Disrupting disruption with disruptive disruptions since 2010.
A delightfully depressing portmanteau describing the growing army of hustlers who call themselves entrepreneurs but are really just unemployed people with a business card and a prayer. These brave souls combine the precarious instability of gig work with the delusion of startup success, making "founder" sound way better than "between opportunities." Welcome to late-stage capitalism's participation trophy.
When investors, customers, or acquirers proactively reach out to a startup rather than being solicited. It's the entrepreneurial equivalent of being asked to the dance instead of doing the asking.
An entrepreneur driven primarily by solving a problem or advancing a cause rather than financial gain. They're the idealists who actually believe their mission statement.
When VCs make investment decisions based on superficial similarities to previous successful startups rather than rigorous analysis. It's why they love Stanford dropouts building social apps in their dorm rooms.
The exhausting process of pitching multiple venture capital firms on Sand Hill Road in Menlo Park, often receiving similar feedback and soft rejections. It's speed dating for capital, and you're getting ghosted.
Verbal commitments from investors to participate in a round that aren't legally binding, giving founders a sense of momentum that may evaporate when term sheets arrive. It's Schrödinger's capital raise.
A provision in IPO underwriting allowing underwriters to sell additional shares if demand exceeds expectations, typically up to 15% more. Named after the first company to use it, because finance people hate straightforward names.
Lifetime Value—the total revenue a customer generates before churning, which you compare against acquisition cost to pretend your business makes sense. Usually wildly optimistic because it assumes customers stick around forever.
A venture fund typically under $50M that invests small checks in very early-stage startups. They offer founder-friendly terms and actual attention, mainly because they can't afford fancy offices or ignore their investments.
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 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.
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.
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.
The magical property where your product becomes more valuable as more people use it—or what every social startup claims to have despite zero evidence. True network effects are rarer than honest user growth numbers.
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.
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.
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.
Restructuring that gives early investors and employees liquidity without selling the company, like a pressure release valve for cap table tension. An exit without the exit.
When a company or investor offers to buy shares from existing shareholders at a set price, providing liquidity without a full exit. A release valve for the equity pressure cooker.
Additional capital raised on the same terms as the previous round (like a Series A-1) rather than progressing to the next stage, buying time without the stigma of a flat or down round. The startup equivalent of taking an incomplete rather than failing the course.
The magical realm where scientists play God with DNA and investors play roulette with their portfolios. Short for biotechnology, it's the industry that promises to cure cancer, extend your lifespan, and justify obscene R&D budgets—all while burning through cash faster than a lab incinerator. Whether it's CRISPR gene editing or synthetic biology, biotech is where biology meets business and hope meets hype.
A structural competitive edge that's difficult or impossible for competitors to replicate, like proprietary technology, exclusive partnerships, or regulatory capture. What founders claim to have and what actually exists rarely overlap perfectly.
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.