Tag: crazy gremlins

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Poker, Event Design, and Vulnerability

poker

(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

Stay up to date with the weekly cup of cognitive adventures inside venture capital and startups, as well as cataloging the history of tomorrow through the bookmarks of yesterday!

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.

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How to Make People Feel Special at Events

gift, present, christmas, happy, holiday

Guilty as charged, but I was doom-scrolling on Instagram recently and I came across a reel where two Formula 1 drivers were asked to guess the race track given only a racecar’s engine’s audio (vroom vroom). And to my absolute amazement, the two were able to guess track after track. Some answers seemed to have only taken them a few seconds to figure out.

The Instagram reel came from this YouTube video for those who are curious.

So I couldn’t help but notice, how well they knew each track. That they had taken special notice to all the small bumps in the road. The turns. How long each turn was. All of it, without any visuals. It’s for the same reason I am always impressed every time Bon Appetit’s Chris Morocco can recreate dishes by taste, smell and feel alone (no sight, he’s blindfolded). A lot of which is in line with the post I wrote last week. It’s not just about paying attention, but how to pay proper attention.

So this time around, I thought why don’t I bring this into the world of events. Something I’m deeply passionate about.

Experiences > Events

“Jonathan Yaffe, co-founder of the experience management platform, AnyRoad, defines an experience as something that stimulates at least three senses.”

I first read that line on page 146 in my buddy Lloyed’s book on community-building. And it made total frickin’ sense. Lloyed went on to write that Zoom sessions don’t count as experiences because it only engages one’s sight and sound. But events like Dining in the Dark, which my friend hosts, do count. Despite taking away sight, you’re tapping into taste, smell, and sound. The last of which occurs when there’s a band playing in the background, but with each course, a new instrument is added into the mix. And it’s because of experiences like these, they leave such strong impressions. Emotional impressions. Nostalgia.

Emotions, after all, are multi-sensory. And eliciting those emotions require you to fully commit. The question is how.

How to make people feel special at events

One of my favorite lessons I picked up during my time at On Deck was from Sam Huleatt. A strike is better than a spare. We were hosting sessions and events three to six times a month, depending on the time of the year. And Sam proposed that we go through an exercise. A thought experiment.

  1. What if we only did one event per month? If so, what would that look like?
  2. What if we only did one every quarter?
  3. And what if we only did one every year?

How does that change the way we think about events? What changes at each stage?

Honestly, one of my favorite exercises to go through when I feel compelled to hit a certain quantity and realize I have to find the optimal point between quantity and quality.

But since then, that inspired another set of thought exercises I do.

  1. If I had to host an event for just one person — just one — what would I do to make it an unforgettable experience?
  2. What would need to change if I did so for a four-person dinner?
  3. A six-person dinner?
  4. What about a 10-person event?
  5. What about for 50 people?
  6. For 100?
  7. For 1000?

And so on.

At some point, usually around 50 is when things start hitting scale. But let me break down why each of the above before 50 are inflection points:

  • 1 person. This person is your universe. You can’t make it any more tailored and personalized than this. It’s a date.
  • 4 people. For the most part, still only one conversation happens at a time, but now as the host, you have to make sure no one is left out.
  • 6 people. In my mind, this is the minimum number of people for more than one conversation to be happening at once. For the first time, you have to worry about flow of the event while you’re not capable of being present everywhere all at once.
  • 10 people. You not have more than two conversations going on. Juggling with two is easy; for some, that may not really be juggling. But once you’ve added a third and a fourth ball, then this is real juggling. Here, the host has to think not only about the number of conversations, but to pay attention to folks who become satellites to conversations. Watching for people who are distracted. Uncomfortable. On their phone. And so on. But also, when conversations go too long. As the host, finding ways for people to enter and exit conversations easily is vital. It’s better to have less time than to have too much time.
  • And 50 people. For the first time, you need to think about having more than one host. You can only scale your time and attention so much. So now you’re training a team to be as attentive, if not more, than you are.

