Hard lessons in my twenties

My twenties are coming to a close in a few days. Like many people in my position, I got to thinking: “What do I really wish I had known when I was twenty?”

I suppose I could recapitulate professional and business lessons in easily digestible form, but does the tech entrepreneur self-help genre really need my help to survive? I could write about the evolution of my politico-philosophical positions, but I do that already. When I think about the kinds of insights I most wish I had when I was twenty, I think about the harder pills to swallow–the ones in the world of life, love and people. So, I’m going to talk about those.

It’s not that age thirty is a snow-capped summit of shareable wisdom–no, indeed, one of the lessons from my twenties is how little I truly know. But another thing I’ve learned acutely in my twenties is that the road can end abruptly at any time, so if you want to write down some thoughts, don’t wait until you’re seventy and retired to write memoirs. It’s a cruel trade-off, because at seventy you’ll have a lot more credibility. But you may not get the chance to employ it.

Not all these thoughts originate in my direct experience. Some do, and I’ll own that. Some I’d rather disavow so as to not look like an idiot; you know, “asking for a friend” here. Some others are from observing the lives and fates of those close by, particularly where their experiences are more diverse. The ambiguity I’ve created here lets me steal a bit of their thunder and make my twenties potentially seem more interesting and original–or catastrophic–than they were.

And so:

1. The biggest advantage of youth is youth.

You only get:

  • Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed excitement
  • Huge amounts of physical and mental energy
  • Low maintenance and high risk tolerance

once, and if you don’t use them, they’re gone forever. You’re never getting them back.

I’m going to frame this in tech entrepreneurship terms because that’s close to home, but it applies equally well to any hard endeavours: launching a substantive career, getting a doctorate, doing significant research, writing a book, opening a shop, becoming an expert.

We often talk about “working smarter” versus “working harder”, and surely, working smarter is an important evolution. But to attach to the value chain in the first place, there’s a lot to be said for working harder. Sometimes there’s just no substitute for raw hustle. The cruel reality is that not everything can run on “vision” and “management”; someone’s got to be down in the boiler room, and some problems can only be tackled with huge inputs of raw energy, high motivation and brute force.

When I was twenty, I could write code for twelve hours in a dark room without a care in the world. Nowadays, I’d say two to three hours is a banner day, and I might need a mental break tomorrow. If nothing else, my eyes and limbs can’t take it; I’ve got all sorts of little aches and pains I didn’t used to have.

Much is made of “a lifetime of learning”, and that’s good and fine, but the reality is that most of us do become more sclerotic with age and our habits become more ingrained. We get intellectually fatigued from seeing the same patterns over and over. We get physically tired.

From a competitive standpoint, it’s really hard to kill a “Ramen-profitable” 23 year-old rooming cheaply with some buddies. At that age and life situation, one needs almost nothing to survive. What’s the worst that could happen? He could fail completely and move back in with his parents for a while? A businessman like that is like a cockroach; you could drop an atomic bomb on him and he’d still be kicking. In contrast, a guy with two kids, a mortgage, daycare, medical bills and wifely lifestyle expectations is a sitting duck with a massive burn rate. If his income stalls below six figures, he’s going to have to quit and do something else.

Now that it’s become sociologically normal to view one’s twenties as an extension of high school, many folks let their twenties go to waste. I pissed away my twenties, too. I started my company at age 22, but by that point I managed to buy a downtown condo, incurring two mortgages and a car payment. That high minimal personal expense base doomed me to spinning my wheels for years on consulting in order to stay afloat when I should have been building product–effectively, the same kind of funding constraints as the 40 year-old guy with a family. And I didn’t hustle nearly as hard as I should have; I wasted a lot of time and money with stupid distractions.

Yeah, I’ve got some kind of “work smarter” play in motion, but the point is that I’m not getting my 22 year-old self back. If you’re lucky enough to still be in your early twenties, recognise that your time is now, and the world is your oyster. You may not have the wisdom and experience of older folk, but you’ve got 200,000 lbs of thrust and tiny gross tonnage; that’ll get you to space, if you really want to go. Stop watching Celebrity Apprentice and go do something real. You’ll never have the same opportunity again.

