Disrupting disruption with disruptive disruptions since 2010.
The accumulating list of failed startups and failed startup founders—a real place we're all slowly joining.
A startup accelerator that funds, mentors, and networks early-stage companies for 3 months. Getting into YC is simultaneously a blessing and the quickest way to become overconfident.
The sacred privilege granted to investors allowing them to maintain their ownership percentage in future funding rounds by ponying up more cash. It's like a VIP pass that lets you keep throwing money at a company before it becomes wildly successful or spectacularly flames out.
A funding round where the company's valuation is explicitly set and shares have a specific price—as opposed to convertible instruments where everyone kicks the valuation can down the road. Forces uncomfortable conversations about what the company is actually worth.
A clause letting preferred investors double-dip by getting their liquidation preference back AND participating in the remaining proceeds with common shareholders. It's having your cake, eating it too, and taking a slice of everyone else's.
Having the qualities of someone who starts businesses, takes risks, and believes their idea will totally disrupt an industry despite statistical odds suggesting otherwise. It's the adjective form of optimistic delusion mixed with genuine innovation and an unhealthy comfort with uncertainty. Basically, it describes people who see opportunities where normal humans see reasons to keep their day job.
Risky business undertakings or investments that could either make you rich or teach you expensive lessons about market dynamics. In startup speak, it's what venture capitalists fund, hoping that one unicorn will make up for the nine failures. Think of ventures as business experiments where the hypothesis is "this will make money" and the results are usually mixed.
A go-to-market strategy dependent on human sales teams to drive customer acquisition, typical in complex B2B products with long sales cycles. The opposite of letting the product sell itself.
The phase when a startup has proven product-market fit and focuses on scaling revenue, typically raising Series B or C funding. Where dreams of changing the world meet the reality of quarterly revenue targets.
Investment structured to release capital in tranches as the company hits specific targets, giving investors control and founders ulcers. Trust, but verify, but mostly don't trust.
A fancy term for someone who invests in or undertakes risky business ventures, particularly in the startup ecosystem where optimism meets capitalism. These bold souls throw money and energy at unproven business ideas, hoping to strike gold before bankruptcy strikes them. It's like being an explorer, except instead of discovering new lands, you're discovering new ways to burn through Series A funding.
In startup land, the glorious moment when founders and investors finally cash out, either through acquisition or IPO, turning years of ramen dinners and sleepless nights into actual money. It's the entrepreneurial equivalent of winning the lottery, except you had to build the lottery first. Every VC's favorite word and every founder's obsession after their Series A.
The magical period where startup founders burn through investor cash while "validating their business model," ostensibly nurturing their fledgling company from idea to viable business. Like hatching eggs, except the eggs cost millions of dollars and most of them produce nothing. Incubators and accelerators love this word because it makes burning money sound scientific and inevitable.
The romanticized art of starting businesses, taking risks, and pretending to enjoy working 80-hour weeks for the slim chance of eventual success. It's capitalism's version of the hero's journey, complete with failure, redemption arcs, and way too many LinkedIn posts about "grinding." Business schools teach it, VCs fund it, and most people quit it within three years.
The most stripped-down version of your product that customers will actually use without demanding a refund—or at least that's the theory. In practice, it's whatever you can ship before running out of money.
An organizational dysfunction where the loudest voice wins every argument, regardless of actual merit or logic. Common in toxic startups and poorly-managed teams where decibel level is somehow confused with leadership ability, ensuring the best ideas often die in quiet corners while mediocre ones get screamed into existence.
The speed at which a venture fund invests its committed capital, often scrutinized as a metric of both deal flow quality and fund discipline. Too slow suggests weak deal flow; too fast suggests poor judgment and FOMO.
Optimistic individuals who voluntarily choose unemployment with extra steps, convincing themselves that working 80 hours a week for no salary is better than working 40 hours for someone else. They're essentially professional risk-takers who transform caffeine and delusion into businesses, with a success rate that would make a Vegas gambler nervous. Society celebrates them when they succeed and conveniently forgets them when they fail.
Surrounded by a protective water-filled trench, which in business parlance describes a company with such strong competitive advantages that rivals can't touch them. Warren Buffett made this term famous by obsessing over companies with "economic moats" that defend market share like medieval fortifications. These days, everyone claims they have a moat, but most are more like puddles.
The startup mantra that romanticizes abandoning your original business plan when it becomes clear nobody wants what you're building. It's plan B through Z, pitched as strategic thinking rather than desperate flailing.
A deferred payment structure in an acquisition where sellers receive additional money only if the business hits specific milestones post-sale. It's how acquirers say 'we believe your projections!' while quietly not paying for them upfront.
The first fundraising round from people who love you enough to give you money despite zero evidence your idea will work. The most expensive way to ruin Thanksgiving dinner conversations.
Someone who attends board meetings but lacks voting rights, typically a junior investor or potential future investor. They're flies on the wall with NDAs and calendars full of meetings they can't influence.
Raising capital by selling ownership stakes in the company rather than borrowing money. It's the fundamental bargain of venture capital: you get money now, investors get a piece of your future success (or failure).