The larger the event, one can say the more polyamorous you have to be. You have to deeply care for each person. And while everyone at your event likely knows you’re “dating” everyone else, if you can still make them feel special — like the most important person in the world, that their time is valued, their attention is valued, and their presence, mind and insights even more so — then you’ll have done something 99.9% of event hosts have not been able to do. Frankly, probably would rather not do. ‘Cause, at least if you start small, it’s not crazy work. It’s quite easy, just requires more effort than most are willing to give.

Other times, event hosts just scale their events too quickly. And hit scale before they find their magic. So, if you can, do unscalable things before you hit scale.

Notice when in a conversation someone’s eyes divert. Notice when they ask to leave to use the restroom. And notice when people lean in to a conversation, as opposed to lean back. Just like a racecar driver notices how many seconds a turn is, when there’s an indent in the road, when the brakes are glazed and the tires need to warm up without having to look at them.

Photo by Kira auf der Heide on Unsplash

Stay up to date with the weekly cup of cognitive adventures inside venture capital and startups, as well as cataloging the history of tomorrow through the bookmarks of yesterday!

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.

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Three Lessons For Creating Unforgettable Experiences

games, playing, child

As those close to me know, over the past few weeks, I’ve been knee-deep in some new projects. Projects I haven’t been this excited to produce in a long while. One of which is around experiences.

At the same time, as friends and long-time readers of this humble blog know, I am no stranger to the world of social experiments and experiences. I still don’t have a great catch-all term for it. They’re not just another set of “events.” Events just remind me of the same conference, fireside chat, or happy hour playbook. But I try to take my events a step further. So, naturally, given my fascination around building experiences, I walk hand-in-hand with both psychological research and game design. The former of which I share a bit more in previous blogposts than the latter.

So, I’m going to dedicate this essay to three of the lessons I picked up in the latter.

  1. Create experiences that optimize for people who know no one else there.
  2. Don’t confuse complexity with depth.
  3. A great event is great not due to the event itself, but because of the story one gets to tell again and again.

1. Create experiences that optimize for people who know no one else there.

I had always had this somewhere in the back of my head. To design experiences where no one was ever left out. But when I caught up with a friend recently in New York, he codified it into what it is today. As someone who runs a design studio that builds immersive experiences in New York, he spends most of his time building experiences for strangers. And while friends may visit his exhibits together, the vast majority of his attendees do not know anyone else.

Take, for example, happy hours. Most happy hours aren’t designed for the person who knows no one. Usually the event itself is fairly laissez-faire. Most of which, the hosts don’t actively try to connect attendees. And so if you show up at a happy hour and the host is too busy to intro you to anyone, unless you’re an outgoing person, you’re likely standing near the edges, hoping to jump into a conversation if any group will let you. This often leads to events where people leave early and form cliques. It also optimizes for early birds, rather than the fashionably late.

Tactically, it’s creating excuses for people to jump in conversation. While not a problem for outgoing individuals, I need to empower everyone, including shy introverts, with tools to start conversations, where I and/or the experience shoulder the initial responsibility and blame to start conversations. That could be with customized fortune cookies where one is supposed to read their fortune to someone else. Or empowering people with a mission or an ask greater than themselves. For instance, to over-simplify it a bit, “I’m trying to put together a small group of everyone who’s wearing glasses tonight. Do you mind helping me find out all the names of the guests who are wearing glasses?” Or “I’m trying to resolve a debate with my co-host. Pineapples or no pineapples on pizza. I’m all for pineapples, but she isn’t. Can you help me find more allies?”

2. Don’t confuse complexity with depth.

This is unfortunately a fallacy I often find myself spiraling down the longer I’m given to ponder. And I lose myself in intellectual complexity.

Many years ago when a couple friend and I first decided to host an escape room in a mansion over three days and two nights, the greatest question we had was: How do we create an immersive experience over multiple days? And retain that level of immersion throughout? I thought, hell, what if we created a brand new language for the event. One that all guests would have to learn and practice throughout the event. We’d ease them in slowly, but the biggest puzzle could only be solved through adequate mastery in this new language. This easily gave me the greatest injection of dopamine when planning for the event. And I went deep, talking with linguistic professors, studying how Tolkien created Quenya, and how Cameron and Paul Frommer created the Na’vi language.

