Dedication To the Beast of Failure. You taught me a few lessons, now it’s my turn. Epigraph It waits. Patient. Confident that it will soon get its prey—it always does. Few escape its bite, none its tentacles. One way or another, the Beast of Failure gets us all. Contents Cover Title Page Dedication Epigraph Prelude Book Overview Part I: Hard Facts 1: The Law of Market Failure Failure Is Not an Option—Not! The Law of Market Failure Market Failure and Success Defined Market Failure Statistics The Success Equation Too Smart to Fail? Failophobia FLOP 2: The Right It The Wrong It Thoughtland Hocus-Pocus Focus Groups The Four Trolls of Thoughtland Thoughtland and False Positives Thoughtland and False Negatives Escape from Thoughtland 3: Data Beats Opinions Other People’s Data You Must Get Your Own DAta Quick Recap Part II: Sharp Tools 4: Thinking Tools Market Engagement Hypothesis Say It with Numbers Hypozooming 5: Pretotyping Tools The IBM Speech-to-Text Example Pretotyping In Search of Pretotypes The Mechanical Turk Pretotype The Pinocchio Pretotype The Fake Door Pretotype The Facade Pretotype The YouTube Pretotype The One-Night Stand Pretotype The Infiltrator Pretotype The Relabel Pretotype Pretotyping Variations and Combinations What Makes a Pretotype a Pretotype 6: Analysis Tools The Skin-in-the-Game Caliper The TRI Meter Part III: Plastic Tactics 7: Tactics Toolkit Tactic 1: Think Globally, Test Locally Tactic 2: Testing Now Beats Testing Later Tactic 3: Think Cheap, Cheaper, Cheapest Tactic 4: Tweak It and Flip It Before You Quit It 8: Complete Example: BusU Thinking Clearly About Our Idea Time to Test Analyzing and Iterating A Lucky Break A Few Notes About the BusU Example 9: Final Words The Right It: A Recap What to Build? Acknowledgments Glossary About the Author Copyright About the Publisher Prelude It was 3 a.m., but I was too agitated to fall asleep. In six hours I would be sitting in the final board meeting for the company I had cofounded. After five years of hard work and several attempts to make our business work, we had no options but to accept a fire-sale offer—pennies on the dollar—for our award-winning technology and assets. Dozens of people I had hired, people who had put their trust in me and my vision, would be out of a job. The three world-class venture capitalists who had entrusted us with not only a $25 million investment but also their time, connections, and advice would be staring angrily at me, my cofounder, and our executive team. I had been bitten by the Beast of Failure, and it hurt like hell. What hurt the most was that I could not figure out where I had gone wrong. Failure was something that only affected other people: less experienced, less competent, and less well-prepared people. Until then I had a perfect record with startups and entrepreneurship. I was an early employee and had a great career at two fledgling companies that eventually became industry giants (Sun Microsystems and Google). I had also cofounded a venture capital–backed company that managed to turn a $3 million investment into a $100 million acquisition in eighteen months. My record was a perfect 3 and 0, and I was sure that win number 4 was just a matter of time. The formula was easy: identify an idea for a new product or service that solves a big problem, assemble a strong team, get venture funding, build the idea, launch it, and then go public or—worst case—get acquired for a pile of money. And we had done all that. We had an ambitious idea for a product that addressed a major software engineering problem in a very innovative way. All our due diligence and market research confirmed that companies needed, wanted, and would buy our product for their developers. We had assembled a team of amazing people who worked incredibly hard for five years. We had a great business plan and plenty of funding from the best venture capitalists (VCs) in the world to execute it—and we executed it, just as planned. So, WTF? Why The Failure? Where did we go wrong? Unable to sleep, I got out of bed and stared out the window thinking of all the other people who were, had been, or would soon be in a similar predicament. It was a sobering thought. At this very moment, millions of people around the world are working hard to bring to life new ideas that, when launched, will be successful. Some of these ideas will turn out to be stunning successes that will have a major impact on our world and our culture: the next Google, the next polio vaccine, the next Harry Potter series, the next Red Cross, the next Ford Mustang. Others will be smaller, more personal, but no less meaningful successes: a little restaurant that becomes a neighborhood favorite, a biography that does not make the bestseller list but tells an important story, a local nonprofit that cares for abandoned pets. At this very same moment, many other people are working equally hard to develop new ideas that, when launched, will fail. Some of them will fail spectacularly and publicly: like New Coke, the movie John Carter, or the Ford Edsel. Others will be smaller, more private, but no less painful failures: a home- based business that never takes off, a children’s book that neither publishers nor children have any interest in, a charity for a cause that too few people care enough about. If you are currently working to develop a new idea, whether on your own or as part of a team, which group are you in? Or if at this moment you are still only thinking about investing to develop a new idea, which group will you be in? Most people believe that they either are or will be in the first group—the group whose ideas will be successful. All they have to do is work hard and execute well. Unfortunately, we know that this cannot be the case. Most new products, services, businesses, and initiatives will fail soon after they are launched—regardless of how promising they sound, how much their developers commit to them, or how well they execute them. This is a hard fact to accept. We believe that other people fail, because they don’t know what they are doing. They are losers who have no business being in that business. Somehow, we believe that this does not apply to us and to our idea —especially if we’ve experienced victories in the past: “I am a winner. I was successful before. I will be successful again—just watch me!” That is how I used to think. And I believed I had good reasons for my smugness, because I had experienced a string of successes with only a few relatively minor setbacks. Failure was something that only affected other people. And then, just as I had reached new heights of confidence and hubris, the Beast of Failure wrapped its tentacles around me and bit me in the ass. A good,
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