On New Year’s Eve 1990, I was 14 years old, standing outside a club in Manhattan with a VIP ticket in my hand that might as well have said “this kid does not belong here.” My black-on-black outfit was carefully calculated, sleeves rolled to just the right fold, and my suede Dr. Martens had seen maybe one other party: my friend’s bar mitzvah. I was freezing, faking, and fully convinced that if I didn’t get into that club, my life would be over.

That night, I got in. Barely. And that moment — that freezing, awkward, exhilarating, low-key fraudulent moment — is when I learned something I’ve carried through every business I’ve built and every founder I’ve backed:

Success is just getting past velvet ropes over and over again.

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