Kicking off the antipreneur movement

Time to open the gates on entrepreneurial identity

I know, I know: That headline violates my own gripe about bastardizing the word “entrepreneur,” but maybe it makes the point that the word itself has got to go. No one really loves the term to start with, outside of the publishing company that owns the “Entrepreneur” trademark and occasionally sues those who cross some invisible barrier to trespass on its intellectual property.

I say, let’s avoid that particular property, but right next door let’s build a public park so open and welcoming and useful that no one would see any point in straying beyond the gates of Entrepreneurland.

Tim Berry, one of my all-time favorite business bloggers, says he’s ready to “make a movement” out of this. If he’s onboard, I think we’re off to a great start. The only problem is, before we can have a movement, we have to decide exactly where we want to go. There’s bound to be some debate on this, but here is what I would hope to accomplish:

First, if we’re going to choose a term to replace “entrepreneur,” it probably needs to be a real word — something already in the dictionary and firmly in the public domain so that it can’t be fenced off by linguistic squatters in search of a quick buck.

Next, as long as we’re replacing a long, awkward term, it follows that the new word should be easy to spell and relatively short, befitting the limitations of Twitter and the frustrations of a virtual keyboard.

Finally, I would argue for a term that’s as broad and inclusive as possible. Language adoption relies on usage, and you don’t gain users by excluding people. The best term is one that encompasses all the different varieties of those we currently call “entrepreneurs” — founders and buyers, tinkerers and turnaround artists, profit seekers and social visionaries.

With all those criteria in mind, I wonder if “venturer” might be the term we’re looking for. According to the Random House Dictionary, “venture” is defined as:

  • (n) an undertaking involving uncertainty as to the outcome, especially a risky or dangerous one
  • (v) to take a risk; dare; presume
  • (adj) of or pertaining to an investment or investments in new businesses

“Venturer” isn’t a made-up word; it’s listed in the dictionary, with roots that trace back to 15th century Middle English. Given that history, I can’t imagine that any court would uphold a trademark claim.

What do you think? Does “venturer” capture the essence of what we’re all about? Is it the kind of term that we can embrace and standardize as an open-source alternative to “entrepreneur”?

If you like the word “venturer,” then here are two simple steps you can take to help speed its adoption:

  1. In the comment section below, show your support with three little words: “I’m a venturer”
  2. Any time you’re tweeting about a small-business topic, use the hashtag #venturer. When it becomes a trending topic, others will start to take notice, and we’ll have an honest-to-goodness linguistic movement underway.

And if you don’t like the term “venturer”? That’s fine too, but please feel free to suggest an alternative. As long as we can come up with something — anything — that’s better than “entrepreneur,” I promise to get behind the movement.

Photo by flickr user KTDEE

The problem with business (super)models

Chances are, you know someone who’s at least mildly afflicted with body dysmorphic disorder, or BDD. No matter how strict their diet or how intense their workouts, they can never be happy with how they look. Some psychologists believe the rise in BDD can be attributed in part to the impossible ideal of physical beauty that we get from the modeling industry. (Let’s face it, no matter how often I hit the gym, I’m never going to look like Antonio Sabato Jr.)

Don't distort your business imageThe funny thing is, some entrepreneurs suffer from a similar affliction — business dysmorphic disorder, for lack of a better term. Facebook, Groupon and other fairy-tale startups are the supermodels of the business press, and venture capitalists are the tastemakers who decide what a beautiful business plan looks like. Instead of cheekbones and chest measurements, we obsess about pre-money valuations and product/market fit. If you don’t have a billion-dollar exit strategy, it’s easy for a lifestyle entrepreneur to feel ugly and unloved.

When hyper-growth is the model that gets all the “oohs” and “ahs” and catcalls, some entrepreneurs try to project an image that doesn’t really fit. They tell their story in such a way that they look bigger or more ambitious or more aggressive than they really are. After all, isn’t that what customers want?

In most cases, I think the answer is no. Big and fast-growing is what the press wants. It’s what venture capitalists and policymakers want. But customers generally want to deal with someone that they’re comfortable with, someone they can relate to.

When telling your story, don’t be ashamed of humble beginnings or modest ambitions. Don’t pretend that your business is the sum of your life. Resist the urge to create a myth. Instead, acknowledge the help you got from others, or the boost that you got from dumb, blind luck.

How does that look in practice? Take a look at Tim Berry’s account of why he started his business:

When I left a good job at Creative Strategies and started on my own, in truth it was not because of something I wanted to build, not because of a creative vision, but rather because I thought I could make enough money to keep my family whole and do what I wanted.

In other words: “I was running away from boredom, not building castles.”

Humble, charming, open — this is someone that you want to cheer for and someone that you’d consider doing business with. It’s not the kind of story that gets you in front of VCs or onto the cover of Fortune magazine, but it’s precisely the kind of story that attracts new customers.

And that’s a model worth emulating.

Want influential friends? Learn to talk back

Recently, I needed some expert opinions for an article I was writing, so I emailed some big names in small business, including Tim Berry and Mark Henricks. Amazingly, both of them got back to me within 48 hours, offering detailed answers to the question I had posed.

It’s not like I’m drinking buddies with either Tim or Mark — in fact, I’ve never met either of them face-to-face. But that doesn’t mean I was emailing them “blind.” In both cases, I had established a kind of virtual relationship through past comments I had made on their blogs.

feedbackBloggers work hard at their craft, and sometimes it can seem like nobody notices. Traffic statistics are interesting but sterile; it’s feedback that feeds the soul of a writer. Comments matter. They get noticed. They start conversations … and you never know where a conversation will lead.

Think of it this way: You could pay good money to attend a conference where a well-known expert was on the roster. After the speech, wouldn’t you be thrilled to get 5 minutes of that person’s time for a one-on-one dialogue? Blogs provide that kind of opportunity every single day, but the vast majority of people just “leave the room” quietly without ever engaging the expert.

Next time you read a great blog post, say so. Share how it helped you, add an example from your own experience, or ask a follow-up question. Feel free to disagree with the blogger, as long as you do so thoughtfully — there’s nothing like a little controversy to spark the interest of other readers.

The point is, say something worthwhile. You might be surprised how easy it is to collect mentors — and even friends — in the blogosphere.