Disrupting disruption with disruptive disruptions since 2010.
The total revenue opportunity for your market—a number your pitch deck inflates by roughly 500%.
A person who owns money and loves owning more money, preferably through means that maximize wealth accumulation. The ideological cheerleader for markets and minimal regulation.
The additional value investors pay for governance rights and control provisions beyond pure economics, willing to pay higher prices for board seats and veto powers. The surcharge for not trusting founders to run the company they founded.
A Stripe-era instrument designed to be even simpler than convertible notes—basically a promise to give equity someday, maybe.
A startup's dream scenario where it becomes a public company and founders finally get to sell their stock—statistically less likely than winning the lottery.
How much you spend to gain one customer—a depressing metric that determines whether your unit economics work at all.
The total revenue you expect from one customer during their entire relationship with your company—usually wildly overestimated.
The second institutional round where your company proves Series A wasn't a fluke—investors pony up $15M-$50M hoping you've figured out unit economics.
Shaping materials with specialized equipment, or—in startup-speak—'getting the factory ready before we realize we can't afford it.' The expensive setup phase nobody budgets correctly for.
Interest on convertible notes that automatically converts to equity at future rounds, making the note holders richer for waiting.
The portion of TAM you can actually reach with your sales and marketing strategy—much smaller than TAM but still wildly optimistic.
A startup incubator or venture capital term for an early-stage company breeding ground where fledgling ideas get fed, nurtured, and hopefully don't die under fluorescent lights. Think of it as the preschool for businesses that haven't figured out profitability yet.
To speed something up faster than its natural pace—the startup equivalent of hitting the gas pedal on your growth metrics. Often used by VCs who want their portfolio companies to move at warp speed regardless of whether the infrastructure can handle it.
An independent appraisal of your private company's value for tax purposes—made by third parties specifically so the IRS can't argue your strike price was fraudulently low.
Large corporations that businesses try to sell to—known for 9-month sales cycles, multiple stakeholder sign-offs, and IT departments that say 'we'll think about it' for years.
The price per share at which employees can exercise their stock options. Set artificially low so they can actually afford to buy their equity on the off chance it's worth something.
A competitive advantage based on how easily you can reach customers. Spoiler alert: most startups don't have one and never will.
When a highly-valued startup implodes through mismanagement, fraud, or 'the market wasn't ready'—basically Elizabeth Holmes energy.
The messy dissolution of a relationship (romantic or business) where two things that were stuck together decide they'd rather never see each other again. Bonus awkwardness if they share a friend group.
Special shares that get priority in liquidation, dividends, or control—essentially investor insurance against founder incompetence.
The realistic revenue you can capture in the next 5-10 years—the number that makes your board members slightly less nervous than TAM.
To board a vessel or aircraft, or more metaphorically, to start something new and vaguely terrifying. Whether it's a cruise ship or a startup, embarking means you've committed and there's no backing out now.
When a company buys another startup not for its product, but primarily for its team. The startup equivalent of a zombie becoming useful.
Institutions or individuals who invest capital into VC funds. The people whose retirement money is being gambled on whether your app will work.