Life - Cup of Zhou

November 7, 2024November 5, 2024

! > ? > , > .

Yes, that’s the title of this blogpost. And no, that’s not in Wingdings font.

And yes, that’s also an equation.

Surprises do better than suspense, which do better than pauses, which do better than full stops.

The first is indelible. The last is forgettable.

Let me elaborate.

Notation	Meaning	Explanation
!	Surprise	(For all you coders, the exclamation point does not stand for “not.”) You’ve shared something interesting, shocking, unexpected… something non-consensus or nonobvious. This is the easiest justification for someone to take a meeting. You not only have their attention, but their curiosity. It’s a point of contention. It allows for debate. At face glance, it may not sound right. It may outright be shocking.
?	Suspense	Why? How? You’ve posed an interesting question that begs an answer. People will follow up. They may or may not take the meeting, which is highly dependent on their bandwidth and your luck in their schedule. Oftentimes, the follow up will seek some level of external validation. You need to appeal to a higher authority. References. Facts/data, and starting from universal truths. Or sometimes, a higher form of logic and reasoning. In the words of Siqi Chen, questions are “tell tale signs of objections politely withheld.” For the purpose of gauging interest, quiet objections out loud may work in your favor.
,	Pause	You’ve introduced a subclause before the clause. The subclause itself must be interesting enough for them to want to finish the sentence. It’s the difference between a feature and a product. If it is interesting enough, there may be a follow up, but things will usually stay asynchronous. Oftentimes, this manifests in the form of taking a large leap of faith in logic. Either one starts a premise, but has no conclusion/solution. Or the other way around. You deliver the punchline, but has no build-up.
.	Stop	A quick conclusion can be drawn. No further questions or curiosities. There’s nothing special. Nothing worth noting. This neither grabs attention or begs curiosity. The same as saying the sky is blue. While that may seem obvious, the equivalent in the startup world is “We are a B2B SaaS product leveraging AI to deliver insights.” You’ve said nothing. And unfortunately, all of which is forgettable.

All that to say, if the goal is to get a conversation going, the above is a formula I often advise the founders and GPs I work with.

Then once you have the meeting, of all the meeting requests I get, the two most common reasons are:

I need money
I need feedback

Oftentimes, not mutually exclusive.

For the purpose of this blogpost, and as I’ve written about the former in the past, I’ll focus on the latter.

Feedback

The vast majority of people also suck at asking for feedback. Take pitch decks, for example.

Most founders and GPs ask: “Can you give me some feedback on my deck?” Unfortunately, the ask is nebulous. What kind of feedback are you looking for? How honest can I be? What are my parameters?

Should I be worried about hurting your feelings? Are you looking for validation or constructive criticism?

Am I the best person to give you feedback on this? Am I supposed to give feedback from the perspective of me as [insert your name] or a different persona?

So, unless you’re best friends with the person you want feedback from AND they are the ideal archetype you’re trying to target, you need to be more direct and focused on what you’re looking for.

Love-Hate-Forget

One of my favorite set of questions of all time happens to be something that was designed to be asked in groups of strangers. Something that came from the social experiments I hosted pre-COVID. Not original, but I forget the attribution.

Who did you notice? Who, for whatever reason, rational or not, did you like?
Who, for whatever reason, did you not like or feel it may be hard to be friends with them?
And after all that, who did you, for whatever reason, not notice at all?

Similarly, in the case of deck feedback…

Love

Could you go through the whole deck, spending an average of half a second on each slide? While you do so, could you note, which slides you spend longer than one second on, for whatever reason?
- FYI, leave it up to them if they want to elaborate. Sometimes you don’t need to ask. Oxygen usually rises to the top.
If you were to keep just one slide and throw everything else out, which slide would you keep?

Hate

Could you spend up to five seconds per slide? Which slides do you dislike, for whatever reason?
Why?
- FYI, typical feedback is usually too messy, no punchline (I don’t get what you’re trying to say), or I don’t agree. The last of which is actually not always bad, depending if it’s a point of view of the world or you’re misrepresenting a fact.

Forget

These are not questions you ask the feedback giver. Rather, these are questions for introspection.

Which slides did the person giving feedback totally ignore?
Why might they have?

More often than not, these are table stakes slides. Delete these slides if you can.

Photo by Volodymyr Hryshchenko on Unsplash

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The views expressed on this blogpost are for informational purposes only. None of the views expressed herein constitute legal, investment, business, or tax advice. Any allusions or references to funds or companies are for illustrative purposes only, and should not be relied upon as investment recommendations. Consult a professional investment advisor prior to making any investment decisions.

September 27, 2024September 27, 2024

Interviewers I Really Respect and Why

I’ve always been fascinated by how to get to the bottom of things. Yes, you can do your homework into the data, but at the end of the day, you have to go back to people and their experience.

Jeff Bezos has this line: “The thing I have noticed is that when the anecdotes and the data disagree, the anecdotes are usually right. There is something wrong with the way that you are measuring it.”

So, when it comes down to finding the right anecdotes, I’m a big believer that asking the right questions gets you most of the way there. It’s why I started the DGQ series on this blog. Naturally, I spend a lot of time studying others who are better at the craft than I am. After all, I have a long road ahead of me. While this is obviously useful in the context of my podcast, studying the best interviewers has also helped me when:

Listening to founder and GP pitches
Doing diligence
Interviewing potential candidates for a role
Making friends
Small talk
Coffee chats / when asking for advice
And of course, when doing research.

