Disrupting disruption with disruptive disruptions since 2010.
When VCs make investment decisions based on superficial similarities to previous successful startups rather than rigorous analysis. It's why they love Stanford dropouts building social apps in their dorm rooms.
An investment opportunity sourced exclusively by one firm rather than through competitive process. The venture capital equivalent of finding $20 in your coat pocket—rare, lucky, and probably won't happen again.
A PowerPoint presentation optimized for skimming, typically 10-15 slides explaining why your startup will change the world and only needs $2M to do it. It's fiction dressed up as financial projections.
Fake stock that feels like ownership but isn't, giving employees the illusion of having skin in the game without actual legal rights. It's participation trophy capitalism.
Financial projections showing what a company's metrics would look like under hypothetical conditions or future scenarios. Latin for 'as a matter of form,' startup-ese for 'this is the fantasy we're selling investors.'
The fancy business term for a proposal or offer, usually dressed up with adjectives like 'value' or 'unique' to make it sound more impressive than 'hey, wanna buy our stuff?' In startup pitch decks, the 'value proposition' is that one slide where founders explain why anyone should care about their idea, typically using a Venn diagram that doesn't quite make sense. A good proposition answers 'what's in it for me?' before the listener falls asleep.
A punitive clause forcing existing investors to participate in future rounds or lose their special privileges—the venture capital equivalent of 'put up or shut up.' Popular after market downturns when companies need to separate real believers from fair-weather friends.
A funding round where the company's valuation is explicitly set and shares have a specific price—as opposed to convertible instruments where everyone kicks the valuation can down the road. Forces uncomfortable conversations about what the company is actually worth.
The startup mantra that romanticizes abandoning your original business plan when it becomes clear nobody wants what you're building. It's plan B through Z, pitched as strategic thinking rather than desperate flailing.
A shareholder who has contractual rights to approve or block an acquisition or IPO, giving them veto power over exit decisions regardless of ownership percentage. Democracy in action, if democracy meant a small group could overrule the majority.
The time required for an investment fund to return its original capital to LPs through exits and distributions. It's the VC equivalent of asking 'when do I get my money back?'
The right to maintain one's ownership percentage in subsequent funding rounds by investing additional capital proportionally. The 'I called dibs' clause of venture capital.
Preferred stock that gets both its money back first AND participates in remaining proceeds with common stockholders. The 'have your cake and eat it too' of liquidation preferences.
Emergency financing raised by a struggling startup at unfavorable terms just to avoid immediate shutdown. It's the fundraising equivalent of pulling the ripcord on a failing skydive.
The sacred privilege granted to investors allowing them to maintain their ownership percentage in future funding rounds by ponying up more cash. It's like a VIP pass that lets you keep throwing money at a company before it becomes wildly successful or spectacularly flames out.
A go-to-market strategy where the product itself drives customer acquisition, retention, and expansion rather than traditional sales teams. Users fall in love before ever talking to a salesperson.
The glossy sales document that makes every investment opportunity look like the next Amazon and every university look like Hogwarts, carefully balanced between legal obligation and marketing fantasy. In startup land, it's the formal document that transforms 'three guys in a garage with an app idea' into 'disruptive technology platform poised for exponential growth.' Every prospectus contains enough disclaimers to absolve everyone of everything while somehow still convincing you to hand over your money.
A timeline of planned features that will be delivered late, if at all—your product team's creative fiction exercise. It exists primarily to give the sales team something to promise prospects that engineering will later disappoint.
Acronym for product-market fit, used by people too busy crushing it to say three whole words. It's the startup world's obsession with abbreviations meeting their obsession with the only metric that actually matters.
A funding round with so many small investors that the cap table looks like a nightclub guest list—lots of names, minimal commitment from anyone. Usually signals either a hot deal everyone wants a piece of, or a desperate founder who couldn't land a lead investor.
A theoretical timeline for when a company will stop losing money and become self-sustaining; usually a fictional document written for investors.
Special shares that get priority in liquidation, dividends, or control—essentially investor insurance against founder incompetence.
A small-scale demonstration that your idea actually works before you burn through millions scaling something that doesn't.
That mythical moment when your product stops being something you force people to use and they actually want it. Also known as 'the point founders finally sleep at night.'