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The other Lighter Capital

Today, the team at Lighter Capital (formerly RevenueLoan) kicked off a promotion, where we commit to investing $500k in a company that applies online by 31 August 2011 (that’s 21 days and counting).

We did lots of the usual things, plus some unusual things, to get the word out — press releases, blogger outreach, videos, tweets, etc. We’re pleased to trumpet our “Lighter” name, as indicating both a lighter-weight process and a lighter attitude than the traditional banks.

But in our research we discovered: we’re not the only “lighter capital” out there.

In fact, the industrial city of Wenzhou, south of Shanghai on China’s eastern coast, claims the title of “lighter capital of the world.” To wit:

In Wenzhou, there are more than 500 lighter manufacturers that produce 5,000 kinds totaling 500 million lighters each year. Among that, 80 percent are exported abroad. Lighters from Wenzhou make up 70 percent of the world’s market for lighters with metal shells, and 80 percent of the European market.

From the China Daily, http://www.china.org.cn/english/2002/Apr/31597.htm

So, to our “lighter” brethren across the big pond — 你好, 我们爱你的名字!

Fukushima-type reactors in the USA

I was moving a bookshelf around my house this weekend when I found a copy of “Nuclear Power Reactors in the World,” an April 2000 publication by the IAEA.  (Don’t ask why I have this kind of crap lying around …) It struck me that people would want to know what reactors are “like” the Fukushima Daiichi reactors in Japan which have been causing all sorts of problems lately. Well, here goes:

View BWR 1970s reactors in the USA in a full screen map

The March 2011 earthquake / tsunami / reactor emergency brought to the public eye the dangers of “active safety” in engineered systems.  Elements of reactor design and operation which may have seemed appropriate in the 1960s (when these reactors were designed) now seem like “what were they thinking??” anachronisms to concerned laypersons.

Specifically, I’m talking about the need for electrical pumps to be in continuous operation to prevent reactor core overheating; use of water (hydrolysible into 2H2 and O2, explosive and reactive gasses) as coolant; use of cladding and fuel alloys that are subject to fire risk and enhanced toxicity (zirconium and MOX); and storage of spent fuel rods in top-floor containment pools subject to sloshing and evaporation and requiring electrical pumping. Keep in mind that all of the bad shit at Fukushima started happening after the earthquake and tsunami had passed, during a period where the active safety systems relatively slowly stopped working.

(Lots of folks don’t realize it, but you can build stable, passively safe, high tech systems, to a degree. Simple airplanes are built to fly themselves. If you’re up in the air piloting a Cessna in level flight at, say, 5000 feet, you could probably take a 10 minute nap and live to tell about it. Yes, there’s gravity involved, but the aerodynamics involved let the plane stay up there either flying (engine on) gliding (engine off) for quite a while with no requirement for constant input and management. Contrast this with something like the Joint Strike Fighter, where the plane is intentionally aerodynamically unstable and, without the constant inputs of a high-speed computer, would fall out of the air like a brick. We want reactors that are boring and Cessna-like, not delicate JSF divas that literally melt down without enough attention.)

(Non-geek version: the Fukushima-type reactors are like delicate plates spinning on top of poles.  You can’t just leave them be without expecting to break a lot of shit.  And they don’t tend to revert to safe or stable states when they break.)

The above map names the US-based reactors with BWR type (boiling water; arguably the most dangerous type still in service), manufacture by GE (GE, Toshiba, and Hitachi were the suppliers at Fukushima), and construction dates that include the 1970s (1969 in the case of Nine Mile Point).  This does not mean that you should freak out if you live near these plants.  But it does mean that, in the broadest sense, these types of reactors are subject to the same types of risks as the Fukushima reactors.  (Keeping in mind that even Fukushima was fine for 30+ years until a 9.0 earthquake.)

If you want to do something positive about nuclear power in general, don’t freak out or ask for all nukes to be banned. Instead, the nuke-minded citizen should:

  • …push for greater research on safer alternatives like pebble bed reactors.
  • …push your Congressional representatives to get off their asses and open up a real, centralized, better-than-inaction interim solution for the nation’s nuclear waste. (This gets rid of fuel rods sitting in ponds at the very place where they can do the most incremental harm when things go wrong…)
  • …pay, pay, pay. [Good] nuclear power will not be cheap. But it can be vastly improved from the Fukushima state of affairs. However, it will take enormous amounts of money for research, and the political will to eschew interim half-assed solutions (like putting cheap BWRs into service well into the 1970s, when other approaches were already either viable or in progress).