2. It’s important to build a real identity.

It’s relatively commonplace nowadays to see people in their twenties wile away some of their most socially formative and interactively significant years on an exterior of “ironic” or sarcastic hipsterism, or veil themselves in thick shrouds of pop culture inside jokes, movie references, or Internet memes. That’s about the only kind of conversation you can have with them.

The appeal is easy to understand; it’s lazy as can be, requiring little personal ethos and cultural literacy (of the non-pop culture sort), and only moderate brain candlepower. More importantly, it’s risk-free, since anything one says in this insincere mode of social operation is easily disavowed or denied. As Christy Wampole said in the excellent article Living Without Irony:

… irony functions as a kind of credit card you never have to pay back. In other words, the hipster can frivolously invest in sham social capital without ever paying back one sincere dime. He doesn’t own anything he possesses.

Social capital is a game where one must pay to play. If you bring nothing to the table, you get nothing. Despite their occasional short-lived hit singles, the full-time “ironic” and “absurdist” are utterly discardable, forgettable people. When their black day arrives, nobody will come to their funeral, because they impressed nothing upon anyone worth remembering. Hopefully relieved of the naive invincibility of late teenage years, it’s time to give some thought to what would be said at your eulogy and written on your tombstone if you died tomorrow. Do you want your immortal contribution to the world to be that you had a kitschy hat, a snarky one-liner, or a Lolcat for every occasion?

To build real relationships, to learn and to grow, you’ve got to do the hard work of growing intellectual and moral backbone, and you’ve got to learn to defend it while negotiating bridges of understanding with others. It requires putting yourself out there and making yourself vulnerable. It requires applying yourself toward a directed purpose, an ongoing project of who you want to be when you grow up.

3. The pervasive current of truth about most of humanity is a conservative one — and that’s okay.

You can pick up on this most easily by observing the habits and lifestyles of white middle-class liberals in the US. You’ll notice they mostly have rather conventional and morally upright marriages, and aim to raise rather morally upright and conventionally successful children. Officially, they’ll pay much lip service to morally relativistic fashions and postmodern eclecticism, but that mostly concerns other people’s rights, not their own lives. Consider where they choose to live, which schools they send their children to, and the positions they take in zoning forums. Sure, they’re all for recognition of non-cisgendered non-binary pansexual genderbenderqueer whatever, but watch their reaction when their son comes home in drag and says he’s screwing a black guy.

In general, even these people tend toward those who are sociologically similar. They can be notionally against the death penalty, but not when it’s their sister’s murderer. They’re against militaristic foreign policy until someone flies a plane into their office tower. They’re against militarisation of police and martial authority until their neighbourhood is overrun by vagrant looters. They’re enthusiastically for affirmative action and equal opportunity policies to rectify historical racial inequity until a busload of Hispanic gangbangers is unloaded into their kids’ AP Calculus class.

They’re not hypocrites. They’re just trying harder than most to keep the politically correct cat in the bag, because that’s their shtick. But occasionally, fissures form in this elaborate fiction, and if you peek in and look around, you’ll see that they’re normal people, after all. There are some earnest progressives among the progressive–mostly unreconstructed flower children and their confused descendants. But when it comes to things like family morality, sexual mores and sociocultural dilution, most liberals agitate for rainbow causes on the implicit theory that other people can “live and let live”. While other people deal with the consequences, liberals trumpet their progressive, tolerant values without their own skin in the game, and everyone walks away happy. This is great news for people living at the margins who used to be actively persecuted and just want to be left alone, but it can give a very wrong idea about what people think privately.

Still, in our highly individualistic and politically correct age, it’s comme il faut in all but the most parochial circles to belch out at least a nominal paean to social liberalism–that is, unless you want to taint yourself with some kind of retrograde Republicanism and its populist dog whistle, conservative Christianity. This leads to the misapprehension that most of people are quite liberal, but it’s a siren song. Taking it at face value in one’s twenties means ignoring the realities of people’s private judgement, and it can lead to some harsh consequences.

