Already a Bloomberg.com user?
Sign in with the same account.
Earlier this year, as the stock market plunged, most bankers and other financiers hoarded capital and throttled back on new deals. But not Josh Kopelman. Even in the bleakest months, the co-founder of the venture capital firm First Round Capital hustled after startups to write them checks.
Take one sunny morning in February. Kopelman sits in the San Francisco loft of First Round's West Coast office across a table from Gary Briggs. A veteran entrepreneur, Briggs just took over as CEO at Plastic Jungle, a startup building an online marketplace where consumers can buy, sell, or trade gift cards. "There's about $40 billion of unused gift cards on retailers' balance sheets," says Briggs, so focused he doesn't touch the salad ordered in for his lunch.
Kopelman hops up to sketch on a whiteboard. He wants Briggs to describe in detail how Plastic Jungle makes money. "So you get a fee here?" Kopelman asks, drawing a thicket of lines and figures. The CEO explains that with each sale or transfer of a gift card, the company takes a commission. The VC ends the meeting by saying he wants to "kick the site's tires" and confirm retailers' willingness to sell cards on the site. A week later, First Round agrees to pay $1 million for an equity stake.
Even faced with a financial world aflame, Kopelman and a wave of new investors are running straight for the fire. It may be bravery or foolishness, but they're funding startups and entrepreneurs at a time when almost everyone else is holding back. In the latest sign of conflagration, venture capital investment plummeted 61% in the first quarter, to $3 billion, the lowest level since 1997. Only $169 million of that went to companies seeking their first round of venture money, what's known as seed-stage investments.
Kopelman thinks the problems in venture capital go beyond the recession. He says many old-line firms have gotten too big and unwieldy to build innovative companies the way they used to, and many angels, individuals who invest in startups, don't have enough money to back most high-tech ideas. Kopelman and a band of up-and-comers are championing a different tack. They want to reinvigorate venture capital by taking it back to its roots, when firms were smaller, more nimble, and more likely to help startups get off the ground. "I don't think a lot of people have been entrepreneurial about venture capital," says Kopelman.
Besides First Round, these "super angels," as they're called in the industry, include Baseline Ventures, Maples Investments, and Felicis Ventures. They're pushing ahead and financing startups even as big-name venture firms cut back and conserve capital until the economy improves. First Round Capital has quietly become the country's most active seed-stage investor, outpacing such marquee names as Sequoia Capital and Kleiner Perkins Caufield & Byers. In fact, First Round bet on the online personal finance site Mint.com after Sequoia took a pass on the deal—and watched the startup blossom into a rival to Intuit (INTU). "They took a risk on a 25-year-old kid," says Mint.com chief Aaron Patzer, who's now 28.
Kopelman's aggressiveness stands in sharp contrast to the accepted wisdom on Sand Hill Road, the heart of the venture business in Silicon Valley. Last fall Sequoia gave a presentation to its portfolio companies, entitled "R.I.P. Good Times," urging them to slash spending quickly. It was a defining moment in the downturn: Many venture firms took it as a wake-up call to shut struggling startups and halt most new investments.
Kopelman could pay a steep price for moving in the opposite direction. While he has a track record of strong returns and is considered a rising star in the venture field, he has never faced the risks he does today. Not only does he confront the usual challenges of startups but he also could get tripped up by a litany of economic problems. "Investing in young companies is always risky," says Josh Lerner, a professor at Harvard Business School. "Investing in young companies during a time of enormous economic uncertainty is particularly risky."
Getting the venture model right may be crucial for the U.S. economy, whether it's done by Kopelman or someone else. Over the past 60 years the money and expertise provided by venture firms has led to the creation of thousands of companies, including Intel (INTL), Genentech (DNA), FedEx (FDX), and Google (GOOG). A study by the National Venture Capital Assn. found that U.S. venture-backed companies generated 10 million jobs and 18% of the nation's gross domestic product from 1970 to 2005.
