Disrupting disruption with disruptive disruptions since 2010.
The VC firm that sets the terms and does the heavy lifting in a funding round, while other investors gratefully follow along. Someone has to negotiate while everyone else free-rides.
Excess stock options or debt that will dilute existing shareholders, hanging over the cap table like a financial storm cloud. Future pain that everyone pretends isn't there.
A funding event that technically keeps a struggling startup alive but doesn't provide enough capital or momentum to actually succeed. Life support masquerading as investment.
Legal promises in investment agreements where founders swear everything they've said is true and the company isn't hiding skeletons. Breaking these can result in personal liability, making due diligence the most stressful time to discover that intern you hired in 2019 never signed an IP assignment.
An operating style where founders maintain deep involvement in company details rather than delegating everything to managers. Popularized by Paul Graham as a counterpoint to conventional management wisdom that says CEOs should stay hands-off.
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.
The pattern where a venture fund initially shows negative returns as it deploys capital and pays fees, before (hopefully) shooting upward when investments exit. A graph that looks like the letter J, assuming your fund doesn't remain in the vertical downstroke forever.
Stock-like compensation arrangements that mimic equity ownership without actually granting shares, often used to avoid dilution or regulatory complications. All the incentive alignment with bonus legal complexity.
Informal promises of future equity that aren't documented in legal agreements, often made to early advisors or contributors. A lawsuit waiting to happen, wrapped in a handshake.
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.
A strategy where investors make many small bets, then heavily support only the winners in subsequent rounds. The venture capital version of throwing spaghetti at the wall, then only cooking the pieces that stuck.
A startup that aims to be both profitable AND socially responsible, as opposed to unicorns that prioritize growth at any cost. They're real, sustainable, and less likely to leave a trail of layoffs and burned capital.
The overwhelming wave of convertible notes and SAFEs that convert to equity during a priced round, often revealing a far more complex cap table than founders realized. The moment when chickens come home to roost, except the chickens are financial instruments.
A product development organization obsessed with shipping features rather than solving customer problems or delivering value. The startup equivalent of a hamster wheel—lots of motion, no actual progress.
A PowerPoint presentation optimized for skimming, typically 10-15 slides explaining why your startup will change the world and only needs $2M to do it. It's fiction dressed up as financial projections.
Any exchange of goods, services, or money, elevated to sound more important when preceded by 'business' or followed by 'cost.' In startup world, it's the holy grail metric that proves people are actually using your product for its intended purpose rather than just kicking the tires. VCs obsess over transaction volume, transaction value, and transaction frequency as if counting exchanges of value will somehow predict the future.
The fancy business term for a proposal or offer, usually dressed up with adjectives like 'value' or 'unique' to make it sound more impressive than 'hey, wanna buy our stuff?' In startup pitch decks, the 'value proposition' is that one slide where founders explain why anyone should care about their idea, typically using a Venn diagram that doesn't quite make sense. A good proposition answers 'what's in it for me?' before the listener falls asleep.
The theoretical benefit of being first to market, used to justify rushing out half-baked products. History suggests fast-follower advantage is more valuable, but that doesn't sound as impressive in pitch decks.
A timeline of planned features that will be delivered late, if at all—your product team's creative fiction exercise. It exists primarily to give the sales team something to promise prospects that engineering will later disappoint.
A company culture claiming to make decisions based on data analysis rather than gut feeling, though which metrics get measured mysteriously align with what leadership already wanted to do. It's astrology for MBAs.
What investors claim your company is worth before they invest—a number that's actually meaningless but gets thrown around in press releases. Add the investment amount to get post-money, which is what your ownership percentage is actually based on.
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.
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.
Investors who prey on distressed startups, offering unfavorable terms when founders are desperate. They prefer the smell of burning runway in the morning.