So while you may not have a podcast — or maybe you do — I hope you find the below useful in regards to other aspects of your life.

The callback

What is the callback? A callback — a term quite often used in the comedy circuit — is an allusion to something previously brought up in conversation. It’s not only a sign that you’re actively listening, but that you’re actively engaging in the flow of the conversation. For instance, say you hear someone bring up a quote they liked recently. For the purpose of this example, it’s Amos Tversky‘s line. “You waste years by not being able to waste hours.” Then later in the conversation, they say the last hour flew by so quickly. Then a callback could come in the form of, “Better than wasting a year with me.”

Conan O’Brien is world-class at this, if not best-in-class. If you watch his show or his podcast, you’ll see multiple examples. But probably best illustrated in just the number of times he did it in one episode, I’d recommend his episode with Larry David.

Surprise and delight

The first question in a conversation is often the hardest, but also has the greatest impact towards the rest of the conversation. Getting someone to put down their guardrails without pre-established rapport is really, really hard. It’s why podcasters and TV show hosts alike have pre-chats, where they spend time with each guest to warm them up.

It’s for that reason I have a lot of respect for Sean Evans who hosts Hot Ones. The number of times his guests have responded to his questions with “How did you know that?” and “You really did your research” or “I’ve never been asked that before” is a refreshing take in a world where talk show interviews are just a formality for a celebrity’s road show. And not only does the style and how Sean ask questions set the show apart from literally every other interview that celebrities go on, you can see how his first few questions help him build instant rapport with a guest whether or not they knew each other well before.

That said, I’d be hard-pressed to find just one as he’s able to execute well for most episodes of Hot Ones already. If you’re short on time, the only ones I find to be little less helpful, at least to see the mutual banter, are probably the ones where he’s interviewing himself, or a fictional character (i.e. Donald Duck or himself), or the guest and him go through less than 10 chicken wings (aka the full gauntlet).

Underneath the surface

Despite having hosted a number of fireside chats, when I first started Superclusters, I was obsessed with hitting every question I had prepared. An internal expectation that because the podcast is a public asset and is likely to be online till the end of time made me feel I had to cram as much information into each interview as possible. The funny thing is I still didn’t end up covering the lion share of questions.

For each episode, I end up preparing anywhere between 10 and 30 questions. Yes, you read that latter number right. And yes, for a roughly hour-long podcast. Naturally, there’s no way in hell I’d get to the vast majority of questions, but in mind, I had an internal drumbeat that I felt compelled to keep on pace with.

The more I talked with other seasoned podcasters, the more I realize that while others may not prepare as much research as I do before each interview, the best ones let the conversation flow. They ask great follow-up questions. They spend time on the nuance of words, phrases, even micro-reactions and flinches when guests speak or hear something. One of the most useful pieces of advice I got from a friend, Erica Wenger, was to do all the research you humanly can before each recording. Then, ask the first question, and throw the rest out the door. Which I’ve since internalized.

Tim Ferriss is my favorite on this front. And he does this for almost every single one of his episodes. That said, if you’re looking for a starting point, his episode with Eric Ripert was the first one I actually sat down with pen and paper purely to take notes on how Tim follows up with each of Eric’s comments.

By a friend’s recent recommendation, I also stumbled across The Diary of a CEO podcast. I will admit that the first few episodes I came across I found less interesting from a content perspective. But when three episodes later, I tuned into his episode with Marc Randolph, and holy cow, the depth of questions was clearly a cut above the rest, specifically around when Marc had to step down as CEO of Netflix. And you can just see Steven Bartlett asking one great question after the next.

Avoiding the yes

The fallacy with many rookie podcasters, admittedly my own rookie mistake as well, is that the host doesn’t push back on the guest’s answers enough. When an answer just isn’t good enough. Either the one answering dodges the question or kept their answer too broad.

Hasan Minhaj is my go-to person on this front as he’s incredible at pushing back thoughtfully, which is a really hard thing to do. One of my favorite interviews he did by far was the one he did with Kevin O’Leary on FTX, which Kevin personally invested in.

Drills, drills, drills

I can’t say I got this from any one podcaster, but actually something I learned from my time as a competitive swimmer. For every race we competed, we had to practice sets of twice the distance regularly. Even more so, we had to practice with a handicap, focusing on refining the technique for only part of our body. Be it legs only, or arms only, hell we even swam with our goggles black-sharpied out before. To us, these were drills that would help prepare us for the real thing.

As a podcaster, in case you couldn’t tell, I’m still a work-in-progress. Likely will always be. That said, one of the most helpful ways I’ve found to practice the art of asking questions (since I’m not in race mode every day) is I often listen to the above shows, hear the host ask the question. Then wait for the guest to respond. Then right before the host asks another question, I practice what I would say and where I’d interrupt. And only after I’ve said my response aloud, do I press play again and see what the host would say.

To me, those are the drills I run through when I can to prepare myself when I am eventually on camera. Other times, it’s just fun to see how my response or line of questions would differ from some of these other hosts.

In closing

I’ve often given the excuse that I’m a better writer than I’m a speaker. Which may be true. I often sit with myself during the editing process and wince at words I’ve used or using some complex language to explain what could have been a 140-character question. And the truth is, I’ve held myself back. By giving that very excuse. So now I am earnestly trying to improve. To close that gap, that delta between the way I write and the way I talk. At least from a proficiency standpoint. It may take me a while. But I appreciate every one of you being on this journey with me. And if there’s any advice you can share along this path, as some of you are further along, I’m all ears.

