Let me be blunt: Vietnam should be the perfect place to build a lean, high-margin business. The cost of living is low. Talent is abundant. The energy? Electric. You can feel it walking the streets of Saigon—everyone’s hustling, moving, building. It’s the kind of raw growth that startup junkies like me drool over.
So when I landed in Vietnam with a playbook full of wins, I was sure I’d hit the jackpot. I’d built SaaS ventures in the U.S., helped launch fintech tools in Latin America, and advised founders across Asia. Vietnam felt like the next frontier.
But six months in? My business was in shambles. My team was fractured. And I was bleeding cash and confidence.
Here’s the uncomfortable truth about trying to build in Vietnam as a foreigner—and why, despite the hype, it didn’t work out for me.
1. You’re always an outsider (no matter how friendly people are)
Vietnamese people are warm, welcoming, and incredibly open—on the surface. But business? That’s a different game. There’s an inner circle that you don’t see at first. Family ties, school networks, and decades-old relationships run the show behind closed doors.
I naively thought being “Western” gave me some kind of advantage. It didn’t. If anything, it made people polite—but distant. I was tolerated, not trusted. And in a relationship-first business culture, that meant I was always ten steps behind.
2. The rules aren’t the rules
Every expat entrepreneur in Vietnam has a story about how the “official” rules and the “real” rules are two different things.
Want to hire local staff? Technically easy. In reality? You’ll run into labor laws that shift depending on who’s asking. Want to rent an office space? Sure, but your landlord might demand six months’ rent upfront and then ghost you when something breaks.
I tried to play it clean. Register the business. Follow the rules. Pay the taxes. But local competitors could do things I couldn’t—because they knew how to work the system, not just play in it.
3. Your foreign bank account becomes a chokehold
I made the rookie mistake of trying to operate with a foreign bank account while waiting for my Vietnamese business license to process (which, by the way, took forever). It seemed harmless—until I tried to pay freelancers or receive funds from clients.
Vietnam’s banking system isn’t built for digital nomads. International transfers are slow. Paperwork is painful. And good luck explaining Stripe or Wise to your local accountant.
In the end, my cash flow got strangled by red tape—and there’s nothing that kills momentum faster than not being able to pay your team on time.
4. Your “cost advantage” is a mirage
At first, I was blown away by how cheap things were: $2 banh mi, $30 co-working spaces, $300/month staff.
But what I didn’t realize is that low cost often means low reliability. That $300 staffer might ghost you mid-project. That developer quoting half the market rate? Probably copy-pasting code from StackOverflow. I spent more time cleaning up messes than shipping product.
And when I did find top talent? They wanted international rates. So the dream of ultra-cheap scaling? Gone. The actual costs of quality were just hidden in the churn.
5. There’s no safety net when things go wrong
In more mature ecosystems, when you hit a wall, you pivot. You find mentors. You get bridge funding. You join an accelerator. There’s infrastructure.
In Vietnam? You’re on your own.
When my main revenue source dried up—thanks to a global client pulling out—I had nowhere to turn. No local investor network. No legal safety net. No community of fellow founders to lean on.
It’s easy to feel invincible when things are working. But when they aren’t? You realize how vulnerable you really are.
What i wish i knew
If I could do it over, I’d do three things differently:
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Partner with a local – not just for legal setup, but as an equal. Someone who knows the system and can navigate it from the inside.
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Start as a freelancer, not a founder – build your network, test the waters, then go all in.
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Keep your burn rate stupidly low – assume your setup will take twice as long and cost three times as much.
Vietnam has so much promise. But it’s not Silicon Valley with scooters. It’s a different beast—and if you treat it like a shortcut, it’ll eat you alive.
