Marc Randolph

Being a founder and being a CEO are two different skill sets. Sometimes they overlap — I was co-founder/CEO at Netflix for several years—but just as often they don’t. And that’s fine.

When I stepped down as Netflix CEO, it was because we all realized I wasn’t the best person to fill that role at that company at that point in its growth. Some founders do this from day one, recognizing that their superpower isn’t running the company, so they find someone else.

The problem arises when a founder (or those around them) insists on running “their” company even if they don’t have the skills, temperament, or desire to do it well.

Here’s the thing: CEO is a critical, high-profile role, but in the day-to-day of running a startup, it’s just one of many.

Even if you’re the founder, you still need to play to your strengths. If managing a fast-moving, rapidly-growing organization is what you’re good at, then maybe you should be CEO. But if your expertise lies elsewhere—development, marketing, finance, whatever—then don’t assume you need to run the company too.

I came across this diagram, mapping out the time it took for different companies (including Looker, which I co-founded) to make the journey from idea to Product-Market fit, and the results are…not surprising at all.

Across the board, the earlier you get a product into the world, the sooner you find your fit.

What’s most interesting to me is how clearly this pushes back on the idea that if you spend a longer time working on your product before launch, it’ll succeed sooner.

But if you look at the chart, there’s basically no correlation—waiting three years to launch your product doesn’t speed up its adoption.

And in fact, you could argue that the opposite is true: only six companies on the chart took more than a year to launch a product, and none of them saw a particularly quick path to success.

That’s why I’ve always argued—and still argue—that the best way to make a great product is to make it, launch it, and improve it.

Whether it’s an MVP, an MUP, or some other acronym, the rule is the same: the only way to know how to get product-market fit is to put your product into the market and make it fit.

(created by Lenny Rachitsky)

I’ve known plenty of folks over the years who won’t enter into any sort of agreement without signing a contract or involving lawyers. They twist themselves into knots trying to hedge every bet and account for every contingency.

And I understand where they’re coming from. There are bad actors in the world: people who operate in bad faith, and look for opportunities to take advantage of the good nature of others.

But you know what? They’re a small minority.

I’ve worked with literally thousands of people over the years, from the contractor who redid the plumbing in my house to the partners I’ve started companies with. And I’ve been taken advantage of a few times.

But far more often, I haven’t. Far more often, I’ve assumed that they’d fulfill their promises, and they did. They held up their end of the bargain, and worked for a win/win outcome just like I did. Not just most of the time, but nearly always.

If you sit down and do the math, being paranoid is rarely a good investment. Not just because 99% of the time you’re protecting yourself from something that’ll never happen, but because people work better when they know they’re being trusted. A little vulnerability is a small price to pay for a genuine relationship, driven by mutual trust. You simply get better outcomes that way.

So don’t hedge your bets. Don’t use a lawyer. Leave yourself open to being taken advantage of. One percent of the time you’ll regret it; the rest of the time you’ll be amazed at what trust and vulnerability unlocks.

It’s so worth it.

Most of the reasons for wanting to be wealthy in the first place are usually misguided.

Let me explain.

At this point in my life, I can afford pretty much whatever I want. And yes, luck and privilege and socioeconomic background account for a lot of that. But there were definitely times in my life when I couldn’t afford a lot of things, and that’s shaped my definition of what wealth is, even today.

I was never truly poor—not by any serious standards, anyway. I was born into a middle class family in the suburban US during an economic boom time, which has made everything that came after much, much easier.

But for years, I drove an old International Harvester Scout so plagued by problems that every time I smelled smoke I thought my car was on fire. My wife and I had a “wish list” posted on the refrigerator of things we’d buy—in order of priority—if we had our heads above water at the end of the month. The first two items on the list were paying off our credit cards and my wife’s student loans.

None of those things is a concern anymore, and that right there is my first definition of wealth: not having to worry if you can afford something. Being wealthy, I think, is largely about deciding you want to take the kids to Disneyland this year, and not having to figure out what you’ll have to give up first. It’s about having the basics taken care of—healthcare, housing, school—and being able to focus on other things instead. It’s security.

Even today, most people don’t have that level of wealth, but by this definition, it’s more within reach than many would say.