Capital As A Service: A Manifesto

We have been misled.  We, the entrepreneurs, early employees, and investors who power the world of technology startups, are told that “everything has changed.”  Everything is now “agile,” “lightweight,” and “flexible,” and it’s all going to be available to us “as a service.”  We create user-friendly experiences, using elegant free open source frameworks, running just as many EC2 instances in the “cloud” as we need at any given moment.  We coordinate the world’s information by mashing-up APIs from across the Web, and we coordinate our dev teams with daily Scrum standups and free collaboration tools.  A book can tell you how to have an “epiphany” and learn all this for yourself, and a thriving startup culture on the coasts, in the Rockies and Chicago, and elsewhere will support you.

But everything has not changed.  Just try raising capital.

Software is now a service.  Hardware, indeed, infrastructure is now a service.  Need an office?  Use a Web service to pick a short-term coworking space.  Outsourcing?  Sure — there’s a service to manage those service providers.  Hell, the boys at OnCompare now have a service to help you select the services.  Everything you need is discoverable, trialable, and available 24/7, online, with a few clicks and a credit card, right?

But the moment you start to feel the rhythm, decide you want to dance to the music, and try to roll up funding to grow one of these agile new businesses, the record screeches to a stop.  Needle scratch, and silence: a disco full of folks staring at you.  Are you crazy?  You want what on demand? Capital as a service?

Yes.  You want just enough of it, just when you want it, conveniently and as automated as possible.  You want to try it out in 10 minutes, understand it, trust it, and, if you like it, use its APIs to integrate with your business processes.  This is how you advertise for clicks, how you get a new logo designed, and how you provision servers.

So what is money’s major malfunction?  When you can get 100,000 virtual server instances started for you in a minute, why does it take days and weeks (or worse) to get $100,000 in working capital?

Something’s wrong with this picture.  And it’s about to be fixed.

Find a money-man and ask him about “efficient markets.”  He will give you a sparkling smile and tell you the MBA answer, that markets tend to squeeze out transaction costs, and costly middlemen, and price gaps.  Then ask him about the cost of doing transactions with him.  Or ask if he’s a costly middleman.  Or ask what “price” he pays his investors to use the money.  Is he still smiling the MBA smile?

We like having coffee with our investors.  But you shouldn’t have to savor a fine latte from Cherry Street or Coupa to get funding.  Sand Hill Road is a lot more fun to travel on a bicycle carrying a picnic, than in a rental car carrying a pitch deck.  And banks are more fun once they’re turned into bars.

Money, especially the “buy side,” loathes change.  From where Money sits, everything is fine: by definition, wherever the Money is, folks are feeling pretty flush.  And so the Money will resist change, it will cling to its prerogatives.  Bankers would still be on the golf course by 3 PM if ATMs hadn’t revolutionized their customers’ expectations.  For heaven’s sake, it’s the year 2011, and the New York Stock Exchange still closes at 4 PM.  The barbarians are at the gates: it’s about time for the “buy side” to get a little less comfortable.

About to go public on the Big Board?  Toying with a half-billion M&A offer?  Trying to pioneer commercial space travel?  Building nuclear submarines?  OK, you want old-school money from old-school money-men, with old-school suits and rich mahogany, Corinthian leather, and white-shoe lawyers.  But rolling up the cash to take your SaaS company from $2 M to $4 M next year?  It it worth 12 weeks of pitching and partner meetings and Purell between uncounted firm handshakes, with no guarantee of success?

We think not.  For a specter is hanging over the Internet: the specter of capitalism.  And we believe that capitalism should and will deliver its promise as a service.  We at RevenueLoan are not the only ones who see this; we may not even be the ones who ultimately realize it.  But make no mistake: capital for growing technology companies is going to be available on-demand, as a service, and players in this market who ignore this trend do so at their peril.

Sun Beams, Snow Banks, and Small Businesses

Seattle was inundated yesterday by a steady snowfall during which it was cold, then warmer, then colder again: AKA, a recipe for icy road disaster (at least in a city of 142 square miles with 26 snowplows).

Today’s morning news and communications, then, were dominated by transportation-related issues.  “Schools are closed!”  “Courts closed!” “Clinics closed!”  “Stay home by all means!”

