In the early days of Dellecod, we often looked sideways at the venture capital world, mostly because we weren’t sure whether we even belonged in it. Like many software founders, we were driven more by code, users, and long walks over product feedback than by pitch decks and partner meetings. But we couldn't help noticing that something was shifting — and that shift had a name.
Andreessen Horowitz didn’t just arrive during a disrupted moment (2009, a financial crisis, banks collapsing, the air still thick with recession fatigue). They leaned into it. They launched with $300 million and very little traditional VC experience — a fact that probably unnerved every limited partner they spoke to. Yet what stood out most wasn’t the timing or even the size. It was how they talked.
It’s easy to take for granted now that investors write blog posts, record podcasts, or hold Reddit-style Q&As. But at the time, that kind of public transparency was suspect. VCs were supposed to play things close, speak in soft tones, and avoid attracting unnecessary attention. a16z scrapped the secrecy. They made content their calling card, turning posts and essays into philosophy. They didn’t just fund companies — they picked fights with outdated approaches, and they told founders exactly where they stood. Loudly.
The truth is, we learned a lot from them before we realized we were learning anything. Writing matters. Ideas need time and space. Founders aren’t just operators — they’re builders of public meaning. a16z’s bet was that authenticity and clarity, projected consistently over time, would become assets with compounding value. And they were right.
Anyone who’s built a software company will recognize the premise: thoughtful ideas, explained clearly, attract the kind of people who believe in long-term work. When Ben Horowitz wrote The Hard Thing About Hard Things, it didn’t sell because of hype — it sold because it felt like survival notes passed between founders. It was human, honest, not overly clever. It understood the 2 AM panic that comes with responsibility.
Same with their other content — from the landmark essay "Software is Eating the World" to more recent pieces like "It’s Time to Build." Their approach carved out space for conversation in places that were usually behind closed doors. Maybe even more importantly, they highlighted the superpower of standing for something — not just selling picks and shovels to every miner who showed up.
We think about that here a lot. Not “what do we stand for” in a brand positioning sense — just the quieter version: are we building in a way we’d be proud to talk about? If someone asked, could we describe what we believe in without slipping into jargon or bullet points?
One of the more subtle lessons from the a16z story is how they avoided positioning themselves only as gatekeepers. Instead of pitch meetings being the whole story, they shifted the conversation — made the whole platform a two-way street. Recruiting. Marketing. Network effects. Operational insight that didn’t feel extracted, but earned over time. They weren’t just picking winners. They were helping build them.
Of course, they had their critics. Putting Marc Andreessen on the cover of Fortune was seen as self-flattering — the kind of flashy move "respectable" firms might frown upon. But in hindsight, it underlined their comfort with discomfort. They weren't particularly worried about tradition. They were optimizing for the next wave of founders — people who saw the world changing and were eager to ride that change, not wait for permission.
Today, authenticity is everywhere and nowhere. Everyone has a podcast, a LinkedIn post, a tweet storm. But what still cuts through is real clarity and thoughtful repetition. Say useful things, don’t be afraid to stand for them, and be consistent over years. That’s how you begin to matter.
We're far from being a venture firm, and we don’t claim to share the same weight or reach. But we do share some of the instincts. We don't treat ideas like secrets. We try to write about what we’re learning as we go. And we believe substance still beats sizzle, no matter how alluring the highlights reel looks.
The a16z story reminded us that the way you build your internal culture — who you reward, what you protect, how you talk about your work — eventually becomes your brand, whether you want it to or not. That’s true for firms, products, and people.
And maybe the biggest takeaway? If you’re building something new, don’t just study what’s working — study what feels honest. In a world where everything is "content" and everyone has a strategy, it’s the clarity of the voice behind the message that makes the difference.
We’re still figuring it out. But we’re listening closely.