I hope the next time I write something like this, I’ll be further along. And maybe… just maybe, find myself circa today to be embarrassing to watch and listen to.

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September 19, 2024September 18, 2024

Poker, Event Design, and Vulnerability

(FYI, the first three paragraphs, from a content perspective, are all ‘gotcha’ moments and are irrelevant to the lesson one would probably take from this blogpost. Feel free to skip to paragraph four if you don’t need the extra context.)

Yesterday, a good friend of mine invited me to an intimate event he was putting together for experts to share their insight around a particular problem in today’s society. If he’s reading this blogpost, he’s going to insist on the fact that I’m a co-host. A title I’m embarrassed to take on since he does 99% of the work of why this event is as thoughtful as it is every month he does it. But I digress.

At the very end of the event, my VC buddy who came, came up to me to ask for some advice. “David, I host these poker nights every month for about 30-40 people. But I would love your thoughts on how I can make this event format more engaging and also unique, like the way you host your events.”

Spoiler alert. I never gave him a good answer to that question. So, if you came for that answer, joke’s on you. Or if you really want an answer to that, DM me, and I’ll share my thoughts.

But what happened after was quite interesting. My buddy who hosted the event last week — let’s call him, Danny — posited that poker was a particularly bad activity to do for an audience of founders and investors. Why? Lying is not a practice investors want to encourage in the founders they’re backing. The worst thing that can happen in a VC-founder relationship is that you find out the company is dying when it dies because the founder couldn’t be honest with you sooner. You want a clear line of communication between investors and founders all the time, so investors can help you course correct if they see you heading down the wrong road. And poker is a game that encourages lying.

To which, I agree from the angle of VC to founder relationships. Even personally, I don’t jump in any investor-investee relationship if I don’t think that investee (be it GP or founder) cannot be honest and vulnerable with me in the moment or in the long run.

My other VC buddy — let’s call him, Josh — countered with the fact that yes, poker does encourage you to lie, but most people he plays with have a clear separation of church and state. They know that poker is a game. And as a game, the behavior that is exhibited under such rules stays in the game. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

At the same time, while poker isn’t really the game to play to be vulnerable, Josh said that poker is a great environment to see how a founder reacts to stress. As well as, how they deal with the hand they’re dealt, figuratively and literally. You get to see if a person is risk-averse or risk-taking. Under what conditions? And when their competitors get aggressive, do they step up to the challenge or take a back seat. Do they spend time looking at their hand or analyzing their environment?

Again, also a lot of merit to what Josh said.

Then, ensued a bit of back and forth.

In my opinion, they’re both right.

In my experience, most founders don’t lie easily. While I haven’t done any market surveys if founders are more likely to lie if they play poker versus if not, I also believe that most invitations to poker nights among closed circles stay in closed circles. In the sense that most poker hosts pre-qualify if a person is a high integrity individual before they invite a guest to play poker. So in other words, a high selection bias.

People are more prone to lying or hiding facets of the truth when their ego is attacked. When something so core to their identity is questioned and put at risk. The higher the stakes, the more likely someone is to lie. In most poker games, and with sane people, the bets never exceed a meaningful portion of someone’s net worth. They’re not risking tomorrow’s dinner on the table.

Admittedly, in games where the primary adversaries are the other people present there, one is less likely to have opportunities to be vulnerable. Like poker.

On the other hand, in activities or games where the primary adversaries are themselves or the environment, there is no need to hold pretense. As such, people are more likely to be vulnerable. And have opportunities to be vulnerable. Like pottery, or glass-making, or maybe even golf.

That said, humans are creatures of comparison. We tell ourselves narratives that prescribe meaning to our actions and the actions of people around us. So even in the latter situations where the primary adversary is either themselves or the environment, you want the variation of proficiency levels to be low. In other words, each individual’s proficiency level needs to be as close to the median proficiency level as possible. Or what many will call, levelling the playing field.

For instance, let’s take painting. Painting is a skill where the dispersion of proficiency in the world is rather high. Some people exhibit the talent of Picasso or Georgia O’Keefe. Many others are happy with a decent looking stick figure. If the activity is art, one way to level the playing field is that everyone is blindfolded. Each person loses a sense that is quite crucial to their ability to produce great art. A handicap that instantly brings the variance very close to zero.

Take another example. Golf. Another sport where skill levels may differ drastically. One way to collapse the variance function is simply to have everyone swing with their non-dominant hand.

The goal here is not to only handicap the skilled, which may lead to passive aggressive discontentment. The goal here is to handicap everyone and help everyone divorce themselves from tying the result to their ego.

I’ve always optimized for activities and event formats that help people bond. If you search up ‘social experiments’ on this blog, you’ll see exactly what I mean. I love events that elicit curiosity, as opposed to competitive spirit. Maybe it’s to atone for my own competitive spirit. Knowing that if I have the chance to compete, I will. And well, sometimes, when I’ve set my goal on winning, I can be a misery to be around.

P.S. I appreciate all founders and investors who have invited me to poker nights. While I have played in a few, I can confidently say that I suck. I have a terrible poker face. 🙂

P.P.S. For my readers that are way wealthier than I am — you know who you are — I cannot afford your million dollar buy-ins at the table. That is just way too much funny money I do not have.