It was truly interesting to me and to many of my friends. But unfortunately, through user testing, to most others, while interesting to hear its backstory, was not fun to practice. I had ended up developing it to a level to where it departed from its English roots to resembling language of Scandinavian origin. Because of its complexity and how there were more guests who were English speakers than speakers of this new language, immersion broke almost instantaneously.

The great Mark Rosewater once defined interesting as intellectual stimulation and fun as emotional stimulation. While they’re not mutually exclusive, it’s important to not confuse the two.

There’s a great Maya Angelou line that I, like many others, like to reference. “People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” And it is no less true for gamified designs. Emotional satisfaction often runs deeper and longer than intellectual satisfaction. The former has a greater chance of becoming a “core memory,” to borrow from the brilliant minds behind Pixar’s Inside Out, than the latter.

I was lucky to learn this lesson from one of the greatest designers of card games alive today. It was on a call earlier this year, where I was telling him about all the awesome bells and whistles I was planning on implementing for an upcoming experience. And I asked what he thought. To which, he responded: “Kill all complexity. Complexity is not a substitute for depth. Rely on your audience for depth. The more borders, the harder it is enjoy. Too few, it’s chaotic. Find the absolute minimum number of borders.”

The goal of creating systems is to create opportunities for serendipity. To create opportunities where people can dive deep. Not to force people to take the plunge when they may not be ready.

His advice just happens to rhyme with a quote I’ve always kept somewhere in the back of my mind, but now sits on the wall above my PC.

“Your ability to solve problems with magic in a satisfying way is directly proportional to how well the reader understands said magic.” — Sanderson’s First Law of Magic

3. A great event is great not due to the event itself, but because of the story one gets to tell again and again.

Under the ambiance of MarieBelle, which I still so fondly remember the moment my friend told me this, she said, “A great event is great not due to the event itself, but because of the story one gets to tell again and again.” It’s the truest definition of surprising and delighting. She was someone who used to work on the Dreamweavers team at Eleven Madison Park when Will Guidara was still there. As such the above lesson was a page out of Will Guidara‘s book Unreasonable Hospitality, whose best known for how intentionally he took front of the house hospitality at 11 Madison Park, one of the greatest restaurants in the world. 4 stars on New York Times, and 3 Michelin stars. He also happened to be the person who conceived the Dreamweavers team there. Just to give you an idea of how seriously they take their roles…

First off, the core of the event itself — the meat, the protein — has to be great. If it’s a tofu burger, it better be a damn well-marinated fat slice of egg tofu, double-fried to perfection. To Malcolm Gladwell, that’s the meal.

And only once you have it all, what’s the cherry on top? What’s the candy? Why would people want to talk about it? For events, that’s:

  • Delivering surprises — gifts and/or experiences they do not expect
  • Transferrable pieces of knowledge — insights, frameworks, or trivia knowledge that are useful even after the event
  • Meeting great people WITH great stories — “Did you know that [so-and-so] did X?” And for this to happen not just opportunistically but at scale, finding ways to help people share stories of vulnerability or of adventures that have yet to grace any public media is key. The easiest way is through questions. The slightly harder way is through a set of triggers where it makes sharing such a story natural.

In closing

I am, as always, a work-in-progress. And with the events I’ll continue to host this year, I’m going to learn more. And in time, be able to share more of my lessons, trials, and tribulations in this journey. In hopes, this will aid or inspire you on your path.

Photo by Holly Landkammer on Unsplash

Stay up to date with the weekly cup of cognitive adventures inside venture capital and startups, as well as cataloging the history of tomorrow through the bookmarks of yesterday!

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.

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#unfiltered #74 What If Events Were Story Arcs?

castle, story, boat

“Somewhere along the line is a voice deep within you that tells you exactly who you are; you just have to have the courage to do that. That’s what the journey of the hero is all about. You’re born into a world where you don’t fit in. You answer the call to adventure. And you deny the call. Then at some point you then set out on your path. You slay dragons, and you do all of that. At some point, you come face-to-face with not a god, but yourself. Somewhere along the line, you get it — your A-ha moment. Your elixir. And you go back to your ordinary world and share it with others. I think that’s the journey. I think that’s the privilege of being absolutely who you are — belonging to yourself and being brave.”

