Ahead of the curve feels like being crazy. This is a remix. In 2008, I wrote about a networking event in Austin when “social media” was still a debate topic. Here’s what I was seeing then, rebuilt with what I know now.
The drizzle coming from above is accumulating on the shoulders of my plaid sport jacket. This wouldn’t upset me so much had it not just come from the dry cleaners only hours before. I’m whining while watching a bouncer meticulously study my driver’s license outside Pangea, the trendy “I’m in Africa, no wait… New York… who cares, they say it’s cool” nightclub in downtown Austin.
I hate waiting behind velvet ropes, but such is the price we pay while working our way up through the ranks of celebrity. Perhaps one day.
The Two Tribes
Walking up the stairs, I’m instantly greeted by one of several beautiful blonde hosts. After getting outfitted with a color-coded name tag that lets everyone know who I am, what I do, and how much money I made last year, I head for the bar.
The tribal themed club is packed with the Who’s Who of Austin’s geek chic. There’s a slight segregation between two groups.
The first: ladder-climbers holding business degrees, wearing cocktail dresses or slacks, button downs and designer ties, speaking of promotions, new hires and lost accounts. They are networking animals, bred for this occasion.
The second: the bad boys of Web 2.0, still in sunglasses though it’s raining and the sun went down hours ago. European jeans, logo-free track jackets, Bill Blass shirts and skinny ties, loosely tied, edges meticulously frayed to pass as vintage. This breed of networkers has the confidence to argue any issue, any time, no matter how little they know about it.
The Camera on My Lapel
A girl recognizes me and based on the way she says hello, I realize this must be someone I’ve never met in person but vaguely spoken with over the internet. I fumble around for small talk until her name comes to me.
I throw the Jager to the back of my throat and suddenly realize that I’m wearing a camera on my lapel that is live broadcasting this all to the internet.
Somewhere in Massillon, Ohio, a 16-year-old boy is drooling over this girl and probably thinks I’m cool because she seems moderately interested in me. Lifecasting serves absolutely no real benefit in everyday life other than the fact that at events like this, people are fascinated by the technology.
What I Know Now
This was before “tech bro” was a slur. Before remote work made networking events feel quaint. Before the pandemic made us forget what rooms full of strangers felt like.
The two tribes I observed? They merged. The ladder-climbers learned to code. The Web 2.0 bad boys grew up and became VCs. The arguments about whether social media had “real merit” seem adorable now.
What I miss is the energy of not knowing. The feeling that we were building something, even if we couldn’t name it yet.
We were early. We were weird. We were exactly where we needed to be. Being ahead of the curve feels like being crazy at the time. But eventually the curve catches up.
This is the lens the Bible is meant to be read through.
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