It had been weeks of preparation, countless sleepless nights, and more cups of coffee than I could count, but I finally had a business plan that I was proud of. I'd spent hours refining the concept, figuring out the logistics, and putting together a pitch that I thought would knock the socks off any potential investor. The idea was solid: a platform that streamlined the way freelancers in the service industry connected with clients, cutting through the noise and inefficiencies that bogged down existing platforms.
Today was the day. I was heading to Business Square, one of LA's most well-known hubs for startups and investors to connect. If you wanted funding, this was the place to be.
I walked into the conference room, my pitch deck loaded up on my tablet, my nerves buzzing. I had three meetings lined up with potential investors, and I had rehearsed the pitch in my head so many times that I could probably give it in my sleep. My goal was simple: secure enough capital to get the platform off the ground and start building the MVP (Minimum Viable Product). I felt ready—maybe even a little cocky.
The first meeting was with Jonathan, a middle-aged investor with a reputation for backing tech startups. He had a slick look about him—sharp suit, expensive watch, the kind of guy who probably made a hundred decisions before lunch. As I stood in front of him, I ran through my pitch with all the enthusiasm and confidence I could muster.
"And that's where we come in," I said, finishing the presentation with a flourish. "We streamline the process, making it easier for freelancers and clients to connect, cutting down time, and increasing efficiency for both sides."
Jonathan sat there, nodding slowly, his fingers tapping on the table as he glanced through my proposal. I waited, feeling my heartbeat in my throat.
Finally, he looked up at me, raising an eyebrow. "It's an interesting idea," he began, his voice measured. "But... I don't see how this is any different from what's already out there. There are dozens of platforms doing exactly what you're talking about. What makes yours stand out?"
I had anticipated this question. I had rehearsed my answer a thousand times. "What sets us apart is the simplicity and focus on the user experience. Other platforms are bloated, trying to do too many things at once. We're laser-focused on connecting freelancers and clients without all the extra noise. We're cutting down the process, making it faster and more efficient."
Jonathan nodded again, but I could tell by the way he shifted in his seat that he wasn't convinced. "Yeah, I hear you, but the market's already saturated. I'm not sure this is going to be a big enough differentiator to stand out."
I tried to keep my frustration in check. "I get that the market's crowded, but we've identified a gap—there's room for something that's more user-friendly, more streamlined. The current platforms are focused on too many things at once. We're going to specialize."
Jonathan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Specialization is great, but I just don't see the numbers here. Where's the proof that people want this? Have you run any tests? Gotten any early user feedback?"
I opened my mouth, ready to respond, but he held up a hand. "Look, Tristan, I appreciate the pitch, but it's just not enough for me. I need to see more—proof of concept, traction, something tangible. Come back when you've got that."
I clenched my jaw, nodding tightly. "Right. Thanks for your time."
I walked out of that meeting feeling deflated, but I shook it off. One investor down, two more to go. I could still turn this around.
***
The second meeting wasn't much better. This time, it was with a couple of younger investors, Emily and Raj, who specialized in early-stage startups. I gave them the same pitch, explaining how the platform would revolutionize the way freelancers connected with clients, simplifying the process and making it more efficient.
Emily listened intently, nodding along as I spoke. But when I finished, Raj jumped in with his objections almost immediately.
"I like the concept," Raj said, tapping his pen on the table. "But... the margins here are too slim. You're talking about a high-volume, low-margin business. Where's the scalability?"
I nodded, already prepared to address this. "We're planning on scaling through strategic partnerships and by expanding the platform's capabilities over time. We're starting with a niche, but the goal is to build a larger ecosystem around the service industry."
Emily frowned, glancing at Raj before turning back to me. "That's a lot of assumptions. You're counting on things working perfectly right out of the gate. But what if it doesn't? What's your backup plan if the user base doesn't grow as quickly as you expect?"
I tried to hide my frustration. "We've built flexibility into the business model. If growth is slower than anticipated, we'll pivot to focus on a different vertical, maybe even expand into other markets."
Raj sighed, shaking his head. "Look, Tristan, we've seen a lot of pitches like this. Service-based platforms are tough. The competition is fierce, and without a clear, immediate advantage, it's hard to stand out. I think you've got a solid idea, but I'm just not sure it's ready for investment yet."
I forced a smile, even though my stomach was twisting into knots. "Thanks for your feedback."
***
By the time I got to the third meeting, I was starting to lose my confidence. The last pitch was with Paul, an older investor with a gruff demeanor. He didn't sugarcoat anything, which I thought might be refreshing. But it didn't take long for him to tear my pitch apart.
"Look, kid," Paul said after I'd barely made it halfway through my presentation. "I've been doing this a long time, and I can tell you right now—you're not solving a big enough problem. The reason these other platforms are bloated, as you call it, is because they have to be. Users want all those features. You strip it down, and you're left with something too basic. It's not going to fly."
I tried to argue, tried to explain why simplicity was the key to success in this market, but Paul wasn't having it.
"Investors like me," he said, leaning forward, "we want to see something game-changing. This? This isn't game-changing. This is a smaller, skinnier version of something that already exists. I'm out."
I left Business Square that afternoon with my tail between my legs, my confidence shot to hell. I had walked in feeling ready to take on the world, but I walked out realizing just how hard this road was going to be.