Kopelman got an early start in the business. His grandfather, Herman Fialkov, founded chip pioneer General Transistor and later started the venture firm Geiger & Fialkov. Kopelman interned at the firm the summer after he finished high school, tagging along with his grandfather to board meetings and to hunt for deals on Long Island. "I was the fly-on-the-wall note taker," says Kopelman.
Now 38, Kopelman crisscrosses the U.S. twice a month from his Philadelphia home to look over 2,300 potential deals a year and stay on top of companies he's backing. We first met over lunch in a Manhattan eatery. As he sat down, Kopelman argued the traditional venture approach is fundamentally flawed: "When you look at the math of venture, I think it is broken."
Kopelman grabbed a napkin and began scribbling. Venture firms raise money from institutional investors and wealthy individuals in discrete funds (usually known by such names as First Capital I, First Capital II, etc.). To give a fund's investors a 20% annual return, the firm needs to triple the money raised within a six-year period, Kopelman said. For a $400 million fund, that means returning $1.2 billion to investors. Since VCs typically don't want the risk of holding more than 20% of the companies they invest in, they have to help build a few companies with a total of $6 billion in market value. But in the past few years only a handful of companies have sold or gone public for more than $1 billion. "You sit there and say, 'Holy crap, that model doesn't work,' " said Kopelman.
What's a venture capitalist to do? For Kopelman and other super angels, the answer is to get small. Over the past five years they have launched funds with $100 million or less and financed hundreds of companies, including Facebook, Digg, and Twitter. Ten years ago, when it cost $5 million to launch a startup, firms such as First Round couldn't exist. But thanks to plummeting technology costs, Kopelman & Co. can help companies launch products today for less than $1 million. "Five hundred thousand is the new $5 million," says Mike Maples Jr., who founded Maples Investments three years ago.
Super angels still aim for billion-dollar exits, but their model doesn't hinge on home runs. Instead, they can profit by hitting singles and doubles and reducing their strikeouts. First Round's second fund, raised in 2007, was $50 million. So Kopelman needs to return $150 million to the investors to hit a 20% annual return. His firm has done better than that: Its first two funds have generated a 35% annual rate of return after fees, says one investor in the funds. Among its successes: StumbleUpon, a Web recommendation tool bought by eBay, and search engine Powerset, acquired by Microsoft.
Established venture firms argue that the super-angel model has limits. Michael Moritz, whose Sequoia Capital backed Google, Cisco Systems (CSCO), and Electronic Arts (ERTS), says big venture firms can do certain kinds of deals that smaller ones can't. With $1 billion, for example, you can back capital-intensive startups in green energy or explore deals in China and elsewhere abroad. Still, super angels play an important and growing role, Moritz says. "My guess is more of it happens over the next few years because of the dearth of financing [for early-stage deals]," he says.
Kopelman's strategy—and strong returns—have won him deep-pocketed supporters. The endowments at Yale, Princeton, and Northwestern universities signed up for First Round's third fund, a $125 million vehicle raised last year. Another backer is Christopher A. Douvos, co-head of private equity investing for the Investment Fund for Foundations, an investment adviser for nonprofits. He agreed to put tens of millions into the third fund. Still, he says there are clear risks to investing in such early-stage deals. "You have to have courage to invest in this strategy," Douvos says.
One day this spring, Kopelman lines up back-to-back-to-back meetings in his San Francisco outpost. The loft has tall ceilings and a foosball table. After interrogating a young entrepreneur in the first meeting, Kopelman quickly lets him know his idea needs refinement. "There's one thing I've learned about entrepreneurs' business plans," he says, bringing the meeting to a close. "Every one is wrong."
Kopelman would know. His early experience in venture capital gave him the confidence to hatch a startup while still an undergraduate at the Wharton School of the University of Pennsylvania. He took the company public in 1996 when he was just 25. In 1999 he left to start an online marketplace, Half.com, for used books and videos. A year later, eBay (EBAY) bought Half.com for $312 million.
Today, Kopelman sees a wealth of opportunities in building businesses on information freely available on the Web (what he calls "data exhaust") or ones that are disrupting markets with cheaper Web technology. After the first meeting, Kopelman settles in to brainstorm with one of those disruptors. Kevin Reeth is CEO of Outright.com, a provider of online bookkeeping software that just launched its first product.