That wasn’t an option today at RevenueLoan — we had a closed deal to paper and two more to work on.  So I put on the hiking boots and the bubblegoose, and navigated foot-mobile through the mostly-closed Seattle streets.

And, while abnormality was the order of the day — 30 year old Seattleites sledding and sliding around like giddy 5th graders, hilly streets barricaded, and creep-crawling traffic throughout the day on main highways — what struck me most was the acute normality of the day for the small businesses I passed.

Local printing company — “open” for business.  Our caffeinated home-away-from home at Moka’s Cafe — check.  Tiny bookstore slinging used paperbacks and tacky tourist t-shirts — you bet.

The office windows across the street from mine, usually packed until 6 or 6:30 with yuppies at an Anonymous Top Online Retailer, are empty at 4:30.  A Major Local Operating System Vendor was beseeching people to stay home.  And, that’s fine — arguably most of the people out there driving today were assholes endangering themselves and others (at least if my anecdotal observations can be extrapolated).

But there’s something heartening about seeing that neon “Open” sign lit up — not the giant custom one in the corporate standard font, but the red-and-blue one you can buy at Costco when you’re first hanging a shingle.  Something heartening about the proud real-estate guy giving the walking tour to prospective tenants on pavement he just scraped and salted.  Something heartening about the beer distributor’s careful truck maneuvers as he pulls up to the corner bar to restock it for happy hour.

OK, fine, cynics: I know that these people are responding to the iron economic law that governs small business, and the simple reality that fixed costs don’t go away.  There is no East-coast failover data center for the guy who makes sandwiches on the corner, and there’s no corporate balance sheet to pay him his take-home if he no-shows.

But I think it’s more than that.  People doing their work because the work itself is valuable.  Yes, bonds have value.  Yes, big corporate edifices have power.  But imagine a world of 6 billion bondholder rentiers.  Who makes a tasty Jambo sandwich?  Who actually prints up your annual reports?  The work we do, cumulatively, is what makes humanity wealthy (and human, for that matter).

And those small businesses are the individual loci of non-abstractable human work.  The smallest functional unit that can deliver the value they do.  And they show up despite the snow.

So maybe it was the bright sun in the sky, reflecting off of the snowpack, and giving a blessed vitamin-D-blast on a Seattle winter’s day.  But something about the walk this morning, and the “open for [small] business!” that came to me from shop windows and storefronts, gave me a cheer.

Don’t bother with symlinks in Windows 7

Yes, in theory, Windows has rocketed into the 21st century with symbolic links. However, you can’t make them in Windows 7 unless you’re an Administrator, or unless you manage to give yourself “SeCreateSymbolicLinkPrivilege.”

Giving yourself this privilege is possible with Professional/Ultimate versions of Windows, but not Home Premium, via secpol.msc, which just doesn’t exist (and can’t be downloaded). (Funny, I don’t recall the comparison chart having a checkbox for “can actually use computer” that was missing from Home Premium.)

If you try to set this for yourself, don’t bother trying to use C# or PowerShell. You’ll need to manually wrap the unmanaged C++ advapi32 APIs, and pass all kinds of structs and pointers back and forth.

In the end, just give up on whatever it was you wanted to use symlinks for.

Lopsided Barbell of bank credit

At a fascinating macro talk this morning by a Goldman Sachs strategist, he mentioned a “lopsided barbell” of credit.

To the biggest firms with the best ratings — think IBM or MSFT — money is basically free, with coupon yields at sub-2%.

But to middle-market (say, $100M – $500M sales) and lower-end of middle market (let’s say $20M – $100M) companies, bank credit is simply not available at any price.

Interestingly, this week at a discussion with some regional commercial bankers, my partner Andy Sack heard gripes from the loan officers about extraordinarily tight credit conditions for single-digit-millions size facilities. (Of course, loan officers always gripe when “the credit guys” say no, but it’s worse now than usual, and importantly, not much better than 2008).

So: until or unless the big banks stop getting money for “free,” they’ll be quite content to sit on it and/or plow it for nearly-free into premium credits in large deals.  Don’t expect small business credit to loosen up until, paradoxically, rates have risen somewhat.

(Don’t expect us to have that problem over at RevenueLoan.  We’re funded by private equity investors specifically to prove out the royalty/revenue-based financing model, so A. our money costs us “private equity rates” and B. we’re on a mission to fund small businesses!)