One area is friendship and reputation. I’ve lost good friends over some unhealthy lifestyle choices in my mid-twenties which telegraphed flimsy constitution and poor impulse control. It’s one of those things where everyone is superficially very tolerant and accepting–democratic live-and-let-live and all this–but one day I woke up and realised that, while they do speak to me, they’re not really my friends anymore.

It’s astoundingly easy to fling yourself clear out of respectable society if you don’t see past the veneer of tolerance–if you actually allow yourself to believe that people don’t believe in respectable society anymore. I don’t know what’s worse, falling for that scam or never having been taught that there’s such a thing as respectable society. The latter is the stuff of bad education from unreconstructed sixties hippies, who never quite got over their sentimental attachment to the idea of disestablishing the whole thing. It’s poetic, but it sets up your children for failure.

“Don’t judge me!” is a facile bit of sloganeering, a thumb-sucking fantasy. Of course people will judge you! Judgment about others’ character is part of the basic inductive reasoning integral to our species’ survival. We live in a socially and morally interdependent universe, and the painstakingly evolved mechanics of social cohesion and shared morality–the stuff of anthropology–predate the latest fads and nouveau projects in sociology by what, a few millenia?

The consequences of my actions in this area are entirely mine to own and live with. I wish I could go back and give myself a blunt reminder that the world works more like my parents and other elders said it does, and less like the ostensibly freewheeling Bacchanalia of mass-culture would have us believe.

Also, because I’ve seen it happen to others around me: sleeping around for both genders robs them of valuable experience and skills of relationship-building, since sloppy, drunk sex requires none of them. I’ve seen far too many peers come out of a Lost Decade like that with no capacity to relate to another human being. It’s common for twenty-somethings to conflate quantity and quality in talking about the much-prized “life experience”. A decade on heroin is knowledge, but not good or useful knowledge.

4. The quality of the people with whom you surround yourself is of paramount importance.

One of the fallacies of the Anglo-American penchant for individualism is that it is given to paint one’s journey through life as that of a free electron, associating incidentally with various atoms from time to time in a kind of undifferentiated way. This is amplified by the American national mythos of the socially mobile, implicitly classless society, as well as the value of “diverse experiences” to “broaden horizons”.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my twenties, it’s that this is a grand, epic lie. Life experience is good, but not all diverse experiences are worth having, and not all horizons need to be broadened. We are social animals, and we adapt to those around us. It follows from this that if you surround yourself with bad people, they will slowly pull you down to their level, no matter how clever you are. Your choice of friends and partners is a powerful signal to other people whose opinion is important to you, just like anything else. There’s no judgement-free zone.

To advance through life productively, it is important to take a page from the social rules of the Old World and acknowledge the existence of social strata and concepts like “level of cultural development”; your friends and your loved ones must embody the values in which you would like to commune. If you aim to conserve a cultured upbringing, you must be around cultured people. If you would like to live a healthy life, you must do it with healthy people.

I’ve also come to appreciate that shared values are the single most strongly indicated prerequisite for a successful marriage or long-term relationship. When I was younger, I would have said that the most important thing is intellectual parity and intelligence. This is not exactly correct; a couple with disparate intellects but with a wide base of common inner-cultural understandings and unspoken agreements on what’s important, right and wrong will be a lot more durable than two brilliant people who are what you might call “civilisationally incommensurable”. It just happens that common values among intelligent people tend to necessitate common intelligence; if education, literacy, and higher-order self-actualisation are important values for both of you, it will logically come to pass that you will get together only if you’re both smart.

The iceberg to watch out for here for is falling out of the bottom. This is easier to do in a large, highly individualistic society largely bereft of traditional drip pans. You’re free to fall through the cracks, and in the name of official tolerance, everyone will let you. However, as I said in #3, your fellow human beings aren’t actually as fluid, bendable and tolerant as the brochure advertises.

