 | |  Fellow Investor,
My father Malcolm taught me never to let a good opportunity go to waste.
So to celebrate Forbes Investor's 23rd Anniversary, I'm taking this time to offer investors like you the chance to join thousands of other investors who subscribe to Forbes' flagship newsletter.
In 2000, we launched an unusual advisory for individual investors. Its mission: to find undervalued stocks that Wall Street overlooks. I'm talking about misunderstood, undercovered, mispriced stocks that the "smart money" misses time and time again. During bull and bear markets alike.
That advisory is Forbes Investor. | | | | | I'm here to tell you that 23 years later, Forbes Investor's gains well exceed our original goals.
Through my hand–picked editor Taesik Yoon's astute guidance, this renowned advisory has returned a massive 716%1 since inception compared to the 226% return from the S&P 500. | |  | | What’s more, much of this outperformance has been driven by small-cap value stocks. Yes, this overlooked small-but-mighty powerhouse that investors had largely ignored for the better part of the last decade in favor of the more popular growth stocks has once again begun proving its worth.
Forbes Investor subscribers were there to benefit as our advisory climbed nearly 21% over the past two tumultuous years for the equity market, trouncing the S&P 500’s meager 2% gain over the same period.
More importantly, even with market conditions remaining highly volatile, our outperformance has continued into 2023. In fact the Forbes Investor portfolio is up 27% year to date and beating the S&P 500 by 37% over the same span.1
But don't just take my word for it. Of the 48 stocks recommended over the past two years, 29—more than half—have already been dropped with an average gain of 15.1% on an average holding period of only about six months. By comparison, S&P 500 has barely averaged a gain of just 3.3% over the same spans.
This includes recent winners such as H&R Block (HRB), GigaCloud (GCT), Karat Packaging (KRT), Thorne HealthTech (THRN) and Build-A-Bear Workshop (BBW), which were only held for 7 months, 1 month, 2 months, 8 months and 6 months, respectively.
The result? A 38% climb in HRB versus a gain of just 10% in the S&P 500, a 52% surge in GCT compared to a loss of 4% in the S&P 500 over the same span; a 44% jump in KRT that was more than sixfold better than the 7% gain in S&P 500; a 44% rise in THRN versus a gain of only 9% in the S&P 500; and a 25% climb in BBW that trounced the 10% rise in the S&P 500.
If that's not impressive enough, take a look at some of the other fantastic profits booked over the past few years: | |  | | But finding undervalued market-beating gems is becoming increasingly harder in a market with so many headwinds, including high rates, geopolitical conflict, and cautious consumer spending. That makes active stock-selection strategies even more important. These strategies identify stocks that have been unfairly beaten up and have the potential to handsomely reward shareholders.
The good news is that the recent steep selloff in the market has caused our current portfolio of recommendations to sell at an average forward price-earnings (P/E) multiple of less than 12 times their consensus earnings estimate for the next 12-month period. This is a significant discount to the S&P 500, which continues to trade at a much higher P/E of about 19 times its aggregate earnings estimate over the same span.
As a result, our portfolio is chock full of stocks with this potential.3
I want to do everything in my power to help you put this exceptional advisory to work. Join today and get immediate access to our portfolio and two new high–conviction, deeply valued recommendations each month that have been carefully selected for their ability to outperform the broader market. Don't miss out on these before they become the next winners to be featured on the list above.
Forbes Investor usually costs $197 a year, but in honor of Forbes Investor's 23rd Anniversary you can put Forbes Investor to work for you for just $99.
That's a massive 50% savings off the regular price. And it's less than the original Charter rate from 23 years ago.
So—don't delay this limited–time invitation is only available for the next 5 days only.
