kickstarter – CanooterValve

The Dude Effect

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Feb 162012

Last night I had a few beers with the guys I used to work with back when my company was in Pennsylvania and still owned by me. From what I understand, this sort of thing goes on all the time in bars and bowling alleys around the world, but it was notable for me, because I’d never done it before. Ever.

Don’t get me wrong: I’d been in a few bars before, when it was unavoidable (keep in mind, I grew up when smoking was still not only allowed, but seemingly encouraged, in bars around Pittsburgh), and I’ve had to attend various social events and business lunches and dinners and such that involved talking to people and simulating fun. And, to be fair, part of never going out for beers was that I didn’t drink. I hadn’t had a beer until working under the interesting new ownership of my company last year. But I’m forty one years old now, and the statement’s true: I’d never gone out with the guys just to have a few beers.

For the last decade and a half, I didn’t go out after work partly because there was no after work. There was the more intense “daylight” phase of work, and then there was the calmer, more introspective “planning” phase of work that normal people call “after work.” A lot of people who own their own businesses fall into this trap, and lots of over-simplistic stuff has been written about how you need to learn to enjoy yourself and step away from your business now and again, but I always ignored all that.

Which was stupid.

The thing about me was that I really loved work. I loved working on web sites, talking about bike parts, designing bike parts, creating supply chain management systems, overseeing groups of people, working out marketing campaigns–all that stuff. Something about me just considers that stuff fun–or more than fun: the kind of thing I’d prefer to do if left to my own devices. I love building shit. I blame Legos.

This is what owning your own business feels like.

Maybe I’m an extreme example, but just in case, my advice to any similarly self-destructive entrepreneurial types out there is to put the shit down and go have a beer. Or a coffee, if that’s your thing. The beverage doesn’t matter. Stepping outside the box you’ve made for yourself to get some perspective is what matters.

After this first foray into uncontrived socialization, I came home to a bunch of work I need to have done soon and some comments WordPress had pushed to my email. Carson Leh, the guy raising funds on Kickstarter to produce a series of “brogue” leather-covered saddles had contacted me to point out that his life wasn’t all fun and games. I recently gave Carson a bit of a hard time over the biography included on his project page, which, like a lot of Kickstarter bios, seems more focused on establishing credentials as a dynamic young person with a lot of exciting personal interests than it does convincing people you’re trying to build a responsible business. Carson, and a friend I tend to suspect might be his mom, wanted me to know he was no “Trustafarian,” and that he was holding down a day job in addition to sewing up leather saddles, and that–basically–I needed to lighten the fuck up.

He had a point. Sort of.

I’ve not found many people discussing this, but I think the Internet has fundamentally changed what we look for in a company. To some degree, bloated corporate statements about “hard work” and rigorous dedication to laboring away at the nuts and bolts of your business are giving way to a more narcissistic but genuine emphasis on the very personal story behind the business. Facebook and Twitter have fundamentally changed the game for marketing departments everywhere, and one of the reasons large corporations struggle figuring out how to use social media or just plain relate to people, compared to someone like Carson, is that these mega-corporations have no compelling, human stories to tell. Maybe they did once, but suffice to say that’s no longer our perception of them. Our perception is that they employ hundreds of thousands of people to produce hamburger-shaped objects each day, or use robots to mass produce millions of widgets we then purchase, but their businesses are largely built on avoiding personal stories–so much so that, when they try to, it just comes off hollow and a little sad. Our bought and paid for government might have decided corporations are people, but companies still haven’t figured out how to tell convincing personal stories, because all they are to us is their product or service, whereas some people will want to contribute to Carson just because he’s Carson.

