
NFT royalties were one of the format's most compelling promises for creators. Not just a one-time sale — a percentage of every resale, automatically, forever. A painter sells a canvas once and earns nothing when it sells for ten times the price two decades later. Digital creators were supposed to finally capture ongoing value from appreciation.
The problem is that royalties were never technically enforced by the underlying standards. For a few years, that didn't matter because marketplace convention held. Then the market structure changed, and the convention collapsed faster than most people expected.
Standard NFT contracts — built on ERC-721 or ERC-1155 — don't contain native royalty functionality. There's nothing in the base standard that requires anyone to pay the original creator when a token changes hands. Transfers can happen without any fee going anywhere.
EIP-2981, introduced in 2021, standardized how royalty terms are declared. A contract can signal "this collection charges 7.5% to the creator on secondary sales." But EIP-2981 is read-only. It tells marketplaces what the creator wants. It can't force anyone to honor it.
The enforcement layer was marketplaces. OpenSea, Rarible, Foundation, and others chose to read the EIP-2981 data and build royalty collection into their fee logic. For a few years, this worked — there was effectively one dominant marketplace, social consensus around creator royalties was strong, and the convention stuck.
Sudoswap launched in 2022 as an AMM-style NFT marketplace with zero creator royalties. It found an audience: traders who wanted quick liquidity extraction without royalty overhead eating into their margins. It wasn't a huge platform, but it demonstrated that the convention could be challenged.
The bigger shift came in November 2022. Blur launched as a professional NFT trading platform with optional royalties and BLUR token rewards for providing liquidity. Traders followed the incentives. Within months, Blur had surpassed OpenSea in trading volume — not because NFTs had changed, but because traders followed the liquidity.
For creators watching this unfold, the logic was straightforward: the feature that was supposed to guarantee ongoing income was being systematically avoided, and the marketplace that had been their ally was losing market share to platforms that didn't enforce it.
Projects and OpenSea responded with the operator filter registry — a smart contract mechanism that blocked NFT transfers through marketplaces that didn't enforce royalties. Yuga Labs (Bored Ape Yacht Club) implemented it. OpenSea built support for it.
It worked for new collections. If you minted a new NFT with the operator filter, royalty-bypassing platforms couldn't process transfers. The problem: existing collections without the filter were unaffected, and Blur added code to route around the filter for collections where it could. For most of the existing NFT ecosystem, enforcement remained voluntary.
The deeper issue is that restricting where a token can transfer is a real cost. A token that can only be traded on approved platforms is less liquid and less composable — it can't interact freely with DeFi protocols, can't be wrapped for other purposes, can't participate in ecosystems that didn't exist when the contract was deployed. You're trading openness for creator revenue protection.
By August 2023, OpenSea concluded this approach wasn't working at scale. They dropped royalty enforcement for older collections without the filter, making royalties effectively optional for the vast majority of existing NFTs.
There's a technically sound enforcement option: ERC-721C, developed by Limit Break. It uses custom transfer hooks that only permit transfers through pre-approved operators. If a marketplace isn't on the approved list, the transfer fails at the contract level — not as a policy, but as a technical reality.
This actually works. The tradeoff is composability. Collections using ERC-721C operate in a more restricted environment. For gaming NFTs, where the token's primary utility is within the game anyway, that tradeoff might be acceptable. For PFP collections competing for liquidity in an open market, restricting where tokens can trade is harder to absorb.
Some projects have adopted this path. Most haven't — and the liquidity difference is part of why.
For most NFT collections, royalties are currently optional. Some traders and collectors continue using platforms that honor them; others use platforms that don't. Creators without on-chain enforcement have no technical recourse.
This changes the economics of NFT creation in a structural way. If ongoing secondary market revenue isn't reliable, the economic model shifts back toward one-time sale dynamics — the same as physical art, without the mechanisms that were supposed to make NFTs different. Whether that matters depends on what a project is trying to accomplish and how its community trades.
New collections with meaningful volume adopting ERC-721C or equivalent on-chain enforcement would indicate the creator side is building toward a solution — accepting the composability constraint in exchange for reliable revenue. A major marketplace successfully reintroducing enforced royalties without losing significant market share to competitors would be a meaningful signal that convention can hold again.
Uniform marketplace adoption of royalty enforcement — unlikely without coordinated industry action or regulatory mandate. On-chain enforcement becoming standard practice without material liquidity loss would resolve the conflict, but that would require either most NFT trading consolidating to compliant platforms or royalty-free markets losing their liquidity advantage. Neither is happening at any meaningful scale currently.
Now: Royalties are practically unenforceable for most existing collections. If a new project cares about royalty enforcement, that design decision must be built into the contract from the start, with a clear understanding of the liquidity tradeoff.
Next: On-chain enforcement adoption will be project-by-project, not ecosystem-wide. Watch which new collections choose composability versus royalty protection — the patterns that emerge will likely persist.
Later: Regulatory frameworks governing digital creator rights could change the calculus. No jurisdiction has legislated this yet, and timelines are genuinely uncertain.
This post explains the mechanism behind the royalty debate — why the promise didn't hold, how the enforcement attempts worked and failed, and what the current technical options are. It doesn't advocate for any particular royalty structure, and it doesn't address the tax, legal, or accounting implications of royalty income in any jurisdiction.
The structure described here applies at the protocol and marketplace level. Whether a specific collection's royalty design represents a reasonable tradeoff depends on factors outside this scope.