Washington State 529 Program (GET) Update and Retrospective

Just over three years ago, I wrote a post entitled “The Washington State 529 Program (GET) Offers an Overlay.”  The post has since been the most-commented on the blog (many other comments having been lost when I switched to WordPress, unf.).  However, the post’s original thesis (as stated in its title) is now quite wrong, and I no longer recommend the GET and have not for several years.

This post will be mostly qualitative, as I do not have the time to produce a more rigorous analysis; I apologize, and feel free to add your take, qualitative or quantitative, in the comments.

I. The GET’s predominant characteristic is that it is an unfunded defined benefit investment scheme, which creates several inherent tensions.

There are two parts here: “unfunded” and “defined benefit.”  “Unfunded” means that, like Social Security, the system uses “pay as you go,” at least in part.  This means that, moreso than other investment types, the performance of the investment is contingent upon future buy-ins.  (Cynics would say “greater fools,” but that’s not really fair; lots of things are unfunded but entirely legitimate and not foolish.)

“Defined benefit” means that the scheme is promising some particular return.  Usually, when one says “defined benefit” one speaks of pension plans that have numeric formulas for determining or projecting specific dollar payouts; here, the payout is linked to state university tuition rates.  This means that, versus other investment types, the GET plan assumes the investment performance risk (mostly, but see below).

II. Comparison to insurance.

When you buy an insurance policy, the insurer makes money in two ways.  There’s underwriting profit, which comes from charging you slightly more than the actual expected (probability- and time-adjusted) value of paying off a potential future claim.  (E.g., there’s a 1% chance that your house burns down and they have to pay $250k, so they charge you $3000 for this expected $2500 liability, and bank $500.)  Then, there’s float profit, which comes from taking the money they sit on, and earning some investment return in the interim.

Now, insurance as an industry has been around a long while.  (If you want to know more, the colorful Andrew Tobias has written a book that is actually a quite engaging history and critique of the insurance business, believe it or not.)  And for “real” insurance, that is, casualty and life insurance (not health “insurance” which is, in my opinion, a vast and crass misnomer), the system works really quite well: the value of the asset that is insured is pretty well scoped out by the contract and by the market system.

Another fun benefit arises when you have big money at risk in casualty insurance: you’ve now created big entities that have a vested monetary benefit in making the world safer and less prone to fires, theft, flood damage, untimely deaths, etc.  This is because, except in fraud situations, the counterparty in insurance transactions is misfortune; that is, both you and the insurer would rather your house not burn down (though technically you sort of “win” back your premium if it does).  So insurance companies send out workplace safety inspectors, and mail you free cell-phone headsets, and offer discounts for driver’s ed and sprinkler systems and whatnot, and so they lower their expected payouts, increase their underwriting profits, and you stay a bit safer.  Win-win-ish.

With the GET, there are some key differences.  One is that the “casualty” being insured is your kid going to college (or you otherwise spending the dough).  This is virtually certain to happen, because even if your kid decides at 19 to go on tour with an all-handbell Steely Dan cover choir and eschew higher ed, you’ll find a nephew or neighbor kid or someone else to use the funds.  So there’s very little uncertainty about the fact and timing of payout.

The risk here is how much UW tuition is going to cost when your kid turns 19.  That’s the risk that GET notionally takes on your behalf.  It’s worth paying some reasonably large underwriting premium not to have to think about that risk (but see below).

III. GET is a governmental scheme and that can get wacky.

So, if GET were an independent entity, say a bank or insurance company, that said “no matter what UW tuition is, in X years, we here at Bear Stearns Lehmann Bros AIG Acme Bank will pay you that amount, in return for $Y today,” you’d think of the risk like so: Will this entity be able and willing to make good on its promise in X years?

But, there are two complications here.  One to the upside, one to the downside.

On the upside: GET notionally is backed with the full faith and credit of the State of Washington.  There are critiques here to be made, such as the fact that the backing is in statute, and not in the constitution, and that given sufficient political will, the legislature or the people by initiative could decide that a bunch of upper-middle-class tax-dodgers need to pay for their class’s sins and confiscate, dishonor, or otherwise do bad stuff to the GET.  But, probably, if the state is doing its usual stuff and the roads are paved and the ferries are sailing, the GET will get paid.