Please note, no exceptions or extensions will be granted. Once this offer is gone, it's gone for good. There's no better time to give yourself and your family a much–deserved financial boost. I hope you decide to take me up on this exclusive offer. | | | | | | Sincerely, | |  | | Steve Forbes
Chairman and Editor–in–Chief
 Forbes Media
P.S. As an additional benefit for responding quickly, you’ll also get Forbes magazine*, our six-times-a-year flagship publication, delivered right to your door (a $66 value at the newsstand). Hurry—this offer expires is only valid for the next 5 days. Get Forbes Investor now for just $99. | | Dorian Gray glanced at the picture, and suddenly an uncontrollable feeling of hatred for Basil Hallward came over him, as though it had been suggested to him by the image on the canvas, whispered into his ear by those grinning lips. The mad passions of a hunted animal stirred within him, and he loathed the man who was seated at the table, more than in his whole life he had ever loathed anything. He glanced wildly around. Something glimmered on the top of the painted chest that faced him. His eye fell on it. He knew what it was. It was a knife that he had brought up, some days before, to cut a piece of cord, and had forgotten to take away with him. He moved slowly towards it, passing Hallward as he did so. As soon as he got behind him, he seized it and turned round. Hallward stirred in his chair as if he was going to rise. He rushed at him and dug the knife into the great vein that is behind the ear, crushing the man's head down on the table and stabbing again and again. There was a stifled groan and the horrible sound of some one choking with blood. Three times the outstretched arms shot up convulsively, waving grotesque, stiff-fingered hands in the air. He stabbed him twice more, but the man did not move. Something began to trickle on the floor. He waited for a moment, still pressing the head down. Then he threw the knife on the table, and listened. He could hear nothing, but the drip, drip on the threadbare carpet. He opened the door and went out on the landing. The house was absolutely quiet. No one was about. For a few seconds he stood bending over the balustrade and peering down into the black seething well of darkness. Then he took out the key and returned to the room, locking himself in as he did so. The thing was still seated in the chair, straining over the table with bowed head, and humped back, and long fantastic arms. Had it not been for the red jagged tear in the neck and the clotted black pool that was slowly widening on the table, one would have said that the man was simply asleep. How quickly it had all been done! He felt strangely calm, and walking over to the window, opened it and stepped out on the balcony. The wind had blown the fog away, and the sky was like a monstrous peacock's tail, starred with myriads of golden eyes. He looked down and saw the policeman going his rounds and flashing the long beam of his lantern on the doors of the silent houses. The crimson spot of a prowling hansom gleamed at the corner and then vanished. A woman in a fluttering shawl was creeping slowly by the railings, staggering as she went. Now and then she stopped and peered back. Once, she began to sing in a hoarse voice. The policeman strolled over and said something to her. She stumbled away, laughing. A bitter blast swept across the square. The gas-lamps flickered and became blue, and the leafless trees shook their black iron branches to and fro. He shivered and went back, closing the window behind him. Dorian Gray glanced at the picture, and suddenly an uncontrollable feeling of hatred for Basil Hallward came over him, as though it had been suggested to him by the image on the canvas, whispered into his ear by those grinning lips. The mad passions of a hunted animal stirred within him, and he loathed the man who was seated at the table, more than in his whole life he had ever loathed anything. He glanced wildly around. Something glimmered on the top of the painted chest that faced him. His eye fell on it. He knew what it was. It was a knife that he had brought up, some days before, to cut a piece of cord, and had forgotten to take away with him. He moved slowly towards it, passing Hallward as he did so. As soon as he got behind him, he seized it and turned round. Hallward stirred in his chair as if he was going to rise. He rushed at him and dug the knife into the great vein that is behind the ear, crushing the man's head down on the table and stabbing again and again. There was a stifled groan and the horrible sound of some one choking with blood. Three times the outstretched arms shot up convulsively, waving grotesque, stiff-fingered hands in the air. He stabbed him twice more, but the man did not move. Something began to trickle on the floor. He waited for a moment, still pressing the head down. Then he threw the knife on the table, and listened. He could hear nothing, but the drip, drip on the threadbare carpet. He opened the door and went out on the landing. The house was absolutely quiet. No one was about. For a few seconds he stood bending over the balustrade and peering down into the black seething well of darkness. Then he took out the key and returned to the room, locking himself in as he did so. The thing was still seated in the chair, straining over the table with bowed head, and humped back, and long fantastic arms. Had it not been for the red jagged tear in the neck and the clotted black pool that was slowly widening on the table, one would have said that the man was simply asleep. How quickly it had all been done! He felt strangely calm, and walking over to the window, opened it and stepped out on the balcony. The wind had blown the fog away, and the sky was like a monstrous peacock's tail, starred with myriads of golden eyes. He looked down and saw the policeman going his rounds and flashing the long beam of his lantern on the doors of the silent houses. The crimson spot of a prowling hansom gleamed at the corner and then vanished. A woman in a fluttering shawl was creeping slowly by the railings, staggering as she went. Now and then she stopped and peered back. Once, she began to sing in a hoarse voice. The