That’s the arc of every great story in the words of Viola Davis on one of my new favorite interviews with Sean Evans, where she shares the secret to the hero’s journey.

In the world post-pandemic, people crave connection. A desire to go from URL to IRL. Everyone lost those years. Something everyone from a first grader to a college student to a young professional entering the workforce to a retiree could relate to. And in 2021, there was a re-emergence of events. Well-intentioned and well-founded. We had conferences, coffee chats, happy hours, fireside chats, oh, so many happy hours, panels, tech weeks, and… did I mention happy hours?

Most events out there are a time and a place for a collection of people. They’re static points in time. Not even counting the full spectrum of event planners, many of the best event planners spend tons of times on what makes events special, but change more about the small bells and whistles of an event than the overall flow. There are very few who take leaps of faith. Even less true for the vast majority of events, where events feel more of an afterthought than something that is designed to start or end a chapter in your life.

As such, everyone found themselves left with a goodie bag including a surplus of events, a lack of focus and attention, and a lollipop of exhaustion.

So, I had a thought last year, greatly inspired by my team at On Deck Angels. Instead of trying to host an event a month, what would need to change if we could only do one event a year? What would we have to do? Hell, extrapolating further, what if we only did one event every two years? Three years? Every Olympic arc? Which led to the thinking around, what do we need to do to make this the most memorable event that anyone has ever been to.

You see, I’ve hosted and co-hosted small and large-scale social experiments, but it was always for an audience who proactively and voluntarily signed up for. They were willing to do things outside the ordinary. But could I apply the same learnings to events for really, busy people who crave intellectual challenges, and who have been to so many events, they might be jaded?

So, below was and continues to be my collection of governing thoughts around answering that question, which will only grow and refine this year. In the theme of my blogpost last week, the below may be messy. Disorganized. Chaotic, even. Hope not, but possible. You’ve been warned. But I do hope that you might find at least one of the below frameworks useful.

Metrics for success

Every event needs a North Star. When planning the Angel Forum, as well as future events, below are mine.

  1. Attendees go on a hero’s journey, revisiting Viola Davis’ words above. In other words, character development. The event should create opportunities for growth within the event itself.
  2. Every attendee continues to and is motivated to build friendships (as opposed to networking and purely transactional connection) after the event. If the event itself is the only reason for people to connect, but it does not give people incentive to after, it’s a failure (in my books).

For now, that means, not only the speakers and the presenters need to be curated, but also each and every person on the guest list. I have yet to figure out how to customize such experiences at scale, where each person has wildly different goals.

Narrative frameworks I use for events

To dig a level deeper, here are my frameworks for execution:

