Testing a Hypothesis: IKEA is like a Fancy Restaurant

As a new resident of San Francisco, I’m required to write about how hard it was to rent an apartment. Bloggers get competitive about this topic. I swear that some of them do SEO, and I’ve spotted one instance of plagiarism.

So here’s my advice: it’s not hard, and it doesn’t take a long time. Just lower your expectations, and be prepared to pay up. (Obligatory startup note: yes, money is tight. So is time.)

The real challenge: furnishing our place

Far more arduous was equipping our new home when all our worldly possessions were 3056 miles away. (We were selling our condo in Boston—more on that another day—and our realtor strongly suggested leaving it furnished. So my wife and I would be spending a couple of months in an unfurnished apartment, sans stuff.) Apparently this is not an uncommon problem for new arrivals; last weekend we had dinner with a couple facing the exact same issue. In case you find yourself in such a situation, feel free to learn from my mistakes.

The hypothesis: be a cheap bastard

In 2002 I helped paint a mural at a children’s hospital in Warsaw; there I met the funniest person I know. A few years later he and I were getting dinner in Chicago, and he detailed his foolproof method for choosing wine at a nice restaurant. His reasoning was ridiculously complex, and he’d obviously suffered some sort of psychotic break, but I’ll summarize it here:

I have embraced his logic wholeheartedly, and I apply it everywhere I go.

The experiment: buy the cheapest of everything at IKEA

We only needed the stuff to last a few months. What could go wrong?

The results: things go horribly, horribly wrong

  1. The cheapest salad bowl: $4
    • The first time I used it, it cracked from thermal shock.
    • If I had a time machine, I’d: get a set from Amazon.
  2. The cheapest cutting boards: 2 for $3
    • I used one once, and it added strips of brightly colored plastic to my dinner. It might look like a Fruit Roll-Up, and it might feel like a Fruit Roll-Up, but it does not taste like a Fruit Roll-Up.
    • If I had a time machine, I’d: head to Amazon again.
  3. IKEA spoons are Smurf-size. This is especially odd because Swedes are tall.

    The cheapest flatware: 16 piece set for $4
    • They’re finished as well as the keychain I made in junior high shop class; I scratched my lip on a metal burr. But they work.
    • If I had a time machine, I’d: buy two sets on the first trip. Plus an angle grinder.
  4. The cheapest can opener: $3
    • It doesn’t open cans so much as it repeatedly dents them until they cry out for a swift and merciful death. I rarely use it, which pisses off my cats.
    • If I had a time machine, I’d: bring my nice can opener with me from Boston.
  5. The cheapest sheets: $8
    • Itchy and ugly.
    • If I had a time machine, I’d: buy the 2nd cheapest set.
  6. The cheapest kitchen chairs: $14 apiece
    • Also functions as a desk chair. Surprisingly comfortable, probably because the plastic has a frightening amount of flex.
    • If I had a time machine, I’d: buy 2 more as spares for when these break.
  7. The cheapest desk: $8
    • The legs are $3 apiece (not included in the price above). Do yourself a favor and get them, even if you’re tempted to just stick the desktop on top of a big box.
    • If I had a time machine, I’d: buy the legs on the first trip.
  8. The cheapest kitchen knives: $4 for 3
    • Chopping root vegetables usually ends in a stalemate. It’s like the Korean War on my kitchen counter. But they haven’t broken.
    • If I had a time machine, I’d: very reluctantly buy them again.
  9. The cheapest lounge chair: $49
    • In under a month, it broke under the weight of my cat. (Yes, it was the chubby one.) I disassembled it, lashed it together with twine, and added a layer of bubble wrap for extra cushioning. It looks like Mickey Rourke’s face, but it’s holding together.
    • If I had a time machine, I’d: kill it with fire.

Conclusion: hypothesis is disproved

Buying stuff at IKEA is not like buying wine at a fancy restaurant. It’s not a bargain if you have to replace it after one use, so don’t be a cheap bastard: if you get stuff from IKEA, buy the second cheapest item.

Tagged , , , , , , ,

If You’re Reading This, You Don’t Know Jack About Incubators

Dear reader, if you are viewing this blog post, chances are good that some variation of the following scenario played out recently:

  1. You told me about your startup.
  2. I asked if you considered joining an incubator.
  3. You badmouthed incubators.
  4. I was too buzzed to talk through it then, so I suggested that you read this post.

Since I closed down my company, I’ve attended several “networking events” at local bars. In case you want to steer clear of me, my nametag usually looks like this:

Even in the Bay area, I’m amazed to run into so many people who doubt that joining an incubator will help their business. If this applies to you, one of the following is true:

  1. You’re a rock star.
  2. You weighed the pros and cons, then concluded your business doesn’t fit the incubator model.
  3. You don’t know what you’re talking about.

Just in case you fall into category #3, allow me to assist.

The Benefits

  • Getting accepted is difficult. For a Tier 1 or 2 incubator, the odds are worse than getting into the Ivy League. Of course, most applicants have no serious shot–sort of like a highly selective college–so it’s not as daunting as it looks. The upshot is that being accepted is a proof point by itself. To an investor, you’ve already been vetted.
  • It’s a great alumni network. Let’s be honest: your startup is probably going to fail. Most do. Mine did, and it was way better than yours. Since you’re unlikely to get rich off of this idea, why not hang out with people who will?
  • The 5 or 6% an incubator takes is non-dilutive capital. Forget the money they provide: that’s trivial. Hanging out with really smart people for 3 months is going to increase the value of your company by far more than 5%.
  • You get to know your cofounders really well. In my case, we moved across the country, rented a house together, and managed to not murder each other. That’s called chemistry, my friends.