policeman strolled over and said something to her. She stumbled away, laughing. A bitter blast swept across the square. The gas-lamps flickered and became blue, and the leafless trees shook their black iron branches to and fro. He shivered and went back, closing the window behind him. Dorian Gray glanced at the picture, and suddenly an uncontrollable feeling of hatred for Basil Hallward came over him, as though it had been suggested to him by the image on the canvas, whispered into his ear by those grinning lips. The mad passions of a hunted animal stirred within him, and he loathed the man who was seated at the table, more than in his whole life he had ever loathed anything. He glanced wildly around. Something glimmered on the top of the painted chest that faced him. His eye fell on it. He knew what it was. It was a knife that he had brought up, some days before, to cut a piece of cord, and had forgotten to take away with him. He moved slowly towards it, passing Hallward as he did so. As soon as he got behind him, he seized it and turned round. Hallward stirred in his chair as if he was going to rise. He rushed at him and dug the knife into the great vein that is behind the ear, crushing the man's head down on the table and stabbing again and again. There was a stifled groan and the horrible sound of some one choking with blood. Three times the outstretched arms shot up convulsively, waving grotesque, stiff-fingered hands in the air. He stabbed him twice more, but the man did not move. Something began to trickle on the floor. He waited for a moment, still pressing the head down. Then he threw the knife on the table, and listened. He could hear nothing, but the drip, drip on the threadbare carpet. He opened the door and went out on the landing. The house was absolutely quiet. No one was about. For a few seconds he stood bending over the balustrade and peering down into the black seething well of darkness. Then he took out the key and returned to the room, locking himself in as he did so. The thing was still seated in the chair, straining over the table with bowed head, and humped back, and long fantastic arms. Had it not been for the red jagged tear in the neck and the clotted black pool that was slowly widening on the table, one would have said that the man was simply asleep. How quickly it had all been done! He felt strangely calm, and walking over to the window, opened it and stepped out on the balcony. The wind had blown the fog away, and the sky was like a monstrous peacock's tail, starred with myriads of golden eyes. He looked down and saw the policeman going his rounds and flashing the long beam of his lantern on the doors of the silent houses. The crimson spot of a prowling hansom gleamed at the corner and then vanished. A woman in a fluttering shawl was creeping slowly by the railings, staggering as she went. Now and then she stopped and peered back. Once, she began to sing in a hoarse voice. The policeman strolled over and said something to her. She stumbled away, laughing. A bitter blast swept across the square. The gas-lamps flickered and became blue, and the leafless trees shook their black iron branches to and fro. He shivered and went back, closing the window behind him. Dorian Gray glanced at the picture, and suddenly an uncontrollable feeling of hatred for Basil Hallward came over him, as though it had been suggested to him by the image on the canvas, whispered into his ear by those grinning lips. The mad passions of a hunted animal stirred within him, and he loathed the man who was seated at the table, more than in his whole life he had ever loathed anything. He glanced wildly around. Something glimmered on the top of the painted chest that faced him. His eye fell on it. He knew what it was. It was a knife that he had brought up, some days before, to cut a piece of cord, and had forgotten to take away with him. He moved slowly towards it, passing Hallward as he did so. As soon as he got behind him, he seized it and turned round. Hallward stirred in his chair as if he was going to rise. He rushed at him and dug the knife into the great vein that is behind the ear, crushing the man's head down on the table and stabbing again and again. There was a stifled groan and the horrible sound of some one choking with blood. Three times the outstretched arms shot up convulsively, waving grotesque, stiff-fingered hands in the air. He stabbed him twice more, but the man did not move. Something began to trickle on the floor. He waited for a moment, still pressing the head down. Then he threw the knife on the table, and listened. He could hear nothing, but the drip, drip on the threadbare carpet. He opened the door and went out on the landing. The house was absolutely quiet. No one was about. For a few seconds he stood bending over the balustrade and peering down into the black seething well of darkness. Then he took out the key and returned to the room, locking himself in as he did so. The thing was still seated in the chair, straining over the table with bowed head, and humped back, and long fantastic arms. Had it not been for the red jagged tear in the neck and the clotted black pool that was slowly widening on the table, one would have said that the man was simply asleep. How quickly it had all been done! He felt strangely calm, and walking over to the window, opened it and stepped out on the balcony. The wind had blown the fog away, and the sky was like a monstrous peacock's tail, starred with myriads of golden eyes. He looked down and saw the policeman going his rounds and flashing the long beam of his lantern on the doors of the silent houses. The crimson spot of a prowling hansom gleamed at the corner and then vanished. A woman in a fluttering shawl was creeping slowly by the railings, staggering as she went. Now and then she stopped and peered back. Once, she began to sing in a hoarse voice. The policeman strolled over and said something to her. She stumbled away, laughing. A bitter blast swept across the square. The gas-lamps flickered and became blue, and the leafless trees shook their black iron branches to and fro. He shivered and went back, closing the window behind him. |
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