A few decades ago, when I was raising funding for a startup, I made a lasting impression on an investor by not only talking about how successful we would be, but also highlighting what would happen if we weren’t. Later, in an informal setting, I asked him what had persuaded him to invest in us. He told me that during the pitch, I had said, “And if all our predictions and expectations are wrong, we will use the last of our funding for a magnificent farewell dinner for all our investors. You’ll have lost your money, but at least you’ll get a great evening for it in return.”

I don’t recall this being part of the original pitch or my strategy. I probably just blurted it out to break the ice, but it impressed the investor. He told me it was refreshing to speak to an entrepreneur who was not blinded by his own pitch. The fact that I had a scenario ready for both success and failure told him that I was honest and realistic.

Now, the startup was not successful, but we still had a nice, opulent dinner with the investors at the end — and we did them one better. As soon as we realised that our predictions and expectations were wrong, we made our investors an offer: we could struggle and pivot and hope for a miracle, or we could return what was left of our funding to our investors. We preferred option two, and so did they, so everybody got some money back (about 40% of what they had invested), as well as a lovely evening with excellent food and drinks. When we raised money for another startup a few years later, almost all of them signed up in our first round.

Obviously, I would have preferred to have made this startup a success instead, but I still regard it as a successful endeavour. I gave it a try and had a plan ready for when my experiment didn’t work out, and in the process, I built relationships that outlasted that one startup.

As you may have read, The Next Web, the company I founded in 2006, is nearing the end of its lifecycle. The events and media business is being wound down, and only TNW Spaces will live on. TNW Programs was sold off a while ago and will continue as well. There won’t be another TNW Conference, and soon there won’t be new articles on the site; people are losing their jobs, including me. It’s a painful process, but I guess I’m taking it well because it also feels natural and logical. When we sold TNW to the FT in 2019, we were very ambitious and optimistic, and surely I would’ve liked for the company and brand to outlive me. However, when the business struggled, I also felt very comfortable with the company ending graciously.

When you’re reading a good book, there’s a moment near the end when you’ll start reading slower because you don’t want it to end. I love those moments, because I’ll know it’s been a good experience. But then you also know that good stories need good endings. So, this is the ending of a great story that I’ve enjoyed participating in.

I’ll keep writing, but this will be my last official TNW story. I’d love it if you would subscribe to my writing over at Substack. It will be less tech-focused, more unpredictable, but just as insightful as before.

Boris, out.