  1. Surprise and suspense — Surprise is when you relay information that the audience does not expect. Suspense is when you relay information that the audience is expecting, but does not know when it’ll drop. Suspense is how you keep attention. It raises expectation, but knowing when to deliver the news helps with creating a reality that meets or beats expectation. Surprise is, on the other hand, purely for creating alphas in this expectation-versus-reality model. It’s the main driver for overdelivering on a seemingly smaller, but still powerful promise. To do so, I find George Loewenstein’s 1994 paper on the psychology of curiosity super helpful. More on how the five triggers to curiosity influenced my thinking here.
  2. Candy versus the meal — A Malcolm Gladwell framework. Effectively, how people think and what people actually talk about are quite different. Candy is what people talk about. For example, if I were to talk about the recent Avatar movie, I’d talk about how amazing the motion capture and the CGI was. And in doing so, I’ve spoiled nothing. It tells you nothing about the plot, but it’s exciting to talk about. On the other hand, the meal is how people think. It’s the whole package, the whole story. The meal has to be well-worth the visit, but the candy is what gets people excited. More on that in a previous essay I wrote here.
  3. The audience must understand the rules of magic — This is a combination of the thoughts of Malcolm Gladwell‘s framework around tools and Brandon Sanderson’s three laws of magical systems. Give the audience tools to use at the very beginning of the event. It could be a framework for how to think about the event and every activity in between. It could be physical tools that they will employ throughout the event. And once you do, make sure your audience knows how to use those tools. Test them. Give them small, but easy case studies and questions. Make it easy. Don’t put them on the spot. And by completing that test, that satisfaction and joy will help motivate them to use it more later. As Sanderson’s first law of magic goes, “your ability to solve problems with magic in a satisfying way is directly proportional to how well the reader understands said magic.” More on my thoughts on Sanderson’s laws here.
  4. Plots — Like any good story, the narrative is governed by plots. The plot must thicken and build towards a climax. And it must be resolved by the end of the event. Leave little in the main plot to chance, but leave room for each guest to discover something extraordinary. Maintaining a minor amount of stress and uncertainty, while sharing examples and reminders of being open-minded to new experiences, goes a long way. Only after stepping outside one’s comfort zone can one grow.
  5. Always use the audience’s time in a way that does not feel wasted — Inspired by one of the greatest writers of all time, Kurt Vonnegut. I forget which lecture he did that I learned this from. But it’s always been a governing theme for what I do.
  6. End on an ending where the reader can imagine no other — No loose ends. Everything that is teased (whether the audience realizes it or not) needs to be resolved by the end. This might be a semi-controversial opinion among storytellers and creative professionals. But I’m biased. I like my stories to end with a bowtie.

In closing

As you might imagine, much of this is still incomplete. And I hope to share more as I continue down this path of exploration and discovery.

Photo by Artem Sapegin 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.

Stay up to date with the weekly cup of cognitive adventures inside venture capital and startups, as well as cataloging the history of tomorrow through the bookmarks of yesterday!

Any views expressed on this blog are mine and mine alone. They are not a representation of values held by On Deck, DECODE, or any other entity I am or have been associated with. They are for informational and entertainment purposes only. None of this is legal, investment, business, or tax advice. Please do your own diligence before investing in startups and consult your own adviser before making any investments.

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Finding the Sweet Spot – Iterating What and How You Measure Product Metrics

iterating product metrics, measure, measuring tape

Many founders I meet focus on, and rightly so, optimizing their core metrics – a set of units that surprisingly don’t change after its initial inception. But metrics and the way you measure them should undergo constant iteration. Metrics are a way to measure and test your assumptions. 9/10 assumptions, if not all, are honed through the process of iteration. And by transitive property, the metrics we measure, but more importantly, the way we measure them, is subject to no less.

Though I’m not as heavily involved on the operating side as I used to be, although I try to, the bug that inspires me to build never left. So, let’s take it from the perspective of a project a couple friends and I have been working on – hosting events that stretch people’s parameters of ‘possible’. Given our mission, everything we do is to help actuate that. One such metric that admittedly had 2 degrees of freedom from our mission was our NPS score.

The “NPS”

“How likely would you recommend a friend to come to the last event you joined us in?” Measured on a 1-10 scale, we ended up seeing a vast majority, unsurprisingly in hindsight, pick 7 (>85%). A few 9’s, and a negligible amount of 5s, 6s, and 8s. 7 acted as the happy medium for our attendees, all friends, to tell us: “We don’t know how we feel about your event, but we don’t want to offend you as friends.”

We then made a slight tweak, hoping to push them to take a more binary stance. The question stayed the same, but this time, we didn’t allow them to pick 7. In forcing them to pick 8 (a little better than average) and 6 (a little worse than average), we ended up finding all the answers shift to 6s and 8s and nothing else. Even the ones that previously picked 9s regressed to 8s. And the ones who picked 5s picked 6s. Effectively, we created a yes/no question with just this small tweak.

There’s 3 fallacies with this:

  1. Numbers are arbitrary. An 8 for you, may not be an 8 for me. Unless we create a consolidated rubric that everyone follows when answering this question, we’re always going to variability in semi-random expectations.
  2. It’s a lagging indicator. There’s no predictive value in measuring this. By the time they answer this question, they’d already have made their decision. Though the post-mortem is useful, the feedback cycle between events was too long. So, we had to start looking into iterating the event live, or while it was happening.
  3. Answers weren’t completely honest. All the attendees were our friends. So their answers are in part, a reflection of the event, but also in part, to help us ‘save face’.