Photo by Keenan Constance on Unsplash

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August 23, 2024August 23, 2024

The Value of Being an Outsider

In 1968, NASA tasked the late George Land to create a test that would help NASA hire more creative geniuses. Does genius and creativity come from nature or nurture? As such his job was to create a test so simple that even children could take it. And he found that for children ages 4-5, out of 1,600 children, 98% of them qualified to be a genius. Divergent thinkers. Then, he waited five years to assess these same children. To which he found, only 30% qualified. Then another five years later, only 12% of the same children were what he counted to be geniuses.

It begged the question: What percent of adults are geniuses?

The answer, 2%.

For those curious, I’d highly recommend George’s 2011 TEDx talk about the topic.

Of course, the lesson from all of this is the fallacy of modern-day education. And the same is true for the adult world between convergent thinkers and divergent thinkers. I believe in the world of venture at least, we have terminology that’s little less palatable (at least for me, although on occasion I’m guilty of using them myself): insiders and outsiders.

My friend Anne sent me this piece by Auren Hoffman recently on insiders and outsiders. An incredibly well-written piece, and quite thought-provoking. I’ve largely thought about how outsiders can become insiders, but silly me, less about the value of staying an outsider or an insider aiming to become an outsider. Moreover, that to be successful as an insider, there’s actually a rather predictable path to become one. Or at least to help your children become one. Go to Harvard. Play insider sports, like gold, or horse-riding, or sailing. And son. But in Auren’s words, to be successful as an outsider, well, “being [an outsider] is MUCH higher beta. They could end up changing the world for the better. They also could blow it up. Or just never be accepted and live less happy.”

And while I may not agree with everything that Auren proposes, a lot of it makes sense. In fact, 11 words definitely caught my eye. “Outsiders take things from insiders. Insiders inherit things from other insiders.” And as such, insiders play the status quo; outsiders change the status quo.

It’s interesting. Every generation of VC, there’s a changing of the guard. Many of the new regime are outsiders. People who think different. People who exhibit a level of creativity that is uncommon in VCs. Either in the form of business models or how they provide value. How they build brand. Or simply how their brain works. People that in bringing a fresh perspective were able to find the next great companies unlike any other.

Interestingly enough, in my buddy and Superclusters guest Jaap’s recent study of 2,092 North American and European VC funds, he found that these are the folks who are more likely to hit fundraise targets than any other GP persona. Aka 45% success rate. And perform highest at 2.4X net TVPI, but only average on DPI and IRR.

Source: Jaap Vriesendorp’s cluster model on 2,092 VC funds. Find a more interactive one here.

My guess here is that these outsiders, in being artisanal about their craft and — well, at least with respect to the VC industry at large, divergent thinkers — find their tribe rather quickly because LPs quick self-select themselves in or out of a relationship with them. They’re the round pegs in the square holes, to borrow a Steve Jobs moniker. So when most others look square, the few round holes instantly identify with these round pegs. And more often than not, they’re new to the asset management game, so have lower fund targets and a more precise strategy. Downside to that is they’re still learning the ropes of exit strategies and fund management. Which also explains the high volatility in returns.

And while there’s much higher beta in being an outsider, there’s plenty of research to suggest that there is also greater alpha. But it’s going to be unfair. The deck is rigged against you. There’s a great Marcus Aurelius line. “Mental toughness is knowing life isn’t fair and still playing to win.”

The outsiders who win exhibit exactly that mental fortitude against stacked odds. Besides, there’s joy in doing things differently.

Photo by Randy Fath on Unsplash

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August 9, 2024August 9, 2024

Anecdotal Telltale Signs of Exceptionalism

I’ve been lucky enough to meet a number of founders and fund managers over the years. Many of which I probably have no business of meeting and getting to know. And I count myself fortunate every day to have the opportunities to do so.

Nevertheless, and as an FYI, all of this is completely anecdotal. Maybe at some point I’ll find data to support this. Hell, maybe there’s already data on this. But as is the perk of this blog, I get to write about just things on my mind.

Per some recent conversations with friends, having already shared with them, thought I’d share the below. Some telltale signs I’ve noticed in founders and fund managers that are world-class before the rest of the world knows it:

Highly responsive. It’s insane to think about this given their busy lives. But the folks I’ve been lucky to invest in and (gosh darn it) passed on who’ve gone on to create hundreds if not thousands of jobs respond remarkably fast. Sometimes within minutes of me sending them a message/email. But on average before half the day is over. I will say I’m personally slipping here a bit as of late. But I guess, that just means I’m not world-class by my own definition. Many seem to be night owls, at least when they’re still hustling. I’m not personally sure if they’re working deep into the night, but at least, they’re responding to me at 2AM, and I’m trying to figure out what they’re doing then.
They exercise in the morning, or have a morning routine that they do every day without fail, even when on vacation. It could be writing, journaling, making that morning cup of espresso just right, or making breakfast for their kids EVERY morning. It’s ritualistic, so that they perform just as well on the first meeting of their day as they do their last.
Operationally disciplined. They’re really good at saying no. They set clear boundaries. Often times, boundaries that most people have not heard of. And many, even after hearing them, may find bizarre or strange. But in an odd way, they make a lot of sense if you give them the time of day. I was calling a friend recently on this, and he was sharing that he’s not the kind of friend that most people want. He doesn’t show up at birthday parties or celebrations. He also doesn’t post to socials regularly to congratulate friends on promotions or otherwise. But he aimed to be, and ends up being the first call friends make when shit hits the fan. And because of that practice, he can be laser focused on his priorities every day.
They’re really good at using analogies. In many ways, it’s the classic 7-year old test or the grandma test. They’re extremely high context individuals in a lot of different disciplines. And if I were to define it (not original, but I forget the attribution, might be Tim Urban), high context individuals are those that are well-versed on a given subject. Low context folks are those are out of the loop. For example, a PhD in neuroscience is high context on how different reward systems affect dopamine, but possibly low context on Marvel Cinematic Universe lore. And when someone is high context in not just one area but in a lot of areas — in other words, people might call them polymaths, or at the very least, well-read — it’s easy for them to pull analogies in ways that best help relay what they want to say to the other person’s ears. Like a crypto founder (probably one might be able to guess who) who once described to me one-way hash functions as putting fruits in a blender. Or Josh Wolfe who describes the battle of ethics in a company a battle between intentions and incentives. Or that society is a constant battle between deception and detection.
They ask really good questions. Questions you’ve likely never heard asked before. And many can get to proficiency on any subject quite quickly. Largely, probably because of how they think and how they eventually arrive at an answer.
Words are used intentionally and with specificity, and rarely, if ever, use amorphous terms and superlative adjectives. Like success, community, unique, compelling, unfair advantage, best, better, and so on. And if they do, they are quick to define what they personally mean when they use those words.

