Disrupting disruption with disruptive disruptions since 2010.
Moving to build or sell products at higher layers of technology infrastructure, typically where margins are better and you're further from commoditized infrastructure. The opposite of down-stack, and usually more profitable.
The magical period where startup founders burn through investor cash while "validating their business model," ostensibly nurturing their fledgling company from idea to viable business. Like hatching eggs, except the eggs cost millions of dollars and most of them produce nothing. Incubators and accelerators love this word because it makes burning money sound scientific and inevitable.
The most stripped-down version of your product that customers will actually use without demanding a refund—or at least that's the theory. In practice, it's whatever you can ship before running out of money.
A funding event that technically keeps a struggling startup alive but doesn't provide enough capital or momentum to actually succeed. Life support masquerading as investment.
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.
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 deferred payment structure in an acquisition where sellers receive additional money only if the business hits specific milestones post-sale. It's how acquirers say 'we believe your projections!' while quietly not paying for them upfront.
The specific order in which investment proceeds are distributed among LPs and GPs based on the fund's legal agreements. It's the pecking order that determines who eats first at the exit feast.
In startup parlance, the euphemistic term for when your product actually reaches real users—or crashes spectacularly trying. The moment of truth between hype and reality.
To forcefully resurrect a dead project, company, or relationship using emergency measures and borrowed energy. Like CPR but for your failing startup's momentum.
How much you spend to gain one customer—a depressing metric that determines whether your unit economics work at all.
Your strategy for acquiring customers—ranging from 'extremely detailed 50-page document' to 'hope LinkedIn organic works' depending on your VC's patience.
The right to invest more than your proportional share in a subsequent round, allowing early investors to increase their ownership. Pro rata's aggressive older sibling who always wants more.
The privilege to attend board meetings without voting power, typically granted to smaller investors or advisors. All the tedious meetings with none of the actual authority—basically a corporate internship.
The moment when something new is officially unleashed upon the world, whether it's a product, company, or ship sliding into water. In business and tech, launches involve coordinated marketing campaigns, press releases, and the collective hope that people will actually care. It's the corporate equivalent of a grand opening, complete with champagne (or energy drinks, depending on the industry).
When a startup raises funding from institutional VCs after initially bootstrapping or taking only angel money. It's like moving from community college to the Ivy League, complete with higher expectations.
A funding round where only existing investors participate, with no new outside investors joining. It's either a vote of confidence from believers or a sign that no one else wanted in.
A go-to-market strategy dependent on human sales teams to drive customer acquisition, typical in complex B2B products with long sales cycles. The opposite of letting the product sell itself.
The adjective slapped on every product, service, and startup pitch deck to signal 'we're doing something allegedly new.' Something innovative is supposed to be groundbreaking and forward-thinking, though these days it often means 'we added AI to it.' If your company isn't innovative, you're basically admitting you're stuck in 2005 with a flip phone.
The mythical J-curve trajectory where metrics stay flat forever and then suddenly shoot straight up, resembling a hockey stick. Every founder claims this is coming; few actually achieve it.
A fledgling company designed for rapid growth and scale, typically fueled by venture capital, caffeine, and the unwavering belief that this time will be different. These entrepreneurial ventures aim to disrupt industries, change the world, and achieve unicorn status—though most will pivot three times and run out of runway first. It's where innovation meets delusion in the most optimistic way possible.
The romanticized art of starting businesses, taking risks, and pretending to enjoy working 80-hour weeks for the slim chance of eventual success. It's capitalism's version of the hero's journey, complete with failure, redemption arcs, and way too many LinkedIn posts about "grinding." Business schools teach it, VCs fund it, and most people quit it within three years.
A venture fund that's technically alive but has stopped making new investments, usually because performance is so bad that raising a follow-on fund is impossible. It shambles along, managing existing investments until the limited partnership agreement expires.
When a startup 'grows up' from an accelerator program or moves from seed to institutional funding, like leaving college but with more awkward Demo Days. Implies you're now playing with the big kids.