***
After getting shut down by the investors at Business Square, I realized I had to change tactics if I wanted to get my project off the ground. Traditional funding wasn't going to work—at least not with where the business was at right now. I needed a new plan, a way to get the word out and raise capital without relying on investors who didn't believe in my vision.
That's when I decided to try crowdfunding. It had worked for others, and I figured if I could build enough hype around the platform, maybe I could get the backing I needed to push forward. It wasn't ideal—I'd rather have a solid investor behind me—but at this point, I was desperate. I needed something to work.
I called up Kevin, my old roommate and the guy who had helped me with the website for the restaurant back in the day. He was always on top of the latest tech trends and had a knack for setting up online platforms.
"Kevin," I said when he picked up the phone, "I need your help again."
There was a pause on the other end, followed by a familiar chuckle. "What's up, man? Another website?"
"Yeah," I said, trying not to sound too defeated. "But this time, it's for crowdfunding. I'm setting up a page on Patreon to raise money for a new business project."
Kevin was silent for a moment, and I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. "Okay," he said slowly. "I can do that. You want the full setup? Tiered rewards and all that?"
"Yeah," I replied, rubbing the back of my neck. "Make it look legit. I need this to work, man. I'm running out of options."
Kevin laughed again, but this time there was an edge of sympathy in his voice. "Don't worry, bro. I've got you. Send me the details, and I'll have it up and running in no time."
True to his word, Kevin had the Patreon page up and looking slick within a few days. It was professional, with tiered membership levels, exclusive content for backers, and a clear pitch about the platform I was trying to build. But I knew a Patreon page alone wasn't enough. I needed to drive traffic to it, and that's where the influencer came in.
I used the last of my savings—everything I had left from my time in Milan—to hire a TikTok influencer who had a decent following. Nothing too crazy, but enough to get some eyes on the project. Her name was Lily, and she specialized in promoting startup businesses and crowdfunding campaigns. Her content was polished, and she had a knack for making things look exciting and fresh.
I met her in a trendy café downtown to discuss the ad. She was in her early twenties, dressed in bright, colorful clothes that screamed TikTok influencer, with dyed pink hair and a contagious energy.
"So, what's the deal with this platform?" she asked, sipping on a matcha latte as she scrolled through her phone. "Like, how do you want me to pitch it?"
I leaned forward, trying to hide the anxiety I felt over spending the last of my cash on this. "It's a streamlined platform for freelancers to connect with clients. No bloat, no unnecessary features—just a simple, efficient way for people to get jobs done. I need you to sell the simplicity. Make it seem like this is the platform everyone's been waiting for."
Lily nodded, already jotting down notes. "Got it. You want it sleek, user-friendly, and to the point. Cool, cool. I can work with that. How soon do you need it up?"
"ASAP," I said, my voice more desperate than I intended. "I'm hoping to get some traction within the next week or two."
She smiled, her energy almost too much for me in that moment. "No worries! I'll have something up by the end of the week. We'll get people talking about it."
I paid her and left the café, feeling both nervous and excited. This had to work. There was no backup plan after this.
A week later, the TikTok ad went live. Lily did a great job. She made the platform sound like the next big thing—clean, efficient, and exactly what freelancers needed in a crowded market. The video had bright, catchy visuals, and she used her usual upbeat tone to make the pitch seem fresh and exciting. It was everything I'd hoped for.
At first, things seemed to be going well. The video got thousands of views within the first few days, and the Patreon page started seeing some traffic. A few people even signed up for the higher-tier memberships, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a surge of hope. Maybe this could actually work.
But that hope was short-lived.
On the fifth day, I started noticing something weird. A few comments appeared under the TikTok video, accusing the platform of being a scam. At first, I brushed it off—just trolls, I figured. But then more comments came in. People started posting things like:
"This looks sketchy as hell. Has anyone actually used this?" "Why does this sound like every other scam out there?" "I bet this guy just wants your money. Don't fall for it!"
I tried to ignore it, hoping it would blow over, but the comments kept coming. And then, on the seventh day, everything went to hell.
I woke up to an email from Patreon. My account had been flagged for fraud.
"WTF..." I muttered, sitting up in bed, my heart pounding as I read the message. They claimed that several users had reported the campaign as suspicious, and as a result, they were suspending the page while they conducted an investigation.
"No, no, no..." I whispered, scrambling to log in, but it was too late. The page had already been taken down. Everything was gone.
In a panic, I checked the TikTok video, only to find that it had been removed as well. My account had been reported and flagged for violating TikTok's community guidelines, and just like that, my entire online presence for the business was wiped out.
I sat there in disbelief, staring at the screen as everything I'd worked for vanished in front of me. It felt like a punch to the gut, like someone had ripped the rug out from under me, and I didn't even know who to blame.
I called Kevin, barely able to keep the anger out of my voice. "Kevin, man, my Patreon and TikTok pages just got fking shut down. They're saying it's fraud!"
There was a pause on the other end, and I could hear Kevin sigh. "Shit, dude. That's... that's bad. Did they say why?"
"People reported it," I snapped. "It's bullshit. I don't even know why this is happening."
Kevin sighed again. "Sometimes, it doesn't take much. A few people cry 'scam,' and platforms panic. They're just covering their asses."
I leaned back, running a hand through my hair, feeling the last of my energy drain away. "So what the hell do I do now?"
Kevin didn't have an answer, and neither did I.
Q: Have you ever donated to Patreon before?