In other words, this has to be the most interesting time ever to be involved in marketing. I have profoundly mixed feelings about what I see as a major transformation in how businesses communicate, and what people choose to value about a business. How much should personal story matter? Would people have ever bought shoes from Tom’s if not for the compelling social story behind the company? Can appealing to our better angels be both marketing and genuine social good? The danger I see is that we’re increasingly unable to draw a line between the quality of a product and what we believe to be that product’s story. At the risk of overwhelming my point with too charged an example: typing on an iPhone just plain sucks. I don’t see how anyone manages to crank out emails with that keyboard compared to Swiftkey on an Android phone or even a clacky Blackberry, but ask almost anyone which smartphone has the best “user interface” and the general consensus is that nothing touches an iPhone, despite the fact that what many of us do on our phones to communicate–more even than talking–involves typing, and typing on an iPhone is just painful. But the iPhone keyboard has to be better because Steve Jobs was totally OCD about that shit. Right? “I heard he once threw somebody down a flight of stairs because he didn’t like the beveling on a Macbook.” That sort of thing.

The new reliance on personal story is significant. Really significant. I don’t expect we’ll ever see a return to a labor-driven middle class in America, for instance, in part because we no longer value hard work when it’s done in the background, as part of a team of people. Instead, we value narcissism, a lack of humility, and constant personal recognition for everything we do. If Carson makes great saddles, people should buy a lot of them, but not just because they like him, and not just because he likes himself. I could see a market for what he does–hell, if the leather was a little less artsy and the price could be dialed in, who doesn’t have a beloved saddle that had to finally be put down because of a ripped cover, and would’ve much rather sent it off to be covered in industrial strength leather to start life all over again? (And while we’re at it, who doesn’t want a nearly theft-proof bike light that looks like the chambers of a revolver?) Having a human backstory matters, but it shouldn’t overshadow the product (which makes me highly suspicious of epic bike rides across the country to “document” things).

So some well-deserved credit to Carson for putting a product out there, and sincere good luck to his business. If you want to get your brogue on–or maybe go basic black–you can get in touch with Carson through Kickstarter. Just don’t criticize the pelican logo, or his mom will bust your ass up.

The Rorschach Pelican Test

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Feb 142012

This is not a picture of the most phallic pinwheel ever.

What do you see when you look at the pitches for Kickstarter projects? Having founded a company before, I see a lot of hard work necessary to make something worth owning, but I’m not sure every budding DIY entrepreneur shares that same feeling.

Next week I fly to Portland to talk to a guy about a bike. Actually a lot of bikes. Given recent non-disclosable developments with this whole suspension system I designed, I’ve been thinking a lot about the viability of a new bike company. Some very serious people I admire and respect have expressed interest in doing something with the design I’ve patented, and I’m humbled and more motivated than ever to develop some bikes. I think I’m just waiting for a fortune cookie that says, “Make bikes, dumbass.”

Like every other company that doesn’t exist yet, this one would conceivably be currently in the “seeking funding” stage. Carbon fiber molds ain’t cheap. Under the circumstances, I’ve been thinking about my old friend, Kickstarter. Could you use Kickstarter to help launch a bike company?

A lot of the bike projects I continue to see on Kickstarter tend toward the thinner definition of “manufacturing.” The t-shirt above, for instance, can be yours for only $60 if you’d like to help fund Alden Seats, a guy’s venture wrapping already produced bicycle saddles in stylish “brogue style” leather, which, one imagines transforms them from boring old “saddles” to luxurious “seats.” Brogue is the new hotness, and these saddles are fetching, if slippery and potentially brick-like.

Likewise, the artisan behind this, Carson Leh, seems like a nice enough fellow. It’s just that most of what I see on Kickstarter has a kind of non-committal quality, whereas I’m talking about actually producing things that would cost a lot of money to develop and a lot of money to buy. Consider Carson’s bio from his project page:

Son of the Pacific Coast, born in Marin County, raised in beautiful Port Townsend Washington and a graduate of Western Washington University. I’m currently enjoying America’s Riviera known as West LA. I spend my summers rafting the great rivers of the west from Arizona to Alaska. When not trying my hands at winemaking, architecture, and everything in-between, you can find me jumping curb cuts on my bike, eating tamales and climbing the waterfalls in Malibu.”