If you start with that definition, the idea of “value” becomes really important. If something has real utility, i.e. it’s good enough that you don’t have to worry about it, that’s enough in my book. Which means it’s worth considering what “good enough” looks like, and how much you need to spend to get it.

For many years, Bill Gates used to fly Economy, not because he couldn’t afford First Class, but because he didn’t consider it good value. It’s five or six times more expensive, but only marginally better (and you all get to your destination at the same time).

In the same vein, I could afford a really nice car at this point, but I’ve never been a car guy, and I don’t need a Lamborghini or a Mazerati (which I can’t even spell). A Volvo station wagon does the job just fine, and I wouldn’t value the difference. I don’t need to drop $1000 on a bottle of wine at dinner either, since I know I’ll get the same enjoyment from a $35 bottle.

So what is wealth good for, in the end? Besides providing security, it also gives flexibility. After all of the experiences I’ve had, the most important thing I’ve learned about money is that, once you have enough (by the previous definition), you can choose to have less of it in exchange for choosing how to spend your time. And spending your time doing something meaningful to you…that’s worth way more than a Mazerati.

Nearly twenty-five years ago, I had a crazy idea. Actually, I had a lot of them. What if you could buy customized surfboards online, based on your body type, ability, and surfing style? What if you could feed your dog kibble that had been engineered specifically for him? What if you could lather up every day with shampoo formulated just for you, based on a lock of your hair?

And the craziest one of them all:

What if you could rent DVDs through the mail?

It took all of us years to figure out how to make that crazy idea work. And the craziest thing of all? Eventually, we did!

Back in January, I posted something on LinkedIn that went on to get more engagement than every other post that came before it, combined. After more than 300k likes and thousands of comments, I’m still not 100% sure why that particular post struck gold. But I do know it wouldn’t have happened without an incredible amount of persistence.

To be fair, it was a good post, about something I’m passionate about: maintaining work/life balance. It was solidly written, it went live at the right time, and it struck a chord. But was it 20x better than anything else I’ve written? Absolutely not.

Social media is a little bit like geological erosion: 99% of the progress takes place in 1% of the time. In geology, that means earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, floods, or a rock that’s been cracking for 1500 years finally breaking loose. In media, it means the right message got in front of the right people, when they were in the right mood, and had the time and means to share it.

One message in 100 might hit that overlap, but it’s nearly impossible to know which one. So you create 100 messages, and treat each one as if it’s your best shot.

There are some kinds of success you can plan for. But like it or not, chance plays a big role in a lot of important achievements—especially if they involve other people. That’s why perseverance is so critical.

This is true far beyond social media. What version of your product is going to be a hit? Make 50 versions and find out. What’s the best way to promote your new service? Promote it 20 different ways and pay close attention to what happens.

It’s not rocket science, but it’s also not a slot machine. There’s a real skill in maximizing your odds and fine-tuning your strategy. But there’s no strategy that’s going to work without persistence.

Entrepreneurship is about risk-taking.

It’s about doing things without knowing in advance how they will turn out.

It’s about “getting it wrong” time after time since you know in your heart that each failed experiment is getting you closer to solving the real problem.

I’ve been a part of starting six companies. I’ve mentored several dozen founding teams. I’ve invested in more than 100 early-stage companies, and I’ve heard countless pitches. All of that has given me a finely tuned sense of the factors that really matter for the success of an early-stage company.

Here are my top three (in order):

1.) The Team
2.) The Team
3.) The Team

Hopefully this comes as no great surprise (well, maybe that third one does). And if it does, then let me explain for a minute why your team matters more than everything else combined.

When you’re in your early stages, there are a lot of unknowns, and plenty of elements that are guaranteed to change. Your initial product is just a hunch, you don’t have product/market fit, and you’re basically guessing about pricing, go-to-market, and customer type. Eventually, you’re going to realize that the only constant is your team.

What really matters at this stage isn’t what you’re making, or how well-funded you are. Instead, it’s all about execution, flexibility, and persistence. And that all depends on the quality of your team.

Not only that, but you’ll also realize that employee talent works on a power-curve: the best people are not just marginally better than average…they are many orders of magnitude better.