On Friday night I went to Kol Nidre services for Yom Kippur, which is the holiest of Jewish holidays. When services concluded, a Palestinian, Aziz, and an Israeli, Maoz, came onstage to talk about their thoughts and feelings about war in the Middle East and whether they believed a resolution to the conflict was possible. Both of the Maoz's parents were murdered in the October 7 attack, and Aziz's brother was killed by the IDF when he was 10. Both are committed to finding peace.
Aziz told the audience a story that I found deeply moving and important. This is a paraphrased recap. He invited his father to one of his presentations on creating a bridge between Israelis and Palestinians. There were many Israelis and Palestinians in attendance. His father raised his hand and stood up to ask a question: “Do you actually believe the Holocaust happened?” And then there was silence. Aziz was embarrassed by what he perceived to be a deliberately offensive question.
But then something happened. A famous rabbi stood up and said: “How can I possibly be offended by that question? If you have never been taught about the history of the Holocaust, how can I expect you to understand its history and significance?” He went on to share that his father was a holocaust survivor, and then he invited Aziz's father to the Holocaust Museum and a tour of concentration camps to share what had happened. His father agreed to visit with him.
On Friday night I went to Kol Nidre services for Yom Kippur, which is the holiest of Jewish holidays. When services concluded, a Palestinian, Aziz, and an Israeli, Maoz, came onstage to talk about their thoughts and feelings about war in the Middle East and whether they believed a resolution to the conflict was possible. Both of the Maoz's parents were murdered in the October 7 attack, and Aziz's brother was killed by the IDF when he was 10. Both are committed to finding peace.
Aziz told the audience a story that I found deeply moving and important. This is a paraphrased recap. He invited his father to one of his presentations on creating a bridge between Israelis and Palestinians. There were many Israelis and Palestinians in attendance. His father raised his hand and stood up to ask a question: “Do you actually believe the Holocaust happened?” And then there was silence. Aziz was embarrassed by what he perceived to be a deliberately offensive question.
But then something happened. A famous rabbi stood up and said: “How can I possibly be offended by that question? If you have never been taught about the history of the Holocaust, how can I expect you to understand its history and significance?” He went on to share that his father was a holocaust survivor, and then he invited Aziz's father to the Holocaust Museum and a tour of concentration camps to share what had happened. His father agreed to visit with him.
Then, another surprising thing happened. Over seventy Palestinians in attendance also asked if they could attend. They said they all wanted to ask the same question, but didn’t because they thought it would be offensive and cause more harm and animosity. But the spirit of the question was genuine - they really wanted to know whether Israelis believed the Holocaust actually happened. They all went on the tour with Aziz's father.
The ideas behind this story were eye-opening to me. We have become so scared to ask questions that we think may offend people or rub them the wrong way, even when they come from a place of genuine kindness and inquisitiveness. Will they think I’m insensitive? Am I not supposed to say this word or phrase? Am I allowed to ask this? Will there be backlash? The past decade has been marked by this fear.
A big piece of this is because people are quick to react when they hear something offensive. We assume the worst: malice and ignorance and deliberate offense. We are looking for a fight and are becoming increasingly conditioned to do so. We are polarized with no regard for the infinite grey areas that surround us. We seldom provide the benefit of the doubt or put ourselves in the shoes of the perceived offender. As the rabbi said, “How can one be offended if the question asker knows not of what they ask?”
I have always thought of first-principles thinking as asking “Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?” until one reaches the root of something. It reminds me of how children navigate the world, fearlessly asking Why? until they get to some semblance of a satisfactory answer they can comprehend. We lose this fearlessness overtime. It becomes stifled by vanity and concern of what others may think. But it’s the only way to truly understand something - asking someone questions eye to eye, face to face.
As the Jewish New Year commences, I hope to have the courage to ask the questions that I genuinely want to understand the answers to, even when it requires an uncomfortable conversation or even may offend. And I hope to have the awareness and peace of mind to provide those doing the hard question-asking the benefit of the doubt and assume the best in them.
Growing up I always had a home on the internet. It started at the end of middle school and high school with my AOL profile. Everyone would list their interests, favorite music, names of their best friends, sports teams, hobbies, and more. You’d update it regularly. It was a status symbol and something you tended to like a garden. It was a lo-fi textual representation of you on the internet. It was awesome.
