I Built 38 Failed Startups. Then I Learned to Ask for Money First
I used to think being a founder was about building things. My hard drive was a graveyard of "perfect" MVPs, elegant code, and brilliant ideas that launched to the sound of digital crickets. I was convinced that if I just added one more feature, polished the UI a little more, or refactored the backend, the users would finally show up.
They never did.
Then, after my 38th consecutive failure, I realized something: I was doing it all wrong. And so is almost everyone else.
The Problem with "Falling in Love with the Problem"
Most startup advice sounds like it was written for a feel-good movie. "Fall in love with the problem." "Build a magical user experience." "Craft the perfect solution." It's no wonder founders spend six months in a garage emerge with a product that solves a problem nobody was losing sleep over.
The real issue isn't that your idea is bad or your code is sloppy—it's that you have no idea if anyone will actually open their wallet for it. And when your entire strategy is based on a hunch you got in the shower, people notice. Or rather, they don't notice at all.
You're playing a game with a 95% failure rate. You can't afford to spend half a year on every lottery ticket.
What Actually Works: A Playbook That Feels a Little Wrong
Forget the 3-month roadmap. Forget the beta-testing group. Forget everything except answering one question: will a stranger give me their credit card details for this?
Here’s how to find out in one week.
1. Build a Landing Page That Doesn't Suck (In a Day)
Your goal isn't a website; it's a single, sharp-as-a-tack landing page. Use a no-code builder. Use a template. I don't care. Just get it done. Write 30 sentences, max, that explain the problem you solve and for whom. Add a quick video walkthrough of a Figma prototype to make it feel real.
The key: Your landing page is a conversation starter, not a technical manual. Clarity over features.
2. Ask for the Money (This is the Scary Part)
This is where people get squeamish. You’re going to add a button to your page. Not "Join the Waitlist." Not "Learn More."
You’re going to add a "Buy Now" button connected to a real payment processor.
Yes, for the product that doesn't exist. Yes, you’re going to let them click it. People say they’ll buy things all the time. They lie. A Stripe checkout is the only truth serum that works.
The key: Talk is cheap. A credit card transaction is the only feedback that isn’t a lie.
3. Go to War for One Week
You have seven days. Your only job is to drag people to your landing page. This isn't a "post it and see" operation. It's a relentless, 12-hour-a-day marketing blitz.
Posts that work:
"I’m sick of [problem]. I’m thinking of building a tool to fix it. Anyone else?"
"Here's a breakdown of how I'm trying to solve [problem]. What am I missing?"
"I found 10 people on LinkedIn complaining about [problem]. I sent them this..."
Find people who are angry about the problem you’re solving. Go to Reddit, LinkedIn, X, Discord—wherever they hang out. Don't pitch. Help them, talk to them, share your half-baked solution.
The key: You're not selling a product. You're hunting for a pain signal.
The Real Moment of Truth
At the end of the week, the data tells you what to do.
Crickets? No sign-ups? No payments? The idea is dead. Kill it. Don't get emotional. You just saved yourself six months of pointless building. Congratulations. Start over on Monday.
Someone actually tried to pay you? You have a signal. A real one.
Now you send them an email immediately:
"I have a confession. The product isn't finished yet. I put up that payment page to see if this was a problem people cared enough about to pay for. You just proved that it is. I've already refunded you in full. Would you be willing to chat for 15 minutes so I can build this thing for you?"
Some people will be annoyed. Most (in my experience, about 85%) will be excited to be part of the story. You just found your first true believer. Now, and only now, have you earned the right to write a single line of code.
But Isn't This... Unethical?
Let's just get it out there. Taking money for something that doesn't exist feels deceptive. It feels like a lie.
And it is. It's a small lie designed to prevent a much bigger one: the lie you tell yourself for a year while you build a product nobody wants, wasting your time, your money, and maybe your employees' jobs.
Is it better to waste 5 minutes of a potential customer's time (and immediately refund them) or to waste a year of your own life? You have to decide. The "safer" route is to be upfront about it being a pre-order, but that softens the validation. You have to calculate your own risk.
The Real Rules of Validation
Every idea is different, but here’s what actually matters:
Find the anger. Stop looking for customers and start looking for frustration. Frustration is a buying signal. Find a forum comment where someone is furious about their current software. That's your target.
Be a human first. Your posts shouldn't sound like ads. They should sound like someone who is genuinely wrestling with a problem. Share your process. Admit what you don't know.
Listen more than you talk. Before you build anything, your only job is to listen. Ask questions. "How do you solve this now?" "What's the most annoying part?" "What would you pay for if it could do X?" The answers become your marketing copy.
Accept that some ideas just suck. Your brilliant idea probably isn't. The goal isn't to prove your idea is good. The goal is to find out the truth as quickly and cheaply as possible.
The Long Game
This isn't about being a "one-week founder" forever. It’s about not wasting six months building a masterpiece for an empty theater.
A fellow founder I saw online put it perfectly. He said he finally succeeded when he "locked in to build the perfect product for 6 months." That sounds like a contradiction, but it's not. He did it after he found his first win.
This process is how you find the one idea that deserves your deep craft and obsession.
Getting Started (Without the Frameworks)
Pick one idea from your graveyard. The one that still bugs you.
Spend a day building a single landing page for it. No more.
Add a real payment or "Book a Demo" button.
Spend the next five days doing nothing but talking to people online and sending them to that page.
On Friday, look at the data. Be ruthless. Kill it or build it.
That's it. No "market research." No "story playbooks." Just finding out if someone cares.
The Bottom Line
The best founders aren't the ones with the best ideas. They're the ones who are best at killing bad ideas.
When you stop acting like a reclusive artist and start acting like a scrappy scientist running an experiment, people will respond. They want to be part of a solution to a problem they actually have.
And that's not a secret you can hack—it's just asking the right question.