On the downside: GET is run by the same people who decide what to charge for tuition.  Yep, that’s right: the political interconnections between the GET leadership and the state financial and higher-ed communities are significant.  If the GET program should face a shortfall, any of the following options might start to look appealing:

  • Recharacterize a lot of the UW “tuition and state-mandated fees” to be not-quite “state-mandated” fees.
  • Keep an artificially low in-state tuition (perhaps making up the below-market rate by capping in-state attendance and jacking up out-of-state tuition).
  • Do some clever calendar-changing with trimesters / semesters / years / half-courses / whatever that effectively keeps nominal tuition low.

Look, this isn’t saying that anyone is corrupt, and I’m certainly not a Norquistian starve-the-beast type.  But consider what you’re playing for in this game.  You’re hoping that GET gives you more (risk-adjusted, at least) than a self-managed 529 plan would return in the public markets.  The only way that will happen is if tuition rise at a rate so much faster than the market return that it catches up to and beats the “underwriting” premium.

If that happens, then GET will be way behind, because all they’re doing is investing in 60% stocks, 40% TIPS.  Their options then will be to: 1. increase inflows (get more signups or charge a bigger premium), 2. get help from the state’s general fund (if it is politically available, which we should think likely), or 3. take some measure to limit outflows (pressure the university system to limit “tuition and state-mandated fees.”

To their credit, the GET leadership has started to jack up inflows, and is riding a wave of public disaffection with the stock markets and mutual funds to charge an enormously higher premium (underwriting profit), which is good for the plan’s solvency (but bad for those buying in today).

IV. Well, smartass, why did you recommend it in the past?

In 2007, when my niece was born and I looked into GET, the S&P was flirting with 1600 and attractive valuations were hard to find.  Risk premia were at all-time lows and P/E multiples at all-time highs.  Bubble-callers smarter than myself were ranting about real estate.  Investing on my own for an 18-year maturity seemed like a tough nut to crack, timing-wise.

At that time as well, as my prior post’s table points out, GET offered a more reasonable spread between purchase price and payout value.  In 2000, the premium was a reasonable 8%; in 2007, a rich but defensible 19%.  Today, the premium is a whopping 36%!  (Payout value, $85.92, buyin cost, $117)

I might point out that assets under management at GET have ballooned to $1.3 B over the past year, at the same time as fear has driven individual investors out of equity markets.  Therefore, things are going to look like smooth sailing for the next several years at GET.  The real problems are going to be years down the road, when investment performance has lagged and all of these new buy-ins become new payouts.

V. What’s the big point here?

Well, perhaps I missed the big point back in 2007.  Yes, it looked like a good idea then; you’re probably still getting the best of it if you bought in 2007-2008.

But the bigger point is about defined benefit plans.  The management of such plans seems to be an activity fraught with roadblocks to true honesty.  By “honesty,” I mean with a truly conservative and best-estimate view of what returns will look like, and what the ability to meet future needs requires of the plan.

For us as citizens, the message is that we need to apply oversight and demand hard-headed thinking, unless we want the near-certainty of having to fund notionally private pockets out of the public purse (see PBGC).

For us as investors, it means eschewing magic bullets, and being duly skeptical when we are promised a return without its associated risk.  (It also means jumping at opportunities when they are truly underpriced, as GET was for its first 8 years.)

I’d love to hear your stories about GET or defined benefit plans, and how you’ve thought about the associated risks.

RevenueLoan meets Disneyland, capitalism, America, and God.

A family trip caused me to end up at Disneyland, the old-school Anaheim original, on the day of a Disney-sponsored half-marathon. (The surreality of that event, with its mouse-ear-bedecked joggers and tutu-clad princesses, could merit its own blog post.) But what got me thinking the most was a sight from after the race, and it made me realize just what an awesome opportunity our team has at my new startup, RevenueLoan.

Our party of runners (not me!) and fans stopped for some post-run hydration, and I happened to stand in front of a racing wheelchair owned by one of the rolling half-marathoners. As I looked it over, it was almost unrecognizable as what the word “wheelchair” brings to mind: this beaut was customized, with super-narrow
aerodynamic form, racing bicycle-style brakes, and sharply tilted, carbon-fiber mag wheels sporting slicks. What’s more, various of these clearly purpose-built parts, including and especially the specialty, high-end components like the carbon fiber wheels, sported the brand names and logos of their manufacturers.

Seeing the brand logos of these specialty components, a single thought, immediately and unbidden, came to mind: “what a shitty, small market; there can’t be more than a few tens of thousands of these units to be sold worldwide.”

