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Here’s the bottom line.
I take extreme umbrage—almost embarrassment—in calling myself a “founder.”
Not because I don’t love building. Not because I’ve lost faith in innovation. But because somewhere along the way, the word founder got hijacked.
We became a category—a demographic to be marketed to, monetized, and managed. There’s an entire industry built around us now: accelerators, pitch competitions, communities, consultants, and capital “ecosystems” that promise to help but often exist to extract.
It’s not always malicious. Some of it’s genuinely good—hell, I just came back from CVS’s Supplier Diversity program, which was one of the most meaningful corporate experiences I’ve ever had. But that’s the exception.
Most of what’s out there? It’s founders as fuel.
We’re the energy source everyone else plugs into—the panel fodder, the pipeline, the portfolio, the PR. The ones putting our life savings on the line while others monetize the illusion of supporting us.
The power dynamic is upside down. Until a founder reaches real traction, everyone else gets a piece of the dream—mentors, consultants, micro-funds, PR platforms, “founder collectives.” And by the time you’ve finally made it, the narrative’s already been rewritten:
“Early investor saw the potential.”
Please.
The only ones who see it are the ones who build it.
Everyone else? They’re teachers—and I say that with love. I was married to one. I have friends who are. But in this world, it’s still true: those who can’t, teach.
The system bets on your inexperience. It bets that you’ll think their guardrails are gospel. That you’ll confuse their validation for vision. That you’ll stay small enough to be “helped,” because once you’re not, you’re no longer useful to them.
I’ve been in this ecosystem long enough to understand it now.
And I’m not angry—I’m awake.
I’ll build my business my way. I’ll partner with those who lead with integrity (and yes, they do exist). But I’ll never again let my worth be determined by the institutions that profit from my potential.
So call me a founder if you must.
Just know I’m not one of those founders anymore.
When we ring that bell—because we will—I’ll still buy them a drink.
But it won’t be to say thanks.
It’ll be to toast the ones who built without permission.
Not every investment offer is an opportunity. I learned that when an “investor” bragged about making his fortune through pain management clinics — code for pill mills. It taught me something I’ll never forget: money holds the imprint of its maker. If it was built on depletion, it keeps depleting. If it was created with integrity, it expands creation.
