When you look at the story of Lazydays, the Tampa-based RV giant, you see a case study in what happens when a company bites off more than it can chew. For years, Lazydays was one of the largest RV dealers in the country. At its peak, it had nearly 30 locations nationwide and revenue topping a billion dollars. But just recently, the company had to sell off most of its business for $30 million, plus some discounted real estate. How does a billion-dollar company end up in a fire sale? Let’s walk through the fundamental mistakes.
First, Lazydays made the classic error of assuming the good times would last forever. During COVID, RV sales surged. People were stuck at home, looking for ways to travel without airports and hotels. The boom was real, and Lazydays rode that wave. But instead of treating it like a short-term spike, they bet the farm that sales would keep climbing. They expanded rapidly, opened more locations, and took on more inventory. Growth looked exponential—but exponential curves always flatten out. They didn’t plan for that.
Second, debt. When interest rates were low, Lazydays loaded up on borrowed money. Floorplan loans, real estate loans, operating debt—you name it, they had it. That kind of leverage looks fine when cash is flowing. But when sales slowed, those debt payments didn’t go away. And when the Federal Reserve raised rates, carrying costs got heavier. Debt is a tool, but in this case, it became an anchor.
Third, inventory management. RVs aren’t like cans of soup. They age fast, models change every year, and big rigs sitting on the lot lose value. Lazydays stocked up heavily during the pandemic. When demand cooled, they were left with “aged” inventory—last year’s models that had to be discounted. That hammered margins and created a vicious cycle: sell at a loss, take in less cash, struggle to pay debt, repeat.
Fourth, overexpansion. At one point Lazydays had locations all over the country. That kind of footprint only works if you can support it with steady demand and strong cash flow. When both of those disappeared, the company was stuck with too much overhead—leases, payroll, utilities. Shrinking back down wasn’t easy, and it sent a signal to the market that the company had lost its way.
Finally, vision. Leadership fell into the trap of believing yesterday’s growth story would guarantee tomorrow’s success. They didn’t account for demographics. Baby Boomers, the prime RV buyers, are aging out of the market. Younger buyers are less interested in giant motorhomes, and many are priced out entirely. Betting on endless demand from a shrinking customer base is not a strategy. It’s wishful thinking.
And here’s the kicker: Lazydays wasn’t just a private business making mistakes in silence. It was a publicly traded company, ticker symbol GORV. In mid-2021, the stock hit a peak of over $700 per share. Today, it trades at around $3. That’s a collapse of more than 99 percent in value. Investors who believed the hype and held on have been essentially wiped out. This is a brutal reminder that stock prices are not immune to basic business mistakes.
That collapse in shareholder value is also a window into a larger problem: executive pay. Lazydays’ CEOs weren’t in the Fortune 500 league of $10–15 million per year, but they still made hundreds of thousands to over a million annually, even as the business lost almost everything. Think about that. A company that destroyed 99 percent of shareholder value was still paying its executives handsomely. And shareholders never had a real say in the matter.
Here’s how corporate America works. Boards of directors, especially compensation committees, often rubberstamp management’s recommendations. Shareholders rarely vote directly on CEO pay. And almost none of these pay packages include clawback provisions—rules that would force executives to return money if the company fails. If those had existed at Lazydays, much of that compensation could have been deferred, held in trust, and only released if the company created real long-term value. Instead, management walked away with secure paychecks, while shareholders were left holding the bag.
This is the fundamental misalignment. Investors are told to think long term, to hold through cycles, to be patient. Executives, meanwhile, are rewarded for short-term quarterly numbers, quick expansions, and flashy growth that looks good today but may collapse tomorrow. In Lazydays’ case, expansion, debt, and inventory decisions all made sense if you were trying to juice quarterly growth. They made no sense if you were thinking about what the business would look like five years later.
The result? Management got paid. The company collapsed. Investors were wiped out. And the system kept moving.
This isn’t just about Lazydays—it’s a cautionary tale for everyone investing today. Meme-based investing, over-concentration, or betting your future on one single company or industry is dangerous. What looks unstoppable in the moment can collapse almost overnight. Lazydays is living proof.
The lesson is simple: Businesses get into trouble when they assume the boom will never end. Debt, inventory, and expansion all look smart when sales are climbing. But when the curve flattens, those same moves become deadly. And when executives are rewarded for the sprint rather than the marathon, it’s the shareholders who pay the price.