[cross-​​posted from non­trapre­neur]

Little-​​e entre­pre­neur­ship is the charm­ing eccen­tric­ity that dri­ves busi­ness inno­va­tion in our cul­ture and economy.

It’s a will­ing­ness to accept risks that oth­ers would shy away from, in exchange for even­tual rewards nobody else can see.

It’s the Ear­li­est Adopter’s enthu­si­asm for a fad that doesn’t yet exist.

It’s the heady taste of hubris that helps you move step past think­ing I could do that, and actu­ally give it a try.

It’s an inor­di­nate will­ing­ness to ignore risks, to forge ahead, to plot a course into the unknown. On a promise.

Big-​​E Entre­pre­neur­ship is the cul­tural fetishiza­tion of that risk-​​seeking behav­ior, mag­i­cal think­ing and obses­sion. It’s taught in busi­ness schools. It’s the sole focus of some eco­nomic devel­op­ment insti­tu­tions, it gets investors’ hearts rac­ing, it’s the stated core of our government’s hope for the national future.

This car­toon “Entre­pre­neur­ship” has become a per­va­sive eco­nomic fetish.

Why is that a prob­lem? Look:

Some young women are nat­u­rally beau­ti­ful, and also nat­u­rally thin. Our culture’s fetishiza­tion of Thin Beauty has fos­tered deadly anorexia, poor self-​​images among nor­mal women, the sex­u­al­iza­tion of chil­dren, drug abuse, and more.

A real cot­tage in the coun­try is unusual, and can also be pretty and rest­ful. Our culture’s fetishiza­tion of Sub­ur­ban Life has fos­tered an indus­try of chem­i­cal lawn treat­ments, greige devel­op­ments at the edge of every city where the win­dows never open, social iso­la­tion, mort­gage debt, finan­cial cri­sis, the neces­sity of dri­ving every­where, and more.

It’s reward­ing and healthy to play sports. Our culture’s fetishiza­tion of Pro­fes­sional Sports has built media empires and lob­by­ing com­pa­nies, offered false promise to dis­ad­van­taged youth, encour­aged drug abuse by even school-​​age ath­letes, glossed over the effects on city cen­ters, and more.

We’ve fetishized com­merce and craft into shop­ping mall sprawl. We’ve fetishized the com­plex consensus-​​bulding of pol­i­tics into talk­ing points and intran­si­gent argu­ment. We’ve fetishized com­bat and national defense into gun sports.

In the same way these other unusual but nat­ural extremes have given birth to social evils, the notion of big-​​E Entre­pre­neur­ship depends on over-​​exaggeration and over-​​generalization of nat­ural but unusual extremes: the little-​​e entrepreneur’s eccen­tric­i­ties of risk-​​seeking, and mag­i­cal think­ing and obsession.

We’re told we can be “entre­pre­neur­ial” church mem­bers, “entre­pre­neur­ial” social activists, “entre­pre­neur­ial” artists, “entre­pre­neur­ial” employees.

Think about that. What does that really mean?

You don’t need Angels or VC to change the world. They need you. They need you to rush ahead. They need lots of you in their port­fo­lios; your rare returns are their sole resource. You are their crop. You are their slot machines.

You don’t need to mon­e­tize every­thing, or promise ten-​​fold returns. Finan­cial cap­i­tal is not the only kind. A project can make you rich in social cap­i­tal, intel­lec­tual cap­i­tal, indi­vid­ual capital.

You don’t need to grow for­ever, or to burn down to bank­ruptcy. Maybe what you’ve done so far is enough. Even if you dis­ap­point busi­ness cul­ture because you’ve started a “lifestyle busi­ness”, at least you still have a life to live.

You don’t need to think of peo­ple as tools and resources. Peo­ple are peo­ple. This insti­tu­tion you’ve started must be for the peo­ple who com­prise it, more than they are expected to work for it. Never lose sight of the fact that it is an it.

You never have just one goal. Your ven­ture is not your world. Even the most obses­sive investor will admit that reduc­ing risk is as much a goal of any ven­ture as increas­ing returns. When you begin to believe some sub­set of “win­ning” is the only goal, when your investors drive you to forge ahead at all costs, when your instinct is to cut away the parts of your life that other peo­ple think are impor­tant just to make it to launch? That’s when you’ve become a dan­ger to your­self, and to society.

Big-​​E Entre­pre­neur­ship is just like Hol­ly­wood and the NBA and the Bill­board charts and the bridal mag­a­zines. You are not going to make next Google or Face­book. Your idea isn’t as orig­i­nal as you imag­ine, your skills aren’t all you need, your beau­ti­ful office in a fash­ion­able ZIP code won’t make your prod­uct any better.

And those suc­cess­ful, rich peo­ple you find egging you on, “advis­ing” you and “sup­port­ing” you and “con­nect­ing” you?

They’re just as caught up in the illu­sion as you are. Pity them. It was their luck that got them through the maze. Not their skill, not their men­tors, not their investors, not their “best peo­ple”, and cer­tainly not The Sys­tem as a whole.

The cul­ture rein­forces them at every turn. Is it any coin­ci­dence they’re sur­rounded by all the evi­dence they need to keep believ­ing that their illu­sion is uni­ver­sal and valid? They’re swim­ming in suc­cess. They see evi­dence of the Sys­tem of Accepted Busi­ness Prac­tices and Rit­u­als work­ing around them, all the time.

Because they have arranged life so they never see it fail. They’re not allowed to see any­thing else as success.

Where are the Big-​​E Entre­pre­neurs whose ven­tures didn’t grow? Didn’t hit it big? They were torn down for parts and raw mate­ri­als, skillsets and cap­i­tal, and dumped right back into hop­per to be fed into the machine.

Who are you? If you define your­self by your project, I don’t think you’ve answered the question.

What do you want? If you only men­tion your project, you’re a liar.

What are the risks? If you don’t know, I can start your list with this one: “I don’t know the risks”.

What will be enough? If you don’t have any idea, I’ll guar­an­tee that “more” isn’t the only answer.

What will you sac­ri­fice? If you didn’t say “myself”, then take a moment to con­sider the Big-​​E Entre­pre­neur­ship com­plex out there, wait­ing and ready, yearn­ing to drop you into the hopper.

You’re a pile of raw materials.

Port­fo­lio filler for investors.

Pro­mo­tional mate­r­ial for your city.

Future donat­ing alumni of your University.

The cover of unsold magazines.

Oh yeah, and you did some stuff once. What was that thing, that com­pany you did back when?

That was your vision? Huh. Who knew?