Photo by Linhao Zhang on Unsplash

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July 18, 2024July 17, 2024

#unfiltered #90 If A Song Took a Lifetime to Play

Just the other day, I was listening to one of 99% Invisible’s episodes, interestingly titled as “As Slow As Possible,” named after the organization ASLSP, which stands for the same. My knee-jerk reaction was that the abbreviation and the first letters of each word just didn’t match up. Luckily, Roman Mars and Gabe Bullard explained. Although it still left something more to be desired.

“The title is also a reference to a line in James Joyce’s novel Finnegans Wake. The line is: ‘Soft morning, city! Lsp!’ Where lisp is just spelled L S P.”

Nevertheless, the episode itself circles around the concept of taking one song and using the entire lifespan of a pipe organ (639 years) to play that song just once. That even a single note would take two years to play. A fascinating concept! And which led me down a rabbit hole of thought experiments.

What if we took our favorite song and extrapolated that to the human lifespan? Say 90 years. What note would we be on today? Have we gotten to the chorus yet?

So for the sake of this thought experiment, for a brief second, let’s walk down the lane of music theory. Take the average pop song. The average pop song plays for about three minutes. And many at 120 beats per minute. Apparently, 120 bpm is also the golden number you want to get to if you’re working a crowd as a DJ. You never start at that speed, but you work your way up throughout the night. And if you can get people’s heart rate matching the beats per minute, you’ve hit resonance. But I digress.

So, taking round numbers, the average pop song has a total of 360 beats. Most songs are in 4/4 time. In other words, four beats per bar. An average pop song takes about 2-4 bars for the intro. 16 bars for a verse. Possibly, another 4 bars as the pre-chorus. And the first chorus doesn’t really start till bar 25. And usually lasts another 4-8 bars.

Now, if we were to extrapolate a song to the average human lifespan. 90 years. 360 beats across 90 years. Assuming it takes 24 bars to get to the chorus, the chorus doesn’t start until we’re 24 years old. And the full chorus doesn’t end until we’re 32 years old. With each note lasting a full three months. And the second chorus starts around age 48.

Then again, I remember reading somewhere that most pop songs are played in multiples of four or eight. And that most of these songs only have 80 bars. If that’s the case, the first chorus doesn’t kick in till we’re just past 28 years old and ends around 36 years old.

In either case, the first chorus happens around the time when most people would define as their prime. Young enough to take risks; old enough to be dangerous. The second chorus seems to fit as the second wind people have in their careers. Hell, HBR found, the median age of a startup founder when they start is 45. And with that reference point, they’ll be 47 or 48 when they become venture-backed.

Obviously, this is just me playing around with numbers. Correlation does not mean causation, of course. But nevertheless, the parallels… curious and uncanny.

P.S. Jaclyn Hester and my episode together on Superclusters got me thinking about a lot how much music applies to our lives and how we live and think.

Cover Photo at the top by Marius Masalar on Unsplash

#unfiltered is a series where I share my raw thoughts and unfiltered commentary about anything and everything. It’s not designed to go down smoothly like the best cup of cappuccino you’ve ever had (although here‘s where I found mine), more like the lonely coffee bean still struggling to find its identity (which also may one day find its way into a more thesis-driven blogpost). Who knows? The possibilities are endless.

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June 28, 2024June 28, 2024

#unfiltered #89 The Palate Setter

Around the time I wrote a blogpost on culinary tips I had amassed from various chefs, I ended up getting one more piece of advice from a James Beard award winner. The culinary equivalent of a Pulitzer. In fact, one piece of advice that came in right after I clicked publish on that blogpost. Which I subsequently failed to include.

I had asked, “How do you know the palate you come into the kitchen with today is the same as the one that you came in with yesterday? And similarly, what about the one tomorrow?”

To which he responded, “I don’t know.” For a brief second, there was silence. Both of us knowing that the void will be filled, but left there for dramatic effect. “Swiss cheese.”

“Huh?”

“Swiss cheese. Not the fancy stuff, the one you find in the refrigerated section in the supermarket. Every day, when I go into the kitchen, I take a bite of swiss cheese. To me, it has the perfect balance of umami, salt, nuttiness. And the supermarket brand one is always produced with a consistency in their quality. If my bite that day is not as salty, then my palate is muted, and I should salt my dishes that day a little more. And so on.”