Weird Stuff That’s Not Immediately Obvious

  • Incubators work best for businesses where substantial progress can be made in 12 weeks. If you have a long sales cycle, or if your app requires a year to build, you’re not a great candidate.
  • Simpler businesses work better. Nuance doesn’t fly when you have 2-4 minutes to present on Demo Day.
  • Speedometer > odometer. This car has lots of miles, but it’s not going anywhere.

    Joining an incubator is a corporate reboot, and being a more mature company isn’t necessarily helpful. Growth rate trumps traction.
  • Incubators are getting huge, and some are specializing in either a vertical or a geography. Not surprisingly, the former (for instance, here and here) makes more sense to me. YMMV.
  • Some animals are more equal than others. Let’s pick on YC for a second: 3 companies are responsible for the overwhelming majority of YC’s success. If I were running an incubator, I’d place my bets early, and I’d spent most of my time working on the home runs. This isn’t the end of the world for the base hits, however: it just means that the next step will be more work.
  • Some of us needed a little help to get through Demo Day.

    Voilà: you’re now a stage actor. While speaking in front of +/- 1000 people is an interesting talent, so is hacky sack. They’re equally applicable to growing a business.
  • The whole “We’ll accept a team without an idea” thing is crazy talk. Yes, some startups change their ideas. But there’s a big difference between having the wrong idea and having no idea. Plus, the whole thing is too Pygmalion and Galatea for me.

My Personal Experience

As I mentioned, we shut down our company, so the result was not what we hoped it would be. But one should never conflate correct decisions with good outcomes, and joining Imagine K12 was the right call. If I had a time machine, I’d do it a thousand times over.

TL;DR version

    1. An incubator will likely help your company, so you should apply.
    2. But don’t sweat it: you probably won’t get in.
Tagged , , , ,

A Grand Unified Theory for Naming Websites

My old domain lives here.

Several weeks ago I found myself wanting to share some thoughts on a topic, and I realized it was finally time for me to get my own site; my hop onto the blogging bandwagon was seven years overdue. (Or perhaps a little early: I last had a personal website in the late 90s, and it was an eerily close approximation of today’s standard blog format. It may have looked ridiculously amateurish, however. Some Googling indicates that the name was taken over by a restaurant in Belize.)

While I have plenty of URLs lying around–many were purchased during bouts of insomnia for projects that looked significantly less brilliant the next morning—none of them seemed appropriate. It was time to pick something new. Plus, naming things is a blast.

What I was looking for

Rather than dive right in and register something, I first established my criteria.

  1. It should tell people how to feel. We all promote an image of ourselves to help shape what people think about us. While this certainly isn’t a professional site, it’s not exactly personal, either: I was searching for something timeless, something a little nerdy-cool but not hip, and something that shows I don’t take myself too seriously.
  2. It should be a good domain. That is, it should be easy to say, easy to spell, and easy to remember. No puns and no swapped/missing/duplicated letters.
  3. It should be available. I’m cheap, and my religion prohibits me from buying already-registered domains.
  4. It should be simple to illustrate. I’m not an artist, so I wanted to use preexisting images. And since I like money, I wanted to use ones in the public domain. It had to be easy to construct a site that wouldn’t embarrass me and my hypothetical future children.

The results

Hey kids! ReflexFurnace.com is still available!

It’s 2012, so pretty much any English word is long gone. I’m either inventing a new word, disemvoweling something (yuck), or choosing a compound word. I like door number 3, which meant it was time to come up with some themes, root words, prefixes, suffixes, and whatnot. After much abuse of Whois and crossing off everything Robotech-related, I came up with Sputnik 11. It immediately felt right, and five minutes later, it was mine.

  • Everyone thinks they know what Sputnik is, but this name lets me share the history of Sputnik 11.
  • The name evokes a nostalgia for a future that never was. Sputnik makes people smile. Based on the success of Mad Men, so does this entire era.
  • Those of you familiar with my background know my affection for the number 11. The ‘Eleven Learning’ name was a conversation starter, and our users loved it.

Several years ago a coworker of mine declared that anyone whose email address contained a number was just lazy. Her statement was aimed directly at me. I’ll have to ask her what she thinks of URLs with numbers in them.

I am sick of startups with terrible names

This is my plea: if you’re picking a URL—even if it’s for something as inconsequential as the site you’re reading now—have a process. Hell, you could do worse than using mine.

  1. It should tell people how to feel. Don’t recycle one you already have. Don’t choose something at random. Pick it because your audience will like it, not because you do.
  2. It should be a good domain. This reminds me of how I once talked myself out of a sure-thing consulting gig by pointing out that prospective users wouldn’t know how to spell the URL…
  3. It should be available. This is a no-brainer for a vanity blog, but it’s also true for startups. I die a little when I hear about companies that spend half their cash on a domain. And by the time a fancy domain is in their budget, their current name will have so much traction that they shouldn’t change. (The exception is when people call a site by something other than its URL, like thefacebook.com or twttr.com.)
  4. It should be simple to illustrate. OK, maybe this one just applies to me.

“We came across the word ‘twitter’, and it was just perfect. The definition was ‘a short burst of inconsequential information,’ and ‘chirps from birds’. And that’s exactly what the product was.”
Jack Dorsey

Next up

Time to pick obnoxious hipster names for those hypothetical kids.

Tagged , ,

Hello there. Please check back soon.

More is coming. I promise.

– Andrew