Imagine someone who wants to build muscle (how I wish that were me!).

Recently, a friend said, “This startup is their baby.” Nothing new, I’ve heard it.

In enterprise SaaS, there are two main sources of income: new sales and renewals.

As a child of the late 90s, I grew up talking to SmarterChild, hanging out in AOL chatrooms, and discovering that you could build whole friendships through words on a screen. So ChatGPT feels very familiar.

It started during the pandemic, of course. I began noticing that some people’s on-camera appearance genuinely impressed me.

Product management is practiced in so many ways and thus has never suffered from a shortage of opinions.

You’ve built something real. You’ve proven the market. You have a team. But lately, it’s felt like you’re the only one holding it all together.

In the early, messy stages of a startup, teams don’t urgently need product leadership, they need output.

Back in April, I relaunched my website and started blogging for the first time since I went into product management.

Like so many Millennials, I graduated college into the Great Recession, a time when even PhDs struggled to get a job at Starbucks.

A valuable customer reached out to our CTO directly, bypassing support, to report that our product didn’t work with screen readers.

If there’s one thing I wish I’d learned at the youngest-possible age, it’s not to let other people tell you who you can be. 

I got into product management in the mid-2010s because I wanted to make better software. I had taste, and I was tired of clunky user experiences.

The features I’ve built to close deals were some of the most valuable ones I shipped—and it took me far too long to realize it.

I've noticed that when men reach for analogies, they often evoke war. Fights. Blows. Bombs. Everything has a body count.

Recently I’ve been admiring websites that feature geometric sans-serif fonts, modern, friendly designs, and a pop of color.