Like Facebook. Facebook was started in Boston. Boston VCs had the first shot at them. But they said no, so Facebook moved to Silicon Valley and raised money there. The partner who turned them down now says that "may turn out to have been a mistake."

Empirically, boldness wins. If the aggressive ways of west coast investors are going to come back to bite them, it has been a long time coming. Silicon Valley has been pulling ahead of Boston since the 1970s. If there was going to be a comeuppance for the west coast investors, the bursting of the Bubble would have been it. But since then the west coast has just pulled further ahead.

West coast investors are confident enough of their judgement to act boldly; east coast investors, not so much; but anyone who thinks east coast investors act that way out of prudence should see the frantic reactions of an east coast VC in the process of losing a deal to a west coast one.

In addition to the concentration that comes from specialization, startup hubs are also markets. And markets are usually centralized. Even now, when traders could be anywhere, they cluster in a few cities. It's hard to say exactly what it is about face to face contact that makes deals happen, but whatever it is, it hasn't yet been duplicated by technology.

Walk down University Ave at the right time, and you might overhear five different people talking on the phone about deals. In fact, this is part of the reason Y Combinator is in Boston half the time: it's hard to stand that year round. But though it can sometimes be annoying to be surrounded by people who only think about one thing, it's the place to be if that one thing is what you're trying to do.

I was talking recently to someone who works on search at Google. He knew a lot of people at Yahoo, so he was in a good position to compare the two companies. I asked him why Google was better at search. He said it wasn't anything specific Google did, but simply that they understood search so much better.

And that's why startups thrive in startup hubs like Silicon Valley. Startups are a very specialized business, as specialized as diamond cutting. And in startup hubs they understand it.

[1] The nationalistic idea is the converse: that startups should stay in a certain city because of the country it's in. If you really have a "one world" viewpoint, deciding to move from London to Silicon Valley is no different from deciding to move from Chicago to Silicon Valley.

[2] An investor who merely seems like he will fund you, however, you can ignore. Seeming like they will fund you one day is the way investors say No.

Six Principles for Making New Things

The fiery reaction to the release of Arc had an unexpected consequence: it made me realize I had a design philosophy. The main complaint of the more articulate critics was that Arc seemed so flimsy. After years of working on it, all I had to show for myself were a few thousand lines of macros? Why hadn't I worked on more substantial problems?

As I was mulling over these remarks it struck me how familiar they seemed. This was exactly the kind of thing people said at first about Viaweb, and Y Combinator, and most of my essays.

When we launched Viaweb, it seemed laughable to VCs and e-commerce "experts." We were just a couple guys in an apartment, which did not seem cool in 1995 the way it does now. And the thing we'd built, as far as they could tell, wasn't even software. Software, to them, equalled big, honking Windows apps. Since Viaweb was the first web-based app they'd seen, it seemed to be nothing more than a website. They were even more contemptuous when they discovered that Viaweb didn't process credit card transactions (we didn't for the whole first year). Transaction processing seemed to them what e-commerce was all about. It sounded serious and difficult.

And yet, mysteriously, Viaweb ended up crushing all its competitors.

The initial reaction to Y Combinator was almost identical. It seemed laughably lightweight. Startup funding meant series A rounds: millions of dollars given to a small number of startups founded by people with established credentials after months of serious, businesslike meetings, on terms described in a document a foot thick. Y Combinator seemed inconsequential. It's too early to say yet whether Y Combinator will turn out like Viaweb, but judging from the number of imitations, a lot of people seem to think we're on to something.

I can't measure whether my essays are successful, except in page views, but the reaction to them is at least different from when I started. At first the default reaction of the Slashdot trolls was (translated into articulate terms): "Who is this guy and what authority does he have to write about these topics? I haven't read the essay, but there's no way anything so short and written in such an informal style could have anything useful to say about such and such topic, when people with degrees in the subject have already written many thick books about it." Now there's a new generation of trolls on a new generation of sites, but they have at least started to omit the initial "Who is this guy?"

Now people are saying the same things about Arc that they said at first about Viaweb and Y Combinator and most of my essays. Why the pattern? The answer, I realized, is that my m.o. for all four has been the same.

Here it is: I like to find (a) simple solutions (b) to overlooked problems (c) that actually need to be solved, and (d) deliver them as informally as possible, (e) starting with a very crude version 1, then (f) iterating rapidly.

When I first laid out these principles explicitly, I noticed something striking: this is practically a recipe for generating a contemptuous initial reaction. Though simple solutions are better, they don't seem as impressive as complex ones. Overlooked problems are by definition problems that most people think don't matter. Delivering solutions in an informal way means that instead of judging something by the way it's presented, people have to actually understand it, which is more work. And starting with a crude version 1 means your initial effort is always small and incomplete.

I'd noticed, of course, that people never seemed to grasp new ideas at first. I thought it was just because most people were stupid. Now I see there's more to it than that. Like a contrarian investment fund, someone following this strategy will almost always be doing things that seem wrong to the average person.

As with contrarian investment strategies, that's exactly the point. This technique is successful (in the long term) because it gives you all the advantages other people forgo by trying to seem legit. If you work on overlooked problems, you're more likely to discover new things, because you have less competition. If you deliver solutions informally, you (a) save all the effort you would have had to expend to make them look impressive, and (b) avoid the danger of fooling yourself as well as your audience. And if you release a crude version 1 then iterate, your solution can benefit from the imagination of nature, which, as Feynman pointed out, is more powerful than your own.

In the case of Viaweb, the simple solution was to make the software run on the server. The overlooked problem was to generate web sites automatically; in 1995, online stores were all made by hand by human designers, but we knew this wouldn't scale. The part that actually mattered was graphic design, not transaction processing. The informal delivery mechanism was me, showing up in jeans and a t-shirt at some retailer's office. And the crude version 1 was, if I remember correctly, less than 10,000 lines of code when we launched.