In studying essentialism, Stoicism, and Rahul Vohra‘s Superhuman, we found a solution that draws on the emotional spectrum that answered 1 and 3 rather well. Instead of phrasing our questions as “How much do you value this opportunity?”, we instead phrased them as “How much would you sacrifice to obtain this opportunity?” Humans are innately loss-averse. Losing your iPhone will affect you more negatively and for longer, than if you won a $1000 lottery.

So, our question transformed into: “How distraught would you be if we no longer invited you to a future event?”, paired with the answers “Very”, “Somewhat”, and “Not at all”. Although I’m shy to say we got completely honest answers, the answers in which we did give allowed for them to follow-up and supplement why they felt that way, without us prompting them.

The only ‘unaddressed’ fallacy by this question – point #2 – was resolved by putting other methods in place to measure attention spans during the event, like the number of times people checked their phone per half hour or the number of unique people who were left alone for longer than a minute per half hour (excluding bio breaks).

Feedback

“How can we improve our event?” We received mostly logistical answers. Most of which we had already noticed either during the event or in our own post-mortem.

In rephrasing to, “How can we help you fall in love with our events?”, we helped our attendees focus on 2 things: (1) more creative responses and (2) deep frustrations that ‘singlehandedly’ broke their experience at the event.

And to prioritize the different facets of feedback, we based it off the answers from the questions:

  • “What was your favorite element of the event?”
  • And, “How distraught would you be if we no longer invited you to a future event?”

For the attendees who were excited about elements closely aligned with our mission, we put them higher on the list. There were many attendees who enjoyed our event for the food or the venue, though pertinent to the event’s success, fell short of our ultimate mission. That said, once in a while, there’s gold in the feedback from the latter cohort.

On the flip side, it may seem intuitive to prioritize the feedback of those who were “Very distraught” or “Not at all”. But they exist on two extremes of the spectrum. One, stalwart champions of our events. The other, emotionally detached from the success of our events. In my opinion, neither cohort see our product truly for both its pros and cons, but rather over-index on either the pros or the cons, respectively. On a slight tangent, this is very similar to how I prioritize which restaurants to go to or which books to read. So, we find ourselves prioritizing the feedback of the group that lie on the tipping point before they “fall in love” with our events.

Unscalability and Scalability

We did all of our feedback sessions in-person. No Survey Monkey. No Google Forms, Qualtrics, or Typeform. Why?

  1. We could react to nuances in their answers, ask follow-up questions, and dig deeper.
  2. We wanted to make sure our attendees felt that their feedback was valued, inspired by Google’s Project Aristotle.
  3. And, in order to get a 100% response rate.

We got exactly what we expected. After our post-mortem, as well as during the preparation for our next event, I would DM/call/catch up with our previous attendees and tell them which feedback we used and how much we appreciated them helping us grow. For the feedback we didn’t use, I would break down what our rationale was for opting for a different direction, but at the same time, how their feedback helped evolve the discourse around our strategic direction. Though their advice was on the back burner now, I’ll be the first to let them know when we implement some element of it.

The flip side of this is that it looks extremely unscalable. You’re half-right. Our goal isn’t to scale now, as we’re still searching for product-market fit. But as you might notice, there are elements of this strategy that can scale really well.

In closing

Of course, our whole endeavor is on hold during this social distancing time, but the excitement in finding new and better ways to measure my assumptions never ceases. So, in the interim, I’ve personally carried some of these interactions online, in hopes of discovering something about virtual conversations.

Photo by Jennifer Burk on Unsplash

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#unfiltered #4 Namedropping and Intros – Why my default is to not to namedrop, Direct/Indirect Consequences, Making/Receiving Intros, and Notes on Friendship

namedropping and intros, fame
Photo by Einar H. Reynis on Unsplash

One of my buds asked me over the weekend why I often don’t namedrop, mostly in respect to this blog. Well, other than the quotes I use that already exist somewhere on the Interweb. It’s not the first time I’ve been asked about namedropping. And I usually my TL;DR response is that I want to respect their privacy and time.