I said above: “It’s astoundingly easy to fling yourself clear out of respectable society if you don’t see past the veneer of tolerance…” The meaning here is that if you lose your connection to the people who are truly important to you and let the aspects of life you most value slip through your fingers, it may be hard to get them back.

Here, too, the folk American sociology tells some lies: people are forever saying it’s easy to make a fresh start. Perhaps. But while the world is large, the parts of it in which you’d want to hold membership are much smaller. They talk. The most important lesson of all in my twenties is that this culture wants for a resurrection of the pedagogical primacy that used to be placed on the concepts of reputation, word, pride and dignity. If someone had informed me that most of the world still believes in these things, I would have made rather different choices, as would–hopefully–many of my peers.

Why I love Industrious, and about coworking and offices more generally

I’m one of those people who just hates working at home.

Oh, it seemed incredibly cool when it was the forbidden fruit. Back when I had to make a bleary-eyed, tedious commute to some cube at 9 AM and put cover sheets on TPS reports or listen to coworkers’ incessant sports talk, working from home was a rare and coveted treat, the stuff of dreams. Imagine, saving the world in my bathrobe, all the fine things in life at my fingertips: refrigerator, snacks, couch, coffee table, a breather on the balcony!

Stressed Man Working At Laptop In Home OfficeHowever, after I went out into the reputedly exciting world of self-employment around this time eight years ago, the novelty wore off after a week or two and the bleak reality set in. I’m an extrovert and I don’t handle extended loneliness well. Not leaving the house was depressing and unhealthy. It was not conducive to a routine; I quickly developed a chronically dispirited mood, exquisitely strange and shifty sleep rhythms (even by my nocturnal standards), and eating habits worthy of a bulletin from the Surgeon General.

Asleep at workOddly enough, this was unrelated to whether I lived alone, with a long-term romantic partner, or family and friends. Certainly, I can’t work at home these days in a small apartment with three young kids, but for most of the eight-year history of this business, I lived alone or with an adult partner no less busy than I. Also, I spent a few years living overseas. In all cases, I was dysfunctional working at home–or whatever place served the role of home–and I hated it. To stay sane and produce consistently, I need some kind of routine, a commute, movement and walking, coworkers, water-cooler talk, lunch meetings, and the overall psychological compartmentalisation that comes with a distinctive work-space. If I don’t have that, things go downhill fast.

I had to go somewhere to work routinely, even if it was just a coffee shop. And so began a long journey through half a dozen or so workspaces, whose evolution somewhat tracked the growth and increasing sophistication of my company. I’m going to talk about a few of them here before I get to Industrious, my happy home for as long as they’re willing to have me.

Coffee shops and open-area coworking spaces

I’m pretty sure coffee shops are part of the workspace lifecycle of just about every freelancer. Freelancer suitably describes the state of my consulting business in the first two years (2008-2009), and I spent untold hours at Starbucks or its local-colour alternatives in Atlanta and Athens, GA.


The Cascade complex in Yerevan, Armenia, and the location of the second Green Bean–one of my favourite places to work.

For putting up with my tiresome hunched-over-laptop presence over the years, big thanks go out to:

I can only hope that all the money I spent made up for the annoyance of me bumming around endlessly.

The basic problems of working out of coffee shops are fairly well known. They’re noisy, so phone calls are tough to impossible. Seating is not guaranteed, and is far from always comfortable or ergonomic. There’s always the awkward economic aspect of earning your keep; even if you’re not frugal (I’m not), there’s only so much stuff you can buy while sitting somewhere for the better part of a day, and depending on how much foot traffic the coffee shop has, the owners may or may not love you as a semi-permanent fixture. Even if they love you, it gets socially weird showing up at the same retail food service outlet every day as if you live there. It’s a coffee shop, not an office.