In this exchange, Kopelman switches roles, becoming more parent than prosecutor. After Reeth explains his main challenge is customer acquisition, Kopelman suggests hiring a marketing exec and launching a guerrilla marketing campaign. The idea: Set up a Web site, canyougetconfirmed.com, that would play off of the troubles former Senator Tom Daschle ran into when Obama nominated him for a Cabinet post. The site would lure customers with free tax tips. Reeth likes it.
Kopelman and partner Rob Hayes adjourn the meeting and scramble to make a flight to Southern California. An assistant hands them their bags, tickets, and travel info, and they whirl out the door. "Welcome to Josh's world," says the assistant.
In March, Kopelman meets with Jose Ferreira, chief executive of an online education startup called Knewton, at its spartan headquarters in New York's Greenwich Village. Knewton sells LSAT and GMAT prep courses online, in competition with giants Kaplan and Princeton Review (REVU), but its aim is to use the Web to offer better teaching for less money. Whereas textbooks provide the same material to everyone, Knewton has developed an adaptive technology tailored to the strengths and weaknesses of each student. Knewton is betting its software may be adopted by publishers and other education companies.
Knewton's board has already approved two partnerships, including one deal to license its technology to a publisher. Ferreira wants to cut more deals. But Kopelman says he is concerned that if Knewton does more deals it will spread itself too thin. Tension fills the air. "The most powerful word a CEO can say is no," Kopelman tells Ferreira.
"What happens if Princeton Review comes to us and wants to make a deal?" asks Ferreira.
Kopelman does not budge. "It's worth going to Boston to see them," he says. "But promise me you won't sign anything. I want to see deal points." Ferreira agrees.
Kopelman knows First Round needs to keep taking risks. That's why his firm just launched an event called Office Hours, a sort of American Idol for aspiring entrepreneurs. Several times a year, First Round will offer anyone the opportunity to get 10 minutes with Kopelman and his partners to stress-test their business plan. "We think it's important when a lot of VCs are cutting back that we get out there and see as many people as we can," he says.
One recent gathering took place at Live Bait, a watering hole in New York's Flatiron district. An intern at the firm asks everyone to sign a log-in sheet. It's first come, first served. At 2 p.m. Kopelman orders a sandwich at the bar, sits down at a table, and starts talking. First Round partner Howard Morgan grabs another table. The atmosphere recalls the informality of the early venture days, when firms such as Sequoia and the Mayfield Fund would meet at the Mark Hopkins Hotel in San Francisco for lunch and bat around ideas.
Entrepreneurs arrive, then mill around the bar. By 2:45, 35 people have showed up, including two who drove 90 minutes from Philadelphia. "My hands are cold," says Yasmine Mustafa to her partner, Aaron Hoffer-Perkins. "That means I am nervous." The duo are quitting their jobs to launch a company that helps bloggers make money from their sites.
When the intern says it's their turn, Yasmine springs up and the two walk over to meet Kopelman. Ten minutes later they head back to the bar for a drink on First Round's tab. "It was awesome," says Yasmine. "It actually spawned new ideas, which is what we want before we develop the product."
"Always fast, always to the point, no B.S.," adds Aaron.
I check in with Kopelman around 3:15. With the deep troubles on Wall Street, Kopelman says he's surprised at the level of entrepreneurial action in New York. "It's going great," he says. Peering down at his notebook, Kopelman says he has already met with eight entrepreneurs and heard two original ideas. "Several ideas we are going to follow up with," he says. Then he quickly heads back in to meet more entrepreneurs.
To understand the factors causing problems among big venture firms, check out "Venture Capital's Coming Collapse," a January 2009 Forbes cover story. The upshot? Returns are poor for most funds, the IPO market on which venture depends is shut, and big companies are less likely to buy promising startups.
To read this article, go to http://bx.businessweek.com/venture-capital/reference/
Ante is an associate editor for BusinessWeek.