Years ago a friend of mine had a dream about a strange invention; a staircase you could descend deep underground, in which you heard recordings of all the things anyone had ever said about you, both good and bad. The catch was, you had to pass through all the worst things people had said before you could get to the highest compliments at the very bottom. There is no way I would ever make it more than two and a half steps down such a staircase, but I understand its terrible logic: if we want the rewards of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known. 

- I Know What You Think of Me by Tim Krieder

We have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.

This line, which came from a 2012 New York Times essay, then became a meme in 2018, always has resonated with me. The core idea of the essay could be summarized in an equally as powerful statement brought forth by another Tumblr user:

Being known is being loved.

Both statements frame a visceral feeling that is hard to properly explain but is almost immediately understood in the comfort and complexities of knowing someone, and the emotions that come from that journey.

To know someone is to understand their inner workings. It is to know the foods they hate, the ways they deal with stress, the goals they have, the secrets they keep, the time they spend, and hundreds of other smaller things that define someone, and your journey with them as you get to each other’s cores.

If you’ve ever loved someone, Natasha’s writing will make you feel this deeply:

“i know your pizza order” “you have freckles on your ears” “you make this face when you’re tired” “you order green tea on a good day black on a bad day” “you always make that face before you try something” “the tips of your ears turn red when you’re angry” “i knew you’d say something” “you must be exhausted to miss the class” “your favorite pie is pumpkin, right?” “i know your phone number, don’t worry” “you miss me, i can tell” “you fiddle with your pens when you’re bored” “you don’t like converse unless they’re high tops” “your favorite cereal is cinnamon toast crunch and you first ate it when you were 8”

The fog of being known, & volatility

I sometimes think about knowing someone as a Fog of War map. For many parts of someone, there are areas that you uncover and don’t expect to change, ranging from seemingly inconsequential preferences to deeper personal values to lifelong pursuits. And then there are parts of people that do change, and these more volatile areas you have to revisit, check in with, and explore to continually know…and to continually love.

As we uncover more of this map, “mortifying” really is a perfect word to describe how we feel about being known in the 21st century. The satisfaction, emotional exposure, and time investment that comes from being known is non-trivial and high risk. It requires you and another person to embark on a journey together that theoretically is high ROI, but more likely, just high volatility.

Over the past 10 years, a lot of the dynamics have changed surrounding what it means to be known, for better or for worse. Especially this year these dynamics of what we qualify as “knowing” someone has been top of mind for me across both personal and professional contexts.

Our world has turned into one that inflates to a minimum viable aesthetic. We want to show a version of ourselves online that is most attractive, most agreeable, most interesting, and most admirable. Perfect pictures, curated stories, high level tweets designed to garner likes and RTs, and a catering to the masses of our minimum viable audience. This is the seemingly agreed upon dominant strategy whether seeking influence, capital, or something else.

We string together fragments of various selves, but rarely do we see the entire self, because what’s the incentive? There’s just too much risk in being known. By being somewhat known we are effectively minimizing some of the beautiful human volatility I mention a few paragraphs above.

Maximum vulnerability = maximum volatility = maximum upside.

(tweet source)

In investing, higher volatility usually equates to higher possible returns. In today’s world of online expression, we settle for lower expected value, market-level outcomes so as to not ruffle any feathers and not take any outsized risk. We’re basically hoping to allow people to know us enough so that they include us in their passive index of humans they hold in moderate regard, like that vanguard ETF that their finance friend told them to buy and never think about until they were 60.

As I write that sentence, I think that perhaps we go back to the parable of humans being viewed as commodities or indexes. We can debate this at a societal level but on the professional side, I think this is entirely true within my bubble of venture capital and startups.

When we think about the products that venture capital firms offer the talking points are either the people (which partner do you work with) or the capital. The capital is a commodity today. This pushes seed round dynamics into sprints measured in days in order to get to a decision of who to partner with for the next 7-10 years of your company. One could make the argument that founders should take their time and be more intentional, but let’s be real, that isn’t net dominant for a founder or their highly optimized process.

As an industry we like to equate picking a co-founder to marriage and draw similar comparisons when picking a lead investor/board member. Despite this, we have yet to figure out the solution for understanding these relationships in a newly compressed timeline outside of social capital (how does an investor reference), shotgun weddings (was great to meet you yesterday, give me the highest price and get out of my way), and brand network effects (firm > people). But this information is sparse and humans are….say it with me…VOLATILE. So you never really know.

This insight is what led various VCs to become content marketing machines in order to increase exposure and surface area. I heavily adapted this playbook early in my career (as many have) and it certainly helps people get to know you…sorta. I should say, it gets people to know a part of you.

And I feel like we’ve conflated the idea of knowing someone with having an idea of someone. You can’t know someone after 9 days (if Kopelman is correct) but you can get maximum context by understanding the corpus of their being on the internet…or at least that’s the best attempt I can muster up in my reality.

My reality is that I can’t buy my own bullshit/sell my soul enough to tweet out tech proverbs or repurpose old parables for likes. My reality is that I don’t have the skill to transactionally aggressively network and I can’t sustain the energy from social interactions to exponentially scale deep connections to the tune of 25+ meetings/week I care about. So instead, my only option to be loved is to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known. To wear my heart on my digital sleeve, a proverbial sleeve that’s threads are made up of a sum of all of my writing, social media accounts, in-person interactions, and more, not just a curated feed of minimum viable story filled with dopamine-inducing 280 character lines.

I write about the areas I care about, founders I partner with, my struggles with my industry, my lessons of growing up, my allegories for friendship or love, all to be known. I tweet to be known, I joke to be known, hell I sing to be known.

And in writing this my only goal is to express my disinterest in what passes the bar today for “being known” in our communities, and to ask others to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.

So here’s my sleeve where you can start to get to know me. I look forward to descending the staircase together.

(this Image 2x for thumbnail purposes)