And I found that fascinating. Recently, I was reminded of that advice when I was chatting with my friends on preparation rituals. When we start something, to get us in the right mindset, what is the set of practices in which we use to orient ourselves?

Back when I was still swimming competitively, we used to always say the hardest part about swimming is getting in the water. Effectively, starting. The below were some other rituals that came up in that conversation. Part in hopes that it may inspire you to start your own, partly to make sure that I immortalize these practices for myself.

Music

The tuner in many ways is the swiss cheese in music. Something so consistent that it becomes the benchmark for what sound should be. Is your instrument too sharp or too flat?

But from a ritualistic perspective, I’ve seen many play the scales to loosen their fingers, but one of my favorites from my buddy who plays the flute in the orchestra is beatboxing, while playing the happy birthday song. The song choice itself matters less than using one’s entire mouth to enunciate certain beats. And so, by the end of the song, the windpipes and larynx are fully massaged and ready to go.

Podcasts / Streaming

For me, it’s doing 20 burpees while listening to a collection of my favorite podcast clips that I’ve saved from other podcasters, then sitting down and skimming through this list of catchphrases that I’ve since called “The Rookie Guide for Veteran Podcasters.”

For another friend, who’s far more accomplished than I am on this front, it’s doing a series of vocal exercises and facial massages. The former of which expand in both pitch and volume (from a whisper to singing in a voice suited best for operas).

From a third friend, it was religiously taking a 1-hour nap about an hour before the recording session.

Giving live talks

This isn’t from any of us in the room at the time. But Tim Ferriss has also gone on record sharing what he did in preparation for his first SXSW talk when we just launched the Four-Hour Workweek. That he was staying in a friend’s home who had cats. And he kept practicing his talk in front of the cats trying to get their attention. None of which, I assume, knew anything about what he was talking about, yet if he could convey his intent, energy and emotions through to the cat, he’d have a fighting chance getting the audience’s attention at SXSW.

Photo by Camille Brodard on Unsplash

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June 21, 2024June 21, 2024

#unfiltered #88 Koi No Yokan

In a late night conversation with my high school friend last week, I picked up a fascinating Japanese phrase from her. Koi no yokan.

The best translation of it that I found was ‘the premonition of love.’ It serves as the antithesis to the notion of love at first sight. It’s love that takes time to grow on you. Slow, but steady. A seemingly acquired, yet inevitable sense of fate. It’s a feeling that begins when you meet someone you’ll eventually fall in love with.

It’s a remarkable concept with no direct English parallel. It sits in rarified air between words like hiraeth, hyggelig, and yūgen. All of which have inextricable meaning behind a seemingly simplistic string of letters. While I’ll leave the afore-mentioned three to your own rabbit holes, as you might imagine, I’ve been having quite a field trip across the linguistic landscape.

Koi no yokan.

It’s a concept that’s often applied to the enamor between humans. This may just be me being a sacrilegious foreigner, but I find the same linguistic beauty with passions.

In many ways, my love for the emerging GP and LP world was the same. If you told me back in college, that I’d want to spend a few decades of my life obsessed over demystifying the space, I’d have called your bluff. Might have even called you bonkers.

And while I’d been hovering like a satellite around the space for a while, it wasn’t till I started writing The Non-Obvious Emerging LP Playbook that I realized there was an inkling of a yearning there. Answers only led to more questions. Each insight I learned was always paired with another punctuated with a question mark. And it honestly was a really fun exercise. I didn’t write that blogpost for anyone else. Just myself. Like a public diary that encapsulated my intellectual expedition in the LP world. Even before I published it, even before any other feedback I got for it, it felt special. All catalyzed by an opportunity to back a first-time fund manager I’d been honored to see grow as the last check in.

At that point, I still had neither committed to the idea of really being a capital allocator nor to the promise of more of such content.

And when that blogpost finally saw daylight, and a number of readers responded in kind, a tenured investor asked if I was going to write a book. It seemed only fitting that a non-fiction 200-page book be the successor to the 12,500 word blogpost. So pen met paper.

I revisited old and forged new relationships off the momentum of the blogpost. And around 80 pages into the manuscript, I ran out of things to write. I didn’t know how to continue. It felt both lacking and comprehensive at the same time. I could add in more examples. Case studies. Or just superfluous language. The equivalent of turning “my dad” into “my wife’s father-in-law.” The latter of which I swore to myself I wouldn’t do.

So I stopped.

Put it aside. And went on with the rest of my life.

But time and time again, I’d find myself staring at the ceiling at night, journaling, or writing on my whiteboard in the shower about the afore-mentioned topics. It became borderline annoying that my mind kept circling back to it and I was doing nothing about it.

So frick that. As I once learned from Max Nussenbaum, who I got to work with sooner after, the fastest way to test out if there’s a market for your ideas AND if one’s interests are sustained across longer periods of time is to just write about it. And I did. Here, here, here, and more.

At one point, my buddy Erik asked if I was going to start a podcast. At first, I dismissed the idea. Didn’t think I had the skillset or the personality for one. But man, I lost even more sleep in the ensuing weeks after he seeded the idea in my head. And so I started a podcast. (Which holy hell, I can’t wait to show you Season 3 on July 1st)

I realized much later, probably a year after I stopped writing the book, that the reason I couldn’t write anymore, despite asking so many really smart LPs for help, wasn’t that there was nothing more to share, there was still a lot… Hell, even each family office had a strategy so unlike the next. And as the saying goes, if you know one family office, you really only know one family office. So no, it wasn’t because there was nothing else to write. In one world, I could have just written an encyclopedia of strategies. It was that there was so much that had yet to be written, ever, about allocating into emerging managers.

