I Am Not a CEO

“What is it like when the words Founder and CEO flash beneath your name now?” asked a long-time friend. She meant well, obviously.

I chuckled wisely, whatever that means. Because apparently that’s what new founders do.

“I am not a CEO,” I replied, to my friend’s confusion.

I am a Personal Assistant

I wake up everyday to review our product timeline and how achievable the next milestone is. I shoot a few WhatsApp messages (thank you Brian Acton) to my co-founder and tech guys, trying to outline their work for the day. Then I ask them a few questions and make a few declarations very similar to the ones below:

• Any problems with the server?
• Do you need me to talk to Customer Service?
• Is the WiFi strong enough?
• The junior coder called in sick today? What did she eat yesterday? I’m calling her!
• Does everybody have coffee?
• Do you need me to draft this email for you?
• Let me work on these Help Center Articles, you go ahead and handle that other thing.
• Here’s all the research, the comparisons, the Beta test questions, the traffic numbers, the reference images and the Unicorn blood you asked for.
• Can I schedule 10 Twitter posts on your behalf? I definitely won’t find the time to do it but I want you to want me!
• What do you need? Tell me. TELL ME!

I am a non-tech Goober

I may not like it and I definitely don’t say it out loud in public, but I am.

In a past life of mine (read: during high school and college), I used to be a Photoshop-wielding-PERL-coding-Windows-hacking-DHTML-spouting rock-star with shiny CSS 2.0 buttons stuck to my shoulder lapels and my own background music.

I was learning how to build buildings and earning pocket money from all the logos and Flash websites I designed. But that was a long time ago. No, let me do this right — that was a loooooooong time ago *eyeroll*.

Now, I can still wield Photoshop better than most, but most of the time I find myself

• reviewing the UI,
• conducting tests on the UX with my BETA babies,
• obsessing over font-sizes,
• gaping at my tech team when they tell me my idea won’t work because in order to make it work we might need to hack into a Level 5 Chunk Server in Sweden and we can’t afford to go to jail, and
• breathing heavily when they support something I designed.

I know that even though I’m not professionally trained to code, my background allows me to understand what my tech team talks about. I use a popular method called the Wildly Grasp At Familiar Words To Make Sense Of What They’re Saying Method.

I can still miraculously out-Google my tech team. No shit. I have also gone so far as to print out and post stickers on my lead developers’ laptops one fine morning. The sticker below is the one in question:

I feel you, man.

They flashed angry looks at me all day.

I am a world-class Stalker.

John Hinckley Jr. ain’t got nothin’ on me.

Although I’m not as close to insanity as he was…yet, I have mastered the art of snooping around the internet after my favorite startup stars, creepily reading their posts and tweets, even the ones about their dogs and their stretch marks.

I lust after their stories of achieving that elusive product-market fit. I dream of the day I will be leaving a sweaty ass-print, just like they did, on a chair in an investor’s office. I have all my quotes on entrepreneurship neatly arranged in a .doc file, awaiting the time Forbes would like to quote me.

I have secretly subscribed to all my competitors’ products and I diligently go through their email newsletters. I make detailed notes of all the exercises startups similar to mine, have gone through to achieve what they have. I study my notes like an obsessed woman studies long text messages. I turn them over, pinch them, twist them to suit my needs. Then I return in the morning to put my team through the same paces till they’re ready to pour scalding hot coffee down my back.

These activities leave tiny green holes in my heart, but it’s a stalker’s life for me.

I am a Therapist

It’s true. I don’t know how that happened.

For quite some time I have appreciated Alex Turnbull’s writings on his startup journey at Groove, and one article has always stuck out — How We Got Our First 100 Paying Customers in 24 Hours.

At this stage our product is anything but complete. Untalented hack I may be, but I will never stop talking to users. Potential, regular, confused or otherwise. First 100 or otherwise. For the last three weeks I have hunted down people and companies through obscure Facebook profiles, Linkedin contacts and Twitter feeds, those who I think would benefit from using our product.

I went in armed and ready, thinking that I’d need to gab their ears off.

I came out dazed, after my own ears had been gabbed off me.

Wait.

The exercise, which is still continuing, was a lesson in humility. After a few gentle questions, a home-stay host would start talking about the tax problems she faced while renting out her apartment. A tour guide would start ranting about cut-throat commission rates. A vacationer would complain about hidden costs. Anyone of them might suddenly start talking about how their healthcare system did not take care of their cat’s liver disease. One of them might tell me family secrets and how the secrets are affecting business.

And I inhale all of it in. Every conversation, every problem, every tidbit, every request.

I have found the following to be the most common bits of a conversation between a potential customer and me, on any given day:

• Are you guys going to give me a plugin to manage my finances?
• You know 12 of my cats live in the same apartment I rent out to tourists!
• Analytics are a bitch. Do you know Google Analysm? It’s like the graphs they show on CNBC!
• So I’ll be able to send a “Thank You” email? Will that email say “Thank You”? Are you sure?
• So are you guys like Viator? (Uh, no.)
• I like Viator. (Um, OK.)
• I’m planning on bringing my best friends on as fellow guides. One of them is very sexy.
• My dream is to run a Food Tour of Greenland!

What I look like most of the time.

Sometimes I wonder whether I should have made my co-founder CEO. Those are times I find myself huddled over all the comments users have made, trying to defy sleep. Sometimes I doubt if my tech team is efficient enough. Those are the times I’m on the phone, yelling at an Indian with a fake American accent, trying to explain the problem with their nameservers.

Other times, I feel a twang of immense joy when I see a new email id on the email list, solid satisfaction when the payment gateway works for the first time, unparalleled elation when a user nods vigorously and enthusiastically when I talk.

I am not a CEO. I doubt I will ever be. But given how intoxicating the promise of being a problem-solver is, I’d rather be everything else.

Ta, for today. Next time, I’ll tell you why it is perfectly OK to wear a pink flower-print nightie to work.

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