A second thought followed almost immediately, as my conscious mind caught up to my knee-jerk initial thought: “What the hell are you thinking, Randall?  That’s a shitty and broken way to think about markets, business, and the world.”

Let me be clear: there is nothing shitty, or small, or unworthy, about a business that makes a great and unique product, that generates customer love, and that manages to turn a profit. No. Hell, no! In fact, I would venture to say that such a business — regardless of total market size, with a lower bound of recouping its owner’s living costs — is the very telos of the free market system, the raison d’être of capitalism.

I’ll say it again: the very reason why capitalism is justifiable, good, and to be maintained is precisely because it brings us miracles like self-sustaining inventors and producers of wheelchair racing components.

My knee-jerk “small market size” dismissal is a pathology easily traced to the years I spent in traditional venture capital. While I’m proud of several of the companies I worked with, and many of the people I knew, in the VC industry, I’m downright ashamed at the conditioning effect my work there has had on my thinking.

It’s not necessarily a conscious moral failing of the VCs: any industry or business that valorizes one category inevitably does rhetorical violence to those outside that category. Salesmen have “deadbeats” who never close, doctors have “GOMERs” (Get Out of My ER) whose symptoms don’t merit further treatment, and pit bosses have the “small fry” of the low-stakes bettors. The more self-actualized VCs might protest that they see and recognize the need for small-market-size businesses, but the plain fact is that if you spend 50+ hours a week rejecting those businesses, you are training and wiring your neurons for disdain at a deep level.

No, it’s not a moral failing, but an arithmetic one: Fred Wilson has expounded on VC Math, and my former Voyager colleague, Dan Ahn, is fond of noting that he is being paid by his investors to make 10x home runs, not 3x bunts and 2x walks. Fred and Dan are right; VC as an asset class, as it’s been run, is a necessary part of well-functioning entrepreneurial finance markets, but it demands a certain immutable probabilistic rubric: bigger returns, infrequently realized.The gap, then, that VCs leave below their market-size threshold, and that banks are loathe to touch without hard collateral and personal guarantees, is a gaping void. This is the void of financing for non-venture, non-brick-and-mortar businesses that stares back at some of the best and brightest of American capitalism (and convinces many to turn away). Pace, Geoffrey Moore and colleagues, this is the new “chasm” of the 21st century, and if I may have license to be so bold, it is the challenge of capitalism’s next chapter in America. And it is this segment of businesses — the “tweeners,” beloved by customers but shunned by financiers — that my team at RevenueLoan has the unique opportunity to embrace and to serve.

Lloyd Blankfein, take a hike: it’s RevenueLoan, not Goldman, who’s really doing God’s work for the businesses that are America’s promise and future.

(Wow. Over-the-top, God-and-America talk aren’t my usual style; cynicism, punnery, and Steely Dan are my usual stock-in-trade. But I guess this is what happens when my observations, my passions, and yes, my personal financial interests, align.)

But seriously. Once upon a time, we needed our creative obsessives, our ambitious organizers, our painstaking engineers, and our masters of persuasion to pull together in only the largest of endeavors. Anything less than a well-funded corporation, with capital in the eight-to-nine figures couldn’t possibly build a railroad, a refinery, a department-store chain, or a sophisticated manufacturing operation. In short: twentieth century entrepreneurialism was enabled by, and shaped itself to the demands of, nineteenth-century capital.

Today, though, we live in an economy driven by choice. We’re (ostensibly) wealthier for it. That choice, that variety, is a function of more flowers blooming and more companies thriving, not of more capital pumped into the same few firms. We must not let the promise of capitalism in the twenty-first century be enslaved to the death-throes of the models of money-management of the twentieth. In fact, the smaller overall capital requirements for launch and success mark a shift in kind of investable company, even from the 1980s-1990s model of “minicorp” to a true “microcorp” model (hint: imagine that finance is 30-40 years behind the computing industry, which it probably is, and consider that the merchant-bank to VC change is the parallel of the mainframe to minicomputer shift of three decades prior).

The naysayers whose only refrain is “Made in America!” ignore the fact: Lenovo buying ThinkPad from IBM was not the end of American export manufacturing, but a shift in what we create for export: America now invents IP, brands, and reputations. And to keep up with it, the answer isn’t to throw in the towel on education, and demand that we artificially keep a manufacturing underclass on subsistence wages in domestic maquilladoras, the way that some (I suspect disingenuous) progressives seem to want. No, the answer is that we as a nation and a people must step up to the standard of living we have chosen, and we must better ourselves, an individual and a family at a time.

