How a Designer Paints Entrepreneurship
Why your definition of an entrepreneur is probably wrong.
We, entrepreneurs, are hopeless romantics.
We’re suckers for curiosity. We haul ass for lofty goals, sing Valley-speak gospels of Graham and Blank, and, by god, we’re driven by a heart-thumping vision. And as we’ve convinced ourselves that we hate working for others, we also eat uncertainty for lunch. The ideal entrepreneur embodies all of these traits—according to VCs and serial entrepreneurs. But take a second to ask yourself this question and let it percolate:
“Exactly why are you an entrepreneur?”
It took a coffee chat with designer John Maeda to help me realize that, as an entrepreneur, I’d been living under a rock, never having fully answered this question:
1. Mission is only a fraction of an entrepreneur’s DNA
A Sinek-ian response would be to state a company’s mission, like mine: To prolong pets’ lives by bettering access to pet healthcare.
Turns out this statement reveals nothing about why I’m pursuing entrepreneurship—that there could be another team out there who shares the exact same vision as me. Why not join them instead? If I’m truly driven by this mission, why not join a similar company with more resources and clout?
2. Working for someone else doesn’t have to suck across the board
Before my two startups, I had a brief stint in finance, long enough to convince me that the corporate hierarchy wasn’t for me. I loathed some of my bosses and thought, if this were the case at a company, I couldn’t possibly work for another person. Ever.
But feeling jaded with my job doesn’t necessarily mean I’m fit to take the leap of being an entrepreneur. This could mean that I just haven’t found the right team to work with.
3. Saying money doesn’t motivate you doesn’t make you a true entrepreneur
It certainly helps not to be money driven. If fact, I have better peace of mind because of it. But there are plenty of entrepreneurs who are driven, at least in part, by cash and have been successful.
Not caring about material goods qualifies you to be a kick-ass monk, though.
4. Entrepreneurs firmly believe only they can do what’s best
Maeda’s point.
We’re entrepreneurs because we don’t believe anyone else can do better than what we envision. We assume this highfalutin stance that we—only we—are worthy of pursuing this venture. There’s no one out there like that. Others’ efforts are subpar, which is why we want to take charge. That’s the true calling of an entrepreneur.
5. Start with audacity
With this calling comes a voracious killer instinct to destroy competitors, which Maeda euphamizes as audacity. In other words, having balls. It’s audacity that leads entrepreneurs into hell, your blind sense of not giving a flying fuck about what you’re about to face. I felt this way when I started Luna Pharmaceuticals, and the same feeling permeates since I’ve launched Nibbol.
All entrepreneurs begin with this fervor, then follow one of two paths:
i) Recklessness eventually kills your startup and you fail
or
ii) You learn, adapt to your roller coaster and survive—building courage
6. Die a slow, painful death
Put simply, courage is confidence with intelligent decision making. You begin to effectively navigate the pitfalls of running a company. Hence, you know what to do when shit hits the fan.
Everything sounds like smooth sailing until you encounter the grim realities of your hero’s journey:
i) You become complacent
or
ii) You die a slow, painful death, overwhelmed by the fast pace of your environment
Once you’re at the top of the food chain, everything falls into place. You snuggle into your armchair, sinking into complacent comfort, devoid of the euphoric excitement that lit your ass to start the venture in the first place.
In 2013, Maeda left for Kleiner Perkins Caufield & Byers (KPCB) after serving six years as head honcho of Rhode Island School of Design (RISD). Why? Complacency. What’s a designer to do after saving a world-class art institution from the financial crisis, multiplying college applications and the endowment, and refusing to buckle under the pressure of a traditional faculty hesitant to embrace change?
Bounce to greener pastures. Restart that terribly beautiful audacity.
That’s what I did. I was wilting away at my previous company, with the pressure high enough for me to leave everything I loved behind—my girlfriend, closest buddies—and move to San Francisco. I couldn’t pinpoint that feeling exactly, but whatever fallout I had, I wanted that sense of renewal, that sense of rebirth.
I needed a Web 2.0 William.
So now I can purposefully ask myself, “Why am I doing this?”
Is it really because of animal healthcare? Yes, partially. And, of course, we want to change people’s lives. But it’s also because I feel no one else can design and build something as beautiful as my team can.
Pretentious? No.
A lofty dreamer? Sure.
Call this my audacity. And maybe one day with my startup I’ll find courage. Or, perhaps better yet, never. I mean, which entrepreneur wouldn’t want to stay brave, young at heart and romantically foolish forever?
Did you like this post? I’ll update you with more good stuff.
Special shout out to mentor John Maeda, Aliaksandr Hudzilin, Alex Poms, Daihua Ye, and (last but not least) Hedan Zeng for being there every step of the way.