My longer answer is a bit more nuanced. Here are my reasons to why:

  1. If I’m true to my emotions, I would love to namedrop at every opportunity I get. Given that some of the folks that inspire me to write specific pieces are echelons above me, it would help me get exponentially more traffic. And for a minute, I can convince myself that people come to my site for the content. Yet, in reality, there are confounding variables, part of which is whom I’m rubbing my shoulders with.
  2. Although I tell them during our conversation, I send my pieces to the people who inspire me retroactively. In receiving feedback, if existent, after I publish my thoughts, I can truly give a play-by-play cross section of my thoughts at any given time. If I believe the feedback/advice is pertinent, I will compound upon the advice in a future post. After I publish the pieces, if they want to be associated with it, they can, which leads to my third point.
  3. Fame is a fickle thing – a double-edged sword. I’m not saying my blog currently has millions of views every month, nor am I projecting that it’ll ever. Would be nice, but not a priority. But since I do write on a public blog which can be found via various search engines and browsers out there, I am cautious and respectful of people’s comfort levels in the face of the public eye. So, before they decide to have their names on my blog, I send them this incredibly intricate piece Tim Ferriss wrote about fame. On the bright side, social recognition, the opportunity to take on bigger projects, the ability to mingle with people of a similar or greater popularity, and more. On the flip side, stalkers, harassment, extortion, death threats and so on. In understanding the “disclaimers”, then I retroactively put their name up.

Because of these reasons, I’m also, to my friend’s credit, testing the question: Are these people real? The supposed elephant in the room. No matter how much I plead my case, there’s little I can do to convince you these individuals are real. I don’t host a podcast (although I may in the future), nor do I ask them to post on their social media about my content. If you don’t believe they are, they aren’t. If you do, I thank you for your confidence in me. And that’s all I can really say to that question.

Outside of the blog, I try not to namedrop, unless it becomes impossible to explain a conversation topic without using their name. I’ve had such cases before that upon using X person’s name, friends, family, coworkers, and/or acquaintances implore an introduction. After all, as my job entails, I live off of introductions. I live and breathe in a relationship-based industry. And because I do, I’d like to say I have a deep understanding with the value, as well as the risks, a person needs to take:

  • to make an introduction (which I brief in this piece),
  • but also, to receive an introduction.

The person making it is risking social capital, or in other words, their reputation. The person receiving it is risking time (and effort) allocation. And when you’re punching above your weight class, the person receiving it has to weigh the opportunity cost of taking an intro versus the projects they’re currently undertaking, as well as prioritizing a new contact over their existing network. If I do make an intro, I always shoot for a double opt-in, where both sides agree to it.

Early last year, I heard something I don’t know why it didn’t click sooner. As part of the Crazy Gremlin (CG) (long-story short, we couldn’t think of a better name) event series which I help co-host, we get in-person feedback with each and every attendee. Why? We can dig deeper than we can with survey forms, like:

  1. Understand the deeper emotional spectrum,
  2. Ask pertinent follow-up questions,
  3. And, notice macro- and micro-gestures that’ll supplement how forthcoming their answers are (i.e. Does a “9” on the NPS question really mean a “9”?).

For context, the thesis behind CG events is helping strangers become life-long friends overnight.

In that feedback process, one of our attendees told me: “I’m never going to come to your events again.”

I asked, “Why do you say that?”, assuming that we did something terribly wrong.

“You guys didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, you held a better event than I imagined. But in coming to the last event, I realized I would rather prioritize my current close friends than spend time meeting new people, whom I don’t know if I’ll catch up with later.”

He made me realize that:

  1. We failed at bringing people closer together, fundamentally being comfortable with being vulnerable, at that event.
  2. There’s a giant population of folks out there who say they want a social life and to meet new people. But what they really mean is that they’re still looking for that friend or group of friends with whom they can really truly be themselves with.

To this day, I don’t think namedropping or making intros when only one party could benefit is conducive to lasting friendships. So, although it makes me giddy, and you can argue, in a myopically-beneficial sense, I proceed cautiously.

#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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