While my politics trend toward “angry-hippie” as much as anything else, Carson strikes me as primarily a young man with a bit of a work ethic issue. I’m apparently old and unhip enough to believe that if you’re quite literally asking people to give you money, you might want to tone down the “my life’s a perpetual vacation” thing a little. But, as indicated, I’m a stickler for accountability, and not entirely at ease with the latest forms of do-it-yourself business. If I were to consider partially funding a major production effort through Kickstarter, I’d just assume I had to be absolutely and unquestionably accountable to my investors. I’d have a hell of a lot to do, and I honestly don’t think it’d leave that much time for exploring “winemaking, architecture, and everything in-between,” and I can guarantee my waterfall climbing skills would go all to hell.

The dynamics of the new DIY economy are unique, though. Consider that one of the comments for the “Alden Seats” project states simply, “Carson…can’t I please have a t-shirt?” Clearly there’s some new form of “meta-freeloading” out there, wherein even asking people to give you money prompts some people to reply asking for a free t-shirt.

So could a new bike with what’s potentially the world’s greatest suspension system be partially funded by the people, for the people? It’s something I’m wondering. What do you think? We’d be talking straight gift certificates redeemable for their full amount. Maybe some t-shirts at a reasonable investment price, but I promise no bullshit poster pamphlets for those who’d donate their hard earned cash to the effort, and I vow, here and now, never to show that angle of a pelican on any t-shirt we’d ever make.

Sell Yourself

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Dec 122011

Having written about some of the stupid and narcissistic examples of “projects” on Kickstarter, it’s only fair to draw attention to the polar opposite: the stuff that’s really very good. And the most really very good I’ve seen is Twine, a tiny square that can sense stuff going on in the world around it and text, tweet or email you to let you know what’s doing on.

Note the way this project, which has raised over $300,000 so far, is the opposite of, say, a self-obsessed plea for somebody to fund you basically watching your own paint dry. Not to be overly harsh to the artistic side of Kickstarter, which does have some merit and every once in a while probably changes the world and all, but I much prefer a world in which, in order to be paid, you have to produce a good or provide a service to someone other than yourself.

Tough to say when I’ll just learn to quit bitching and take advantage of things–maybe launch a campaign wherein I ask people to contribute money in return for me letting them watch “the development of one of my blog posts, from blank page to finished work.” A five dollar contribution buys you a word, which I must incorporate into the piece somewhere. For $1,000 you can title the thing. Better still, for $15 I let you submit three random references that I will connect with an almost coherent critical thought–like The White Stripes, The Lord of the Rings, and the word “platypus.”

Somehow Meg White’s halting, simplistic drumming works because it’s stumbling along behind the almost incomprehensible talent of Jack White, a man who makes even gifted musicians look childish and insincere, and a man wise enough to know you get a hobbit to carry your rings, or play your drums. We can’t all be tigers and cobras, Meg. Even rock and roll needs the occasional platypus on drums.”

Surely, somebody’s done this sort of thing already–I mean convince people to pay them for essentially nothing. In fact, I’ve had more than one experience in business that proves it.

Twine, on the other hand, offers a product that could actually be used to do something, a product that does not leave you completely reliant on how interesting the interior of an artists head will or will not be once you’re allowed your peek inside. If you want to pay to watch people doodle, great–it’s your money–but in Twine you have a project that’s actually able to deliver a product, and a pretty cool product, too, a versatile sensor that can gather different pieces of information about what’s going on around it physically and turn that into messages for you. The artsy-fartsy aspect of Twine is simply that you have to figure out how you want to use a new kind of product, and that’s a big part of the appeal, too, but at the end of the day, you’ve contributed to the development of a product. The whole crowdsourcing applications of a new device and company developing a close-knit relationship with beta testers and early adopters and stuff makes a lot of sense for the two guys making these, but there’s also full transparency, here: they can make these things, and if you want in, here’s how you get in. It strikes me that this is how American business is supposed to work.

I’ve not yet seen an equivalent Kickstarter project involving, for instance, a new type of credit default swap or other dubious “financial product.”

At least not that I’ve found yet.

Meanwhile, my own attempts to Create Something continue to convince me I should either play the stock market or learn to grow my own food. See that nearly vertical blue 190.5mm long line toward the right? That’s the new shock position.