Venture as an asset class was not the Wild West, still an alternative and still risky, but there have been predecessors who’ve productized the practice. But allocating to Fund I’s and II’s without proof of a track record was a horizon most had yet to cross.

Hell, I wrote a LinkedIn post just yesterday on how I think about evaluating Fund I track records without relying on TVPI, DPI, and IRR. And why I think more funds of funds should exist.

Simply put and in summary, there’s a complexity premium on not just venture capital, but specifically on evaluating Fund Is and IIs. And I don’t mean the big firm spinouts who have a portable track record. I mean the real folks who are truly starting to build a firm (not just a fund) for the first time.

I don’t have all the answers. Sure, as hell, I hope to have more in the near future. But I’m ridiculously excited to find answers (and more nuanced questions) — putting science to art — as an emerging LP.

If you couldn’t tell yet… I think I’m in love.

And if you’re interested, I’d love to have you join me on this ride.

Photo by Mayur Gala on Unsplash

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May 24, 2024May 24, 2024

DGQ 21: What’s going to get you excited to be at this business in 5 years?

This one was inspired by Harry Stebbings’ episode with Dan Siroker that I tuned into earlier this week. In it, Dan describes his most memorable VC meeting, which happened to be with Peter Fenton at Benchmark. Where Peter asks Dan, “Dan, what’s gonna get you excited to be at this business in five years?”

In sum, what are your future motivations going to look like? Nine out of ten times, it’s likely not going to be exactly the same as the one today. And given that it will look differently, can you still stay true to the North Star of this business as you do today? What’s gonna change? What’s gonna stay the same?

For the most part, the people and the problem space are likely to stay the same. The product may look quite different though. And it’s highly likely that in five years, you would have found product-market fit. So, that’s Act I. Is it the advent of the next chapter of what your company could look like that gets you excited? Hell it might be. You can then tackle a bigger problem. A larger market. An adjacent market. Or what Bangaly Kaba calls the adjacent users. For some founders, it’s the market they always wanted to tackle, but couldn’t when they realized their beachhead market must be something else.

While I can’t speak for everyone, here are some of the answers I’ve personally come to like over the years. From either founders or fund managers:

There is no other industry that offers the same velocity of learning that this one provides.
I want my company’s legacy to outlive my own. And I want to empower the next generation of builders with the resources and the power to solve the greatest needs of our generation.
I want to go home and tell my my wife/husband/kids that I lived my fullest life today. And this is what gives me endless joy.
Act I was solving a problem I faced. Act II is solving a problem others face in our space.
Getting on the phone with a customer and hearing how much our product changed their lives makes me really happy.
If I’m not regularly putting the firm’s reputation on the line, we’re not trying hard enough. And I live for that challenge.
I want to build a world where people don’t settle for “It is what it is.”
No one else is solving the problem I want to solve in the way that I believe it should be solved.
I want to continue to be a superhero, a role model, for my daughter/son.

In many ways, it’s quite similar to the question I ask first-time GPs or aspiring GPs about their motivation.

Things in venture exist on long time horizons. For founders, it’s at least 7-9 years before an exit. For fund managers, it’s 10-15 years per fund. And that’s just a single fund. Anything more is longer. So in order to compete against the very best, you need to have long time horizons. You must have the resolve to stay the course. As Kevin Kelly says, “The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing.”

Along the same vein, there’s also a Jeff Bezos quote I really like: “If everything you do needs to work on a three-year time horizon, then you’re competing against a lot of people. But if you’re willing to invest on a seven-year time horizon, you’re now competing against a fraction of those people… Just by lengthening the time horizon, you can engage in endeavors that you could never otherwise pursue.”

Photo by Luke Chesser on Unsplash

The DGQ series is a series dedicated to my process of question discovery and execution. When curiosity is the why, DGQ is the how. It’s an inside scoop of what goes on in my noggin’. My hope is that it offers some illumination to you, my readers, so you can tackle the world and build relationships with my best tools at your disposal. It also happens to stand for damn good questions, or dumb and garbled questions. I’ll let you decide which it falls under.

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May 10, 2024May 10, 2024

A Jerk’s Guide to Being Kind

First off, my lizard brain that optimizes for immediate gratification thought “A Jerk’s Guide to Being Kind” would be a fun title. Clickbait-y (kinda). Great for SEO. So I used that as my prompt for this public journal entry. 🙂

So, if you didn’t come for a public apology and how I say no, I’ll see you in next week’s blogpost.

Secondly, I was reading Chris Neumann’s blogpost this week, aptly named “The Beginner VC’s Guide to Not Being a Jerk.” And realized, holy frick, I’m a jerk. In it, he describes five things that VCs do that come off as jerkish.

Don’t Use Possessive Adjectives
Don’t Multitask When a Founder is Pitching
Don’t Badmouth Founders
Don’t Mansplain
Don’t Ghost Founders

And of the five above, I know I’m an offender of three of the above. Using possessive adjectives. Multitasking. Ghosting. Probably in that order from most frequent to least frequent. (Sorry, Chris. Sorry to founders I’ve done this to.) The first two I don’t do intentionally, nor do I do the either of them often.

Not sure if it makes too much of a difference, but rather than say “my company” or “our companies,” I do say “our portfolio companies.” Just with one extra word in there. Occasionally, will let it slip when I’m trying to shorten the sentence I’m saying.