In college, that quickly turned to MySpace and Facebook. They had their differences, but they served the same purpose. It was our homepage on the internet. It was where people found us, judged us, learned about us, thought about who we were and what we might be like, and more. I liked the MySpace profile page more. It was just more fun, visual and interactive. Who your “top 4” or 8 or 12 were was everything. Best friends, favorite bands and more went there. Had a breakup? They got the boot. These were the digital actions that defined my youth.
MySpace faded as Facebook took over. Then things began to disaggregate. Some people flocked to tumblr as the digital expression of themselves. It was a beautiful place to hang out. We’d curate the internet according to our interests and how we wanted people to see us, and then share it on our tumblogs.
Instagram also came around and gave people filters to edit their photos and paint a picture of a life of grandeur. What was once self-expression and fun moved quickly to vanity and audience building, turning fame into a game for everyone. But was it really our home? No.
Our homes have shattered and been thrown across the internet. There is no one place any longer. For some, maybe a piece of it is their twitter profile or blog (mine is here on my blog), but for most, it’s spread across a vast sea of disconnected networks.
There’s room for a new home on the internet, especially for younger generations who have mainly found it inside Instagram and TikTok and maybe LinkTree. They haven’t experienced the power of a full-fledged profile like we did. And now with AI powered tools creating new and weird media formats and experiences, perhaps the time has come for a new generational home to emerge online. One that reflects the expressive capabilities of a digitally native generation and embraces a new suite of creative tools and experiences. Maybe it starts off looking like an internet bedroom, or maybe it surprises us with something entirely unpredictable.
People often are a reflection of the things they like. I want a new place to share these: books, music, artists, sports, hobbies, film and television, the list goes on and on. I want a taste of the nostalgia of my old profiles, but updated for the present.
If the history of business is an endless cycle of bundling and unbundling, maybe the history and future of digital product experiences will rhyme. In that case, we have recently gone through a period of profile unbundling; perhaps it’s time to bring it all home again. I’d certainly like that.
There's a saying that first-time founders focus on product and second-time founders focus on distribution. It's impossible to build a business if you can't distribute your product, and getting people to buy or use the thing you're building is make or break.
Networked products and marketplaces are very difficult to get off the ground. They suffer chicken and egg problems. Social networks aren't useful unless others are on them, and marketplaces aren't interesting to sellers unless there are buyers, and vice versa. Usually, getting supply, whether that is content or something to sell, is meaningfully easier than finding demand.
Almost every modern network has scaled demand and kickstarted its growth flywheel by piggybacking off of someone else's network. They will start by creating some new form of shareable media (and sometimes it's a brand new structural format like a tweet), and then find ways to syndicate that content or make it easily shareable across other networks.
Twitter did this by making tweets easily shareable and embeddable in the Facebook feed. Everyone starting seeing new tweets on Facebook with the twitter logo floating around everywhere. It created demand for the content on this brand new platform. Then tumblr and Instagram followed the same playbook and started to syndicate their user's content on these networks. Then came TikTok, and they had even more networks to piggyback on. In every one of these instances, the new platform made it extremely easy for users to share their content on networks where they already had a following.
Marketplaces have used the same strategy. Airbnb famously created listings on Craigslist for all of their home inventory in the early days. Bountycaster is building a headless marketplace that can post listings on Farcaster and other networks. Etsy's sellers would post listings of their wares everywhere and anywhere on the internet in the early days. In all these instances, there's an incentive for both the platform and its early users to share broadly.
Sometimes networks can grow by bootstrapping in the physical world. When we started GroupMe we partnered with music festivals so attendees would use the product at large events like Coachella and Bonnaroo. We would even walk around some music festivals and hand out flyers.
"do things that don't scale" like handing out flyers
When Foursquare first emerged restaurants and bars would showcase "check-in" stickers on their windows and the A-frames they stood up on city sidewalks to incentivize foot traffic.
And Facebook famously piggybacked on top of college networks.
