Disrupting disruption with disruptive disruptions since 2010.
A startup valued at over one billion dollars, named after a mythical creature because the valuation is equally imaginary. For every unicorn, there are ten thousand startups that are just regular horses with traffic cones taped to their heads.
The person who started a company and will remind you of this fact in every meeting, email signature, and LinkedIn post until the heat death of the universe. They wear the title like a crown, even when the kingdom is a WeWork desk and two interns.
The Silicon Valley term for replacing something that works fine with an app that does the same thing but with a subscription fee. Every startup claims to be disrupting something, the way every toddler claims to be helping with dinner.
Minimum Viable Product: the absolute least you can build before showing it to humans, which somehow always ends up being the final product. It's the software development equivalent of serving someone a raw potato and calling it a restaurant soft launch.
A strategic change in business direction that's celebrated in Silicon Valley but called failure literally everywhere else. It's the entrepreneurial equivalent of missing your exit on the highway and announcing you meant to take the scenic route.
A 30-second summary of your startup that you deliver to investors in elevators, coffee lines, and restraining-order-adjacent proximity. If you can't explain your company in the time it takes to ride an elevator, your company is either too complicated or the elevator is too fast.
A wealthy individual who gives money to startups in exchange for equity and the warm feeling of watching their investment evaporate. They're called angels because they appear from heaven with cash and then watch helplessly as you fly straight into the ground.
Software as a Service -- a business model where customers pay monthly to rent software they'll never own, like a never-ending apartment lease for your data. It's the tech industry's greatest invention: turning a one-time purchase into a lifetime of recurring payments.
The amount of time a startup has before it runs out of money and crashes, much like an actual runway but with more crying. It's measured in months and discussed in board meetings with the same energy as a doctor delivering a terminal diagnosis.
The startup obsession with growing bigger, faster, and more unsustainably, as if a company were a goldfish and the market were an ocean. Everyone wants to scale, few know how, and most just end up spending more money to lose money at an impressive rate.
The mythical moment when your product perfectly matches what customers want, described by VCs as essential but defined by no one in any useful way. It's like obscenity -- you know it when you see it, and most startups never see it.
To make small, incremental improvements to something, which is a sophisticated way of saying "it's not done but we're shipping it anyway." The philosophy of iterate fast, break things has broken many things and iterated on surprisingly few.
The speed at which a startup spends its investors' money, measured in dollars per month and panic attacks per quarter. It's called burn rate because watching your cash evaporate feels exactly like watching something on fire.
A fixed-term program that accelerates startup growth through mentorship, resources, and the crushing pressure of a demo day deadline. It's like a pressure cooker for companies -- some come out perfectly cooked, and some just explode.
A business model where the basic product is free but all the useful features cost money, like a restaurant that gives you a free plate but charges for the food. It's the startup equivalent of a drug dealer's first-one's-free strategy, but legal and with worse margins.
The first significant round of funding, where investors plant money in your startup like seeds in a garden, fully expecting that most gardens will produce nothing but weeds and regret. It's typically between $500K and $5M, which is a lot of money for a PowerPoint presentation.
The plan for how founders and investors will eventually cash out, ranging from IPO to acquisition to quietly shutting down and pretending it never happened. It's planning your escape route before you've even built the building.
A methodology for building companies by testing hypotheses quickly and cheaply, based on a book that every founder has read and none have followed. It's called lean because by the time you're done pivoting, your bank account is extremely thin.
Evidence that people actually use your product, which is the startup world's version of proof of life. Investors ask about traction the way parents ask about grades -- they already suspect the answer is disappointing but want to hear you say it.
Building a company using nothing but your own savings, credit cards, and an alarming tolerance for ramen noodles. It's the startup equivalent of performing surgery on yourself -- theoretically possible, but everyone watching is deeply uncomfortable.
The stage at which a startup makes just enough revenue to cover the founders' basic living expenses, assuming those expenses are limited to instant noodles and shared housing. It's the lowest bar of financial success that still technically counts as success.
The right to buy company shares at a set price in the future, given to employees as compensation for the salary they're not getting. They're worth millions on paper and nothing in reality, making them the participation trophies of startup compensation.
The first major institutional funding round, where venture capitalists invest millions based on actual metrics instead of just vibes, which eliminates approximately 90% of startups. It's called Series A because it's the first of potentially many rounds, like academic grades but for companies.
A program that nurtures early-stage startups by providing office space, mentorship, and a false sense of security. It's called an incubator because, much like the medical device, it keeps fragile things alive that probably wouldn't survive in the real world.