Build What People Love!

Over my eight-year startup journey, I’ve frequently heard the advice—especially from the likes of Y Combinator—to “build what people love.” On the surface, it sounds entirely reasonable: if people love something, they’ll use it, buy it, and eagerly spread the word. But with time and experience, I’ve come to see that this advice isn’t as straightforward as it appears.

People often fall in love with things that deliver instant gratification—whether it’s a fancier ice cream, a quicker samosa delivery, or a viral dopamine hit. But many worthwhile ideas don’t spark that instant reaction. And that doesn’t make them any less valuable—or any less destined for love in time. Some of the most impactful ideas begin as outliers—misunderstood or overlooked—simply because they don’t cater to what’s instantly lovable. One-tap food delivery and impulse-driven mobile games thrive on immediate appeal, but ideas with real depth often need time to resonate.

Take Airbnb, for instance. In the beginning, the idea of renting a stranger’s couch sounded absurd to many. But the founders had a clear vision that people would love the freedom, affordability, and human connection it offered—they just didn’t know it yet. The Airbnb team simply saw a future others hadn’t caught up to yet—and stayed the course until the world began to see it too.

When you’re building something ahead of its time, it’s rare to get instant traction. That doesn’t mean the idea is flawed. Often, the real work lies in quietly preparing the ground while waiting for the world to catch up. Like in John Kotter’s book Our Iceberg Is Melting, which tells the story of a penguin who must convince her colony to prepare for an approaching threat before it’s visible to all—it’s about recognizing what’s coming and setting the stage for change, even before others see it. That stretch—when you’re building and explaining and waiting—is hard. Bringing others along takes quiet resilience and a kind of belief that can’t be faked.

Jensen Huang once said: you have to build a great past to earn the benefit of the doubt for a bold future. That credibility becomes your buffer—it keeps people aligned with your vision even when the road is foggy.

Sam Altman’s journey with OpenAI is another example. YC is known for backing products people already love. But when Altman started OpenAI, very few people knew what it was really aiming to do. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t immediately lovable—it mattered that it was necessary and bold. Today, it’s shaping how the world understands and interacts with AI.

Paul Graham’s idea of “Founder Mode” also resonates with me—not as a rulebook, but as a lens. To me, Founder Mode is about operating from first principles, staying hands-on and close to the problem when conventional structures say you should step back.

Over time, I’ve started treating advice less like gospel and more like data. Everyone shares what worked for them or didn’t, and from that, they derive thumb rules. Those are useful signals—but they’re not universal truths. So now, whenever I come across a strong opinion or a polished playbook, I pause. What’s the logic behind this advice? Does it match where I am, or what I’m building? Are there hidden assumptions that don’t fit Olbrain Labs? This kind of questioning keeps me grounded. It keeps me focused on our context—not someone else’s highlight reel.

There’s a big difference between addressing today’s demand and preparing for tomorrow’s need. Founders building for current markets create real value. But those pursuing seemingly odd or early ideas—like new kinds of communities, social models, or consumer tools—are simply betting on a different timeline. They’re not chasing love in the moment. They’re building patiently toward futures others will learn to love.

Of course, that path isn’t easy. It demands conviction when things aren’t working, and faith when you feel invisible. I remember something Padup Ventures founder Pankaj Thakar said at a bootcamp: founders must assess their means—”who you are“, “what you know“, and “whom you know“—and make realistic execution plans. If that self-awareness is strong, it becomes your compass when everything else feels uncertain.

Looking back, I’ve come to see that there’s no single way to build a meaningful company. Whether you’re chasing instant traction or playing the long game—both are valid. But if you’re in the second camp, as I’ve often found myself with Olbrain Labs, it helps to remember that some of the most powerful companies weren’t obvious in the beginning.

And so for me, resilience isn’t just about surviving the startup game. It’s about holding space for a vision that the world hasn’t caught up to yet. And sometimes, that’s where the real magic lies—in quietly building the future before the world is ready to love it.