculously, almost unbelievably perfect story. It’s the kind of thing a Hollywood screenwriter would come up with. The dots of your life connecting backwards, as he says. A promise made in a hospital room leading to a new family. It’s the kind of narrative that makes you want to believe in something.
He talks about his parents, immigrants who gave up everything, his father working himself to the bone at a factory. He saw that sacrifice and it became his "why." That quiet, relentless dedication is the engine that drives so many success stories in this country. It’s raw and it's real. It's a universe away from the slick, sterile advice he’s slinging on a conference stage. So which one is the real Robert Herjavec? The guy who understands the grit of starting with nothing, or the guy who thinks a "last million" is a desperate situation? Can both even exist in the same person?
Give Me a Break...
So here’s where I land. Robert Herjavec’s personal story is genuinely compelling. The love for his mother, the respect for his father’s sacrifice—that’s the stuff that resonates because it’s fundamentally human. But his financial advice, delivered from the pedestal of extreme wealth, is practically useless for 99.9% of the population. It’s a solution for a problem most of us will never have. Listening to a multi-millionaire explain how to handle his "last million" is like taking navigation advice from someone who owns a helicopter. It might be fascinating, but it ain't gonna help you find your way through traffic. The man is not the message. And we should probably stop pretending they’re the same thing.