In order to get things just as I want them, it’s looking like I’m going to have to go with the Giant Maestro-esque “low shock” configuration, which should work just fine, except that everybody will think my design’s like a Giant, which will cause me to say things like, “Motherfucker!” all the time. Given the lower rocker position, I’m thinking about a pretty open machined triangle coming up from the bottom bracket shell. I think this could be made pretty light and extremely stiff.

Of all shock positions, the low vertical orientation turns out to work particularly well for this design, which is a little unusual. I’d initially thought a more horizontal shock was going to be the way to go, but, even though it looks like my swingarm is rocking forward, the front of it is really rocking about straight down.

Instead of being a ~~DW-link~~ Maestro system like the Giant, my shit actually pivots around the center of its own swingarm. Meaning the instant center is behind the bottom bracket and that I can make my rear axle move absolutely vertically if wanted it to. I don’t, but, given how much I like tire clearance and 29ers, I wanted a design that would let me get true vertical axle path and everything else that’s even close to it. I also wanted a bike that felt tight, like a dirt jump bike from the bottom bracket back.

Balancing out all the options is the biggest pain in the ass. So how much chain growth is really too much chain growth? How noticeable is a shock rate of .40 versus .43? Once I make the final decisions, I’m in for some assembly rebuilding. No fun.

I have to admit, it’d be much easier to try to get sponsored for drawing drivetrains in Steve Jobs’ head.

Really Big Announcements

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Nov 112011

Reading yesterday’s post from BikeSnobNYC confirmed a suspicion I’ve had about myself for some time now. Unlike NiCole “COLE” Robbins, I actually believe in producing some sort of good or service in order to be paid. And that’s what’s wrong with me.

I believe I’ve fallen out of step with America’s move to a “service economy.” For a while, I understood it. During my early years running my e-commerce business, I answered consumer emails and even picked up some phones at all hours of the day and night. Had I known how much better off my family would be now if instead I’d done crunches all day and focused on being a narcissistic asshole in hopes that MTV would syndicate my “project,” by now I’d have my own line of cologne made specifically for the mentally challenged. Another mistake: my wife and I had a pretty quiet and understated wedding. I realize now that I should have at least called some local news agencies and intimated that the affair involved maintaining the bloodline of Jesus and the real reason Dick Cheney shot that guy in the face. How much do you have to charge per admission to make $18M on a wedding?

To that end, I’m announcing three initiatives today:

First, inspired by NiCole “COLE” Robbins, I launched my own Kickstarter project today. It’s still in the approval stage, but I don’t see any reason why it wouldn’t be permitted, as it seems to violate far fewer policies than NiCole “COLE” Robbins’ project. There may be some slight waffling on the part of the Kickstarter staff regarding the subtle difference between a mere “wiseass artistic statement” versus the more genuine “opportunistic phony cause” that begat it, but that wouldn’t be very cool of them.

What is your project?

I’m looking to raise $12,000,000 to fund a lavish ceremony to remarry my wife (our first wedding was relatively small, and we’d not thought to monetize it). Market research suggests the return on this investment could be $18,000,000 or more, a 50% return on investment, if my math is correct, realized almost immediately. I understand that merely renewing vows may not be sufficiently dramatic, so I’m willing to divorce and remarry this woman, in order to make this work. In supporting me on this exciting journey, you will also be supporting and promoting Love (both the sentiment and the burgeoning new American industry).

What rewards would you offer?

Provided we hit our target goal, relatively high quality digital photos of the wedding, our outstanding children, and our extremely photogenic dog will be provided to all investors. Those contributing more than $500,000 each will also receive an artisanal cupcake–probably one of the really cool “cupcake-pop” style ones that come on a stick. Those are awesome.

Second, I’ll also be launching a new and different web site to track my progress in this endeavor, among other things. Probably.

Oh, and the third thing: maybe I should start a bike company. I mean, I have a strong patent, I know some stuff about bicycles, and I like acting entrepreneurial at parties. I’ve seen people start bike companies with less. So I’m taking votes. Comment or email me. Maybe I could fund it with Kickstarter, now that I’m soon to be a Kickstarter “power user” and return each investor’s total amount as a discount off a frame. That’s starting to sound a little too “old America,” though, where I actually have to make something.