In some ways, it's safer to piggyback on top of analog networks than it is digital ones. Unless a security guard prevents you from physically being somewhere, it's a permissionless way to grow. While digital networks offer meaningfully better distribution and faster scale, there is always a gatekeeper that will likely shut you down one day (unless it's a crypto network or open protocol like Farcaster).
Facebook famously throttled Twitter, Twitter and Facebook throttled Instagram, and everyone cut off TikTok. Networks don't like when other networks grow on top of them, especially when they have the same business models of competing for eyeballs or other types of demand (eg housing listings). These networks are becoming more closed and increasingly neurotic about this - Elon Musk deliberately supresses tweets with links in them. This means that the piggyback bootstrap is usually a moment in time arbitrage opportunity of sorts. It should be used as an important early growth tactic to kickstart a flywheel, but not an ongoing dependency. Plan to be cut off entirely, so wisely make the most of your window of opportunity.
As AI tools facilitate entirely new types of media and as new marketplace models emerge, entrepreneurs should be deliberate about what their piggyback opportunities look like. They'll likely require a level of unprecedented creativity - you'll need new ways to hack existing networks. It's something I'm thinking about, and I encourage anyone building something in consumer to come to the table with some crafty ideas.
Then, another surprising thing happened. Over seventy Palestinians in attendance also asked if they could attend. They said they all wanted to ask the same question, but didn’t because they thought it would be offensive and cause more harm and animosity. But the spirit of the question was genuine - they really wanted to know whether Israelis believed the Holocaust actually happened. They all went on the tour with Aziz's father.
The ideas behind this story were eye-opening to me. We have become so scared to ask questions that we think may offend people or rub them the wrong way, even when they come from a place of genuine kindness and inquisitiveness. Will they think I’m insensitive? Am I not supposed to say this word or phrase? Am I allowed to ask this? Will there be backlash? The past decade has been marked by this fear.
A big piece of this is because people are quick to react when they hear something offensive. We assume the worst: malice and ignorance and deliberate offense. We are looking for a fight and are becoming increasingly conditioned to do so. We are polarized with no regard for the infinite grey areas that surround us. We seldom provide the benefit of the doubt or put ourselves in the shoes of the perceived offender. As the rabbi said, “How can one be offended if the question asker knows not of what they ask?”
I have always thought of first-principles thinking as asking “Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?” until one reaches the root of something. It reminds me of how children navigate the world, fearlessly asking Why? until they get to some semblance of a satisfactory answer they can comprehend. We lose this fearlessness overtime. It becomes stifled by vanity and concern of what others may think. But it’s the only way to truly understand something - asking someone questions eye to eye, face to face.
As the Jewish New Year commences, I hope to have the courage to ask the questions that I genuinely want to understand the answers to, even when it requires an uncomfortable conversation or even may offend. And I hope to have the awareness and peace of mind to provide those doing the hard question-asking the benefit of the doubt and assume the best in them.
Growing up I always had a home on the internet. It started at the end of middle school and high school with my AOL profile. Everyone would list their interests, favorite music, names of their best friends, sports teams, hobbies, and more. You’d update it regularly. It was a status symbol and something you tended to like a garden. It was a lo-fi textual representation of you on the internet. It was awesome.
In college, that quickly turned to MySpace and Facebook. They had their differences, but they served the same purpose. It was our homepage on the internet. It was where people found us, judged us, learned about us, thought about who we were and what we might be like, and more. I liked the MySpace profile page more. It was just more fun, visual and interactive. Who your “top 4” or 8 or 12 were was everything. Best friends, favorite bands and more went there. Had a breakup? They got the boot. These were the digital actions that defined my youth.
MySpace faded as Facebook took over. Then things began to disaggregate. Some people flocked to tumblr as the digital expression of themselves. It was a beautiful place to hang out. We’d curate the internet according to our interests and how we wanted people to see us, and then share it on our tumblogs.
Instagram also came around and gave people filters to edit their photos and paint a picture of a life of grandeur. What was once self-expression and fun moved quickly to vanity and audience building, turning fame into a game for everyone. But was it really our home? No.
Our homes have shattered and been thrown across the internet. There is no one place any longer. For some, maybe a piece of it is their twitter profile or blog (mine is here on my blog), but for most, it’s spread across a vast sea of disconnected networks.