But the real problem for me was that I needed an office, not a table. Much has been written about the importance for developer productivity of having a room with a door that closes, and I won’t belabour it here. More critically, I’m not one of those people that can live out of his laptop. If nothing else, my poor eyes and limbs can’t take it. I need peripherals, a real display (or several), a quality desk phone, and a place to store files, documents and gadgets. In other words, I need an actual workplace, not an ephemeral seat at a table.

My first move up the chain from retail coffee shops was to classical coffee shop/open area-style coworking spaces, then a relatively new idea. In late 2009, I tried the new and experimental (and since defunct) Ignition Alley collective near City Hall East here in Atlanta. It was a good concept and I admire Tim Dorr and Mike Schinkel for trying it, but it was just not viable from a physical perspective. It was one of numerous hipster-type urban renewal projects, a valiant effort to rehabilitate a dilapidated, grungy industrial building. There wasn’t enough money behind it to actually do that. It was a cold, damp, and clammy winter. Like many projects of its kind, IA wasn’t a place I would have brought a customer or a colleague to.

The fundamental deficiency in this type of coworking space, rather popular now globally, is that it’s not much of an improvement over a coffee shop. You’re still expected to come in and find a seat with your laptop–there’s no persistence. They’re better than a coffee shop because they’re quieter, understood to be for working, and you can stay there all day without feeling guilty or awkward, but in the best case it ends up being something like a library study room.

Some coworking spaces offer rentable dedicated desks to address this, as Ignition Alley did. I also spent a few months in spring 2013 renting a desk-spot (with no entitlement to any particular desk) at the quirky Sankt Oberholz in Berlin, which has both a coworking-oriented downstairs coffee shop and a dedicated members-only coworking space upstairs. It’s all situated in a fascinating 19th century building off the Rosenthaler Platz U-Bahn station in East Berlin. I also spent a month or so at Roam Atlanta in Dunwoody in late 2014, having just returned to the US and not yet found my new working home. They have created a nice members-only coffee shop with lots of nooks and crannies, but it’s still just a coffee shop.

I was content with these compromises while travelling abroad, but I can’t run a serious company–one-man or otherwise–out of a coffee shop. It clearly works for a large category of freelancers and so-called “digital nomads”, but not for me. I needed to step up to something real.

Regus and other offices

Commercial office space is expensive, and, as anyone looking for a small amount of real estate will quickly discover, generally rents in large increments (suites or entire floors) over multi-year leases.

One option is to sublet an office from someone with extra rooms. A colleague and I did this for a while in 2008-09, renting an office attached to a telecom company and data centre in Atlanta’s west side (near the Georgia Tech area). It was nothing special, but comfortable, access-controlled, and compatible with techie sensibilities.

We went the barter route on this instead of paying cash, since we could offer consulting that was notionally of value to our landlord. I advise strongly against bartering tech services, because this will lead to one of two outcomes:

  • The landlord exploiting you mercilessly, given their relatively high leverage;
  • You feeling guilty and/or landlord feeling screwed because you’re not really providing them much value.

In my case, it was the second scenario. The landlord was a very kind person who was much too honourable to meddle, impose or demand, and so the guilt that I wasn’t doing enough to earn the barter equivalent of market cash rent gnawed at me. However, I’ve known plenty of techies who fell for the first scam, and ended up doing thousands of dollars of free work per month to pay maybe a few hundred dollars’ rent.

Another option is to find a small, privately owned office building where space can be had in smaller increments. They do exist. I was in a four-room suite rented in a two-storey building owned by a nice middle-aged couple in downtown Decatur for a while, and the rent was quite reasonable for the square footage. However, four rooms was about the smallest they could offer, so if you’re like me, just looking for a room and not a whole suite, you’re going to have to band together with some others to get space in buildings like this. Moreover, as a general rule, I would say that such buildings are not fancy; this is Class B real estate territory, the reality of which can vary from merely somewhat drab all the way to bombed-out urban warehouse conversion.


That’s ice under my door!

Small sidenote: if you find yourself living in the “developing world” for a while, you may be tempted to think, as I was, that you can get a decent office cheaply. While “cheap” is a relative notion, my experience suggests that you’ll get exactly what you paid for. I rented an office in a Soviet-era building in Yerevan, Armenia for about a year at about ~$200/mo (allegedly expensive, if you listen to the locals),


Some renovation going on next door.

and I can say that as a spoiled IT brat, I would have been better off paying closer to mainstream First World prices at fancy new business parks. I had to fight for air conditioning in 40C summers, never got particularly viable Internet access, and found the place uninhabitable in freezing winter temperatures unless I were willing to daisy-chain a bunch of space heaters like the other occupants. In talking with other people who have rented space in notionally “cheap” countries, I get the impression this is not an unusual experience. Unless you come from an expensive place like NYC, London, SF, Tokyo, etc., you should expect that comparable levels of creature comforts will cost more or less… well, comparably… anywhere. Have you noticed that Starbucks-style lattes cost no less than a few dollars everywhere, in poor and rich countries alike, even if the specific amount of dollars varies? Think of good offices the same way.

(Disclaimer: Opinions mine, based solely on my subjective impressions at the time of service, and not in any way fact-checked with the rigour of the scientific method or the fastidiousness of investigative journalism.)

Back to matters stateside, though. Now we come to Regus, a UK-based company that provides, along with several smaller competitors (including HQ, which Regus acquired), the canonical answer to the small businessperson’s demand for individual office space. Regus and its ilk are specifically designed to meet this need, occupying entire floors of “Class A” office space in skyscrapers and premium office towers and parceling them out by the room. Regus has a seemingly unparalleled global network of these facilities; if you live in something like a city, you’ve probably got at least one “Regus centre”, if not a dozen or more.

I’ve been in three different Regus facilities in Atlanta — two in high-rise Midtown and Downtown office towers (2010, 2011), and one in the Perimeter area (2014-15). The first two were split with a colleague, and the third I rented on my own. I’ve probably spent more time with Regus than I have anywhere else.

The good thing about Regus is that the space is truly “Class A” and the service offering is complete. All centres are in premium office parks or downtown skyscrapers and high-rises. If appearances are important to you in your business because you meet customers in your office, e.g. you’re an attorney or an accountant, this is your cultural home. If you want to be in the same kind of upmarket, well-appointed office building as a large ex-employer, Regus will get you in there. Needless to say, it’s not cheap; don’t bother with dollars-per-square-foot arithmetic, it’ll make you cry.

For most young tech companies, the value proposition in “Class A” office space is probably quite poor. Most of my customers, for product and consulting alike, are not local to Atlanta, and I hardly see them face-to-face. I could work in a single-wide trailer in rural Alabama and they’d be none the wiser. I also found that the aesthetic of “Class A” interiors becomes quite bland after a moment–depressingly cookie-cutter and unimaginative, if undeniably clean and comfortable.

The bad side of Regus is virtually everything else. Candidly, they’re probably one of my least favourite companies.


The first thing you’ll notice about Regus is that it’s an entirely sales-driven organisation. It’s almost like it’s really a sales company with the actual provision of office space as an afterthought. The managers of the facilities had titles like “Area Sales Manager”, and this really reflects the Glengarry Glen Ross character of the place. Those guys are always closing. The entire experience is numbers-driven, and you’ll feel very nickel-and-dimed for a la carte items that you probably figured were just included in the rent — the $100/mo Internet access (any alternatives require paying far more to bypass Regus), the $40/mo “kitchen fee” (so you can drink their Keurig-type coffee), etc. Faxes and copies are $X/page. There’s a lot of tax, title and tag beyond your base rent. They’ll try to upsell you on phone service and answering service, sell you on marked-up office supplies — always be closing. Nothing’s free or included. The conference rooms are scrupulously monetised. Remember Dwight Schrute as Dunder-Mifflin’s new landlord? Think intensely capitalistic thoughts.

Then there’s the nature of the rent itself. One-year lease agreements are mandatory and there is no early termination option, which is anathema to the realities of a young company, whether struggling or growing. Regus lease agreements emphