By: Brandon Shelton. Esq.
Before guiding early-stage startups around the VC-painted hazard warnings, and before I even attended law school, I started my undergrad education at UCSB’s BFA acting program. It was one of the most formative and exciting parts of my life. I had no formal training, save for a couple of classes I took at a small community college in San Antonio while moonlighting as a computer programmer in the Air Force (literally—this was in the immediate aftermath of 9/11, which caused our squadron to shift to a 24-hour operation). The program was exclusive, and produced some wildly talented artists. It required an audition, and I got in.
In one of the first classes I had under the instruction of the wonderful Risa Brainin, we were tasked with a simple exercise: (1) There is an imaginary line. (2) Without yourself crossing to physically coerce her, get Risa to cross the line to you. That was 100% of the instructions.
I don’t quite remember how many people went before me, but those that did used various tactics to no avail: One student literally pulled $100 bills out of his wallet and placed them in a row to himself. Others begged and pleaded in various ways, and Risa opted against crossing the line each time. The attempts were cute, but not compelling.
Except when it was my turn.
I knew immediately what I wanted to do right when the exercise was described. Somewhere in the juvenile part of my brain, I think I remembered reading in a children’s book about how Ramona Quimby held her breath to get her way, so my tactic was clear: I was going to hold my breath until Risa crossed. Or even if she didn’t. It was her choice. I wasn’t kidding. I told Risa exactly that.
I laid down on the stage of the black box theatre, crossed my hands behind my head, took a big quasi-final gasp of air, puffed out my cheeks and waited.
10 seconds… no Risa.
20 seconds… no Risa.
30 seconds… Risa stops playfully pacing and watches. My sincerity becomes more apparent in parallel with whatever shade of red my face had become at this point.
We are nearing a full minute and—OK! Risa crosses. I finally breathe (I was convinced I could have gone much longer, so on some level, I was disappointed that I couldn’t show that off) and laugh that it actually worked.
The class was also pretty tickled and cheered the result. Someone quipped about how “method” that was (a term in which I had exactly zero context or understanding at the time).
On the spot, Risa explained that in a scene, there needs to be stakes. Your effect on the people opposite you (including your audience) is just as important as your lines and your own intent. You need to be able to impress upon others the sincerity of what you truly need from them in order to cause them to react sincerely. To get that, you have to dig deep and show them something real.
This exercise and this message are forever etched into my cortex (side note: medical school was never on the table for me for all the brain anatomy police).
The same logic easily translates to the successful startup’s pitch. It is not enough that it is a good idea. It’s not even enough that you have a clear path designed in your mind. The companies that I see get the most enthusiastic funding in a convertible note, SAFE, Series Seed, or Series A (and even later rounds) are those that SHOW the investors that the stakes are real. They have spoken to potential customers, and maybe even bootstrapped and demoed an MVP or beta version. They have financial projections. They have plan phases and organization charts. They have their IP goals laid out. They have a strong team story behind them. They have their corporate structure well thought out–we are already formed as a Delaware c-corp!
They don’t just say that they can hold their breath. They take the gasp of air, puff out their cheeks, and make the stakes real on this stage today. Those are the companies that get the investors to cross the line. Make your pitch deck stand out, because everyone before you is just asking very earnestly.