There’s room for a new home on the internet, especially for younger generations who have mainly found it inside Instagram and TikTok and maybe LinkTree. They haven’t experienced the power of a full-fledged profile like we did. And now with AI powered tools creating new and weird media formats and experiences, perhaps the time has come for a new generational home to emerge online. One that reflects the expressive capabilities of a digitally native generation and embraces a new suite of creative tools and experiences. Maybe it starts off looking like an internet bedroom, or maybe it surprises us with something entirely unpredictable.
People often are a reflection of the things they like. I want a new place to share these: books, music, artists, sports, hobbies, film and television, the list goes on and on. I want a taste of the nostalgia of my old profiles, but updated for the present.
If the history of business is an endless cycle of bundling and unbundling, maybe the history and future of digital product experiences will rhyme. In that case, we have recently gone through a period of profile unbundling; perhaps it’s time to bring it all home again. I’d certainly like that.
There's a saying that first-time founders focus on product and second-time founders focus on distribution. It's impossible to build a business if you can't distribute your product, and getting people to buy or use the thing you're building is make or break.
Networked products and marketplaces are very difficult to get off the ground. They suffer chicken and egg problems. Social networks aren't useful unless others are on them, and marketplaces aren't interesting to sellers unless there are buyers, and vice versa. Usually, getting supply, whether that is content or something to sell, is meaningfully easier than finding demand.
Almost every modern network has scaled demand and kickstarted its growth flywheel by piggybacking off of someone else's network. They will start by creating some new form of shareable media (and sometimes it's a brand new structural format like a tweet), and then find ways to syndicate that content or make it easily shareable across other networks.
Twitter did this by making tweets easily shareable and embeddable in the Facebook feed. Everyone starting seeing new tweets on Facebook with the twitter logo floating around everywhere. It created demand for the content on this brand new platform. Then tumblr and Instagram followed the same playbook and started to syndicate their user's content on these networks. Then came TikTok, and they had even more networks to piggyback on. In every one of these instances, the new platform made it extremely easy for users to share their content on networks where they already had a following.
Marketplaces have used the same strategy. Airbnb famously created listings on Craigslist for all of their home inventory in the early days. Bountycaster is building a headless marketplace that can post listings on Farcaster and other networks. Etsy's sellers would post listings of their wares everywhere and anywhere on the internet in the early days. In all these instances, there's an incentive for both the platform and its early users to share broadly.
Sometimes networks can grow by bootstrapping in the physical world. When we started GroupMe we partnered with music festivals so attendees would use the product at large events like Coachella and Bonnaroo. We would even walk around some music festivals and hand out flyers.
"do things that don't scale" like handing out flyers
When Foursquare first emerged restaurants and bars would showcase "check-in" stickers on their windows and the A-frames they stood up on city sidewalks to incentivize foot traffic.
And Facebook famously piggybacked on top of college networks.
In some ways, it's safer to piggyback on top of analog networks than it is digital ones. Unless a security guard prevents you from physically being somewhere, it's a permissionless way to grow. While digital networks offer meaningfully better distribution and faster scale, there is always a gatekeeper that will likely shut you down one day (unless it's a crypto network or open protocol like Farcaster).
Facebook famously throttled Twitter, Twitter and Facebook throttled Instagram, and everyone cut off TikTok. Networks don't like when other networks grow on top of them, especially when they have the same business models of competing for eyeballs or other types of demand (eg housing listings). These networks are becoming more closed and increasingly neurotic about this - Elon Musk deliberately supresses tweets with links in them. This means that the piggyback bootstrap is usually a moment in time arbitrage opportunity of sorts. It should be used as an important early growth tactic to kickstart a flywheel, but not an ongoing dependency. Plan to be cut off entirely, so wisely make the most of your window of opportunity.
As AI tools facilitate entirely new types of media and as new marketplace models emerge, entrepreneurs should be deliberate about what their piggyback opportunities look like. They'll likely require a level of unprecedented creativity - you'll need new ways to hack existing networks. It's something I'm thinking about, and I encourage anyone building something in consumer to come to the table with some crafty ideas.
