Disrupting disruption with disruptive disruptions since 2010.
A funding round where a company raises money at a lower valuation than the previous round, which is the startup equivalent of your house being appraised for less than you paid for it, except everyone on Twitter knows about it. Morale is measured in tears per employee.
A group of users who started in the same time period, tracked to see how many stick around. The cruel truth about how fast people abandon your product.
The terrifying state of having mere weeks of cash remaining, when every expense is scrutinized and founders start drafting layoff announcements. The financial equivalent of flying on empty while the engine sputters.
The process of narrowing your target market to a smaller, more specific segment rather than trying to serve everyone. What pivoting looks like when you finally accept your TAM assumptions were delusional.
Keeping multiple strategic paths open while committing to none, often praised as strategic flexibility or criticized as inability to make decisions. The business equivalent of dating multiple people because you're 'keeping your options open.'
The handful of key performance indicators that actually determine business health versus the vanity metrics founders cite in pitch meetings. Revenue and retention versus social media followers and press mentions.
Protective clauses that let early investors maintain their ownership percentage when future rounds price lower, punishing founders for failing to maintain perpetual hockey stick growth. Comes in weighted-average and full-ratchet flavors of pain.
Sequential institutional funding rounds designated by letters, theoretically indicating maturity but practically just measuring how much money you've convinced people to give you. The alphabet of ambition.
The percentage of transaction value a platform extracts as revenue, revealing how much you're actually taxing your users for the privilege of using your service. Too high and users revolt; too low and investors revolt.
Equity allocated to former employees, advisors, or early team members who are no longer contributing to the company but still own shares. It's the corporate equivalent of paying rent for a ghost tenant.
The first major investor who commits to a fund or round, giving others confidence to follow. Like the first person to dance at a party—everyone was waiting for someone brave (or drunk) enough to start.
When a company buys a failing startup primarily for its talent, with the product being immediately shut down. A face-saving exit that's really just an expensive recruiting strategy with better PR.
Reserved portion of an acquisition's proceeds specifically allocated to employees or specific shareholders, ensuring they benefit even if the waterfall would otherwise drown them. Exit sharing mandated by negotiation or generosity.
A financing round where new investors impose unfavorable terms on existing shareholders who lack the power to block it. Essentially a hostile takeover by people already inside your building.
When a company acquires a startup primarily to shut it down and eliminate competition, rather than to integrate talent or technology. It's the evil twin of acqui-hire where everyone loses except the shareholders.
The phenomenon where the worst investment opportunities are most aggressively marketed to investors, while the best deals are oversubscribed and hard to access. If they're begging you to invest, run.
Your master plan for how you'll actually convince humans to exchange money for your product, typically involving buzzwords like 'omnichannel' and 'vertical integration.' It's the section of your pitch deck you update most frequently as each approach fails.
Past tense of churning, describing customers who've abandoned ship or accounts that have been excessively traded for commissions. In the startup world, it's the past tense of failure—these are the users who tried your product and decided literally anything else was better. When your investors ask about churned customers, it's never a fun conversation.
A wealthy individual who invests their own money in early-stage startups, typically because they're either bored with normal investments or enjoy the thrill of watching their cash evaporate in creative ways. These financial guardian spirits usually write checks between $25K and $100K in exchange for equity, mentorship duties they may or may not fulfill, and the right to say 'I invested in that' at cocktail parties. They're called angels because founders pray for them, not because they're particularly heavenly.
A startup that returns an entire venture fund's value through a single investment, making every other deal in the portfolio irrelevant. Rarer than unicorns and more impactful than a hundred modest successes combined.
Late-stage debt or hybrid securities used to bridge the gap between venture rounds and an exit. It's called mezzanine because it sits between the ground floor (equity) and penthouse (IPO).
An experienced executive or advisor brought into a startup to add operational credibility and grown-up supervision to a young founding team. Think adult daycare, but for unicorn hopefuls.
A clause protecting investors from getting screwed when a company raises money at a lower valuation, automatically giving them more shares to maintain their investment value. Founders hate it; investors demand it.
A venture capital fund owned and operated by a larger corporation to invest in strategically relevant startups. They bring money and potential acquisition interest, but everyone knows who they're really working for.