Economically, this is by serving the wants and needs of our fellow man, tabulated and calculated as best we know, via the free market. And it should not be limited to serving the imperatives of inflexible, legacy forms of concentrated capital that blindly chase scale and eschew invention.

I’ll say it: a slightly cheaper T-shirt does not improve the world.  Just-in-time manufacturing is a gimmick. Raping a city’s tax revenues to subsidize yet another bread-and-circus stadium is theft or worse. “Better” derivative trading of interest rate swaptions or forex futures does fuck-all for peoples’ lives.

But having racing wheelchair parts means a hell of a lot for athletes in wheelchairs.

And it means a hell of a lot to the guy who makes ‘em and sells ‘em.

And if NYSE, NADSAQ, VC, PE, BofA, and “C” can’t help them — then who will?

That, my friends, and my patient readers, is why RevenueLoan is important. We get to make it happen. And we will.

The Draft and Google

Only because this will officially be the first page in the Google index with the words of a bumper sticker I saw (and which, I can’t lie, resonated a bit):

“Draft by Wealth: Most to lose, first to fight.”

Hmm. Thought-provoking.

The Secret Trick of Portfolio Effect Dominance

Smart-as-a-whip VC Sim Simeonov did some math and some simulations and came up with the conclusion that a large “portfolio effect” has a major, almost overwhelming, effect on the financial returns of e.g. angel and seed VC portfolios.

English translation: make a LOT of small bets in order to win. (Even if most of those bets are losers.)

Now, this sounds somewhat counter-intuitive to a lot of folks who have been trained to “think like investors:” after all, the more deals you do, the less of a special snowflake you must be, right? (And we all know, Private Equity Professionals are the Specialest Snowflakes of All.) Furthermore, doing more and more “losers” in order to scrape together more winners (rather than trying to avoid losers altogether) just grates the wrong way at the investor mindset.

Well, Sim Simeonov has rejected that mindset with his Simeonov sim. (Forgive me.) But the point of my post isn’t just an emulation of Sim’s simulation. It’s that he’s right despite his simulation math. Rational VCs should be doing as many deals as possible, true, but it’s not due to portfolio IRR; it’s in spite of IRR.

No, the real reason that rational VCs should be doing as many deals as possible is that, to a large extent, VC firm survival has been dependent more on appearance than on financial reality. Specifically, assume two similar firms on their 2nd or 3rd funds, and assume they both, 5 years in, go out to raise funds with a 20% IRR. However, Firm A has earned that IRR through a risk-averse, lower-beta type strategy, while Firm B earned that IRR with a much larger “shotgun” portfolio chock-full of duds, but with a tiny sliver of a Google or similar mega-hit. Which firm is going to be able to raise the next fund with more certainty?

How things have worked to date is that LPs fall in love with great stories, and so it’s more important (in general) that you have one great story in the portfolio (even if it’s for a small investment) than that you have a bunch of sleepy, boring stories that average out to the same return.

Now, I’d love to see what savvy upstream investors like the Super LP, for example, think of this theory: it’s certainly not very flattering to the LP community if you suggest that they make investments solely on “stories” and not on “math.” In the LPs’ defense, I don’t think they’re being lazy or stupid; on the contrary, for the first several decades of the VC industry’s life, the market was so inefficient, and the data were so very sparse, that “stories” were the only reasonable data to look at.

However, we now have a VC (and super-angel, and micro-VC, etc.) industry that is chock-full of history, overflowing with data, and crowded with participants in the marketplace who will (relatively) quickly compete for new niches (especially as the squeeze of a denominator effect and general anti-VC enantiodromia are felt). I no longer feel as strongly as I once did that we’d soon have algorithmic VC decisions, and I doubt that we’ll see a “robot uprising in venture capital.” But I do hope and believe that we will see a more disciplined industry, and one where VCs’ incentives get rearranged to align better with actual financial returns (rather than with “stories” that drive fundraising).

(I do happen to know that there are institutional investors who realize the “great story bias” and are seeking to exploit the inefficiency it creates… let’s just say that if you were going to exploit it, you might look quite hard at Revenue-Based Finance as the way to do so ;)