I know I’m more prone to multi-task when I’m not the only investor in the room, and definitely when I’m not the primary investor. Again, don’t do it often, but it happens. And I never do so when I’m the only other person in that conversation. 99% of the time I do let the founders and GPs I talk to know that I’m just taking notes of our conversation. Personally don’t use the AI notetakers, but that’s a discussion for another day.

And ghosting. My goal is to get to inbox zero every day. And I really do my best not to ghost. But three things will always happen:

Some email or text always ends up slipping through my inbox. Either it goes in spam, or during certain days, I’m bombarded with hundreds of emails and it slips through the cracks. And I do give every founder and GP who pitch me the right to re-surface past emails if it does slip through.
If the email or message seems like it came out of an automation or mail merge AND I’m not interested, I do let it drop. I read EVERY email for sure. But if that email looks like the same one that you send to every investor, those have been going straight into the archives more and more. That also means that some emails just read like it’s an automated email even if it doesn’t, and it slips through.
There’s a shortlist of people who have abused my old personal policy of responding to every email I get. And so for those people, I’m not sorry if I do ghost you. That said, it’s a pretty short list of people (probably 30-40 people as of now).

And lastly, well, I’ve made founders pitching me cry. Not something to brag about. But in sharing what I thought was honest feedback, I made tears flow.

So, in summary, I’m probably a jerk.

In my mind, a jerk is someone who prioritizes their own beliefs and priorities to the point that they either intentionally ignore or severely de-prioritize others’. Although I try my best not to ignore what other might want or need, but I do often prioritize my own. So to add on to all the above, I’m sharing some situations where my jerkiness comes out and what I say in those moments.

When having tough conversations

I actually learned this while listening to Lenny’s podcast with Matt Mochary. When I need to let someone go. When I need to call a friend out on their bad behavior. Or when my partner and I get into a fight. “Preface hard conversations with: This is going to be a difficult conversation. Are you ready?”

In addition, I also preface with how long I think the discussion will take. “May I have thirty minutes of your undivided attention?” And what the topic will be on. No point in blindsiding the other person.

It helps set the stage. And if the other person needs more time, they have the option to back out. Moreover, all tough conversations are 1:1 conversations. At least for me, even if it relates to many, I start notifying them all on a 1:1 basis.

When trying to leave a conversation at an event

This one also isn’t original. I learnt from a friend of mine who is far more eloquent than I am. Not all conversations at events are created equal. And sometimes, at an event, especially a networking event, my goal is to say hi to the event host or to talk to someone else on the floor. And in between, I may find myself in another serendipitous. Case in point, yesterday, I ended up meeting a founder who sold his last company for $500M exit to a large Fortune 50 company in the parking lot and who was figuring out his next thing. Serendipitous. And super fun, but I was going to be royally late for another event if I stayed chatting in the parking lot.

So, when I need to leave a conversation, instead of excusing myself to go to the bathroom or get more food, I’ve learned to say, “I’d love to ask you one last thing that I’d beat myself up tonight if I didn’t ask before I need to go say hi to XXX.”

One, it timeboxes the next few minutes of the conversation. Two, I’m still interested in the individual and I want them to get the last word before I head out.

For 1:1 conversations

I usually let people know at the very beginning of the conversation that I have a “hard stop” at a specific time. Which 90% of the time is true. Usually another meeting. Or I have just way too much work on my plate that I need to get to.

When turning down a meeting (for now)

I wish I had more time in a day to talk to awesome people. I also wish I had more energy in a day to talk to awesome people. But unfortunately, I only have 24 hours in a day. And well, I’m an introvert. As in, I enjoy writing this blogpost you’re reading right now since 5AM in the morning than telling someone in a live conversation what I will end up writing here.

As such, if I’m interested in meeting at some point, I usually say something to the tune of: “I would love to meet, but if I do so within the next XXX weeks / months, I would have failed in my promise to the people I care about. So if you’ll allow me to be a good friend / family member / supporter of my existing projects and investments, could we revisit this in YYY weeks / months?”

Other times to save everyone’s time, since I won’t find my interest levels gravitating towards said topic, I let people know it just isn’t of interest to me in the foreseeable future, and that their luck may be better elsewhere.

When turning down an investment opportunity

This is actually something that was inspired by one of Jason Calacanis’ podcast episodes. And while there are many things I may not agree with him on, I really like the phrasing he uses to turn down founders who push back against his investment decision. And I’ve added some lines that best fit the way I talk. Which I also included this in my 99 series for investors.

“I always have to accept the possibility that I’m making a mistake. The venture business keeps me humble, but these are the benchmarks that the team and I all believe in.”

In closing

Sometimes I think it’s inevitable to appear as a jerk to some people out there. While one can try to reduce the splash damage, the truth is sometimes what you have to say may not be what the other person wants to hear or see. But as long as you hold yourself to a high degree of integrity and do so in as kind of a way as you can, I think that’s all that really matters.

Often times, I do believe it’s more important to be kind than nice. I hope the above helps.

Photo by David Taffet on Unsplash

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Feedback

Love-Hate-Forget

Love

Hate

Forget

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The callback

Surprise and delight

Underneath the surface

Avoiding the yes

Drills, drills, drills

In closing

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Music

Podcasts / Streaming

Giving live talks

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When having tough conversations

When trying to leave a conversation at an event

For 1:1 conversations

When turning down a meeting (for now)

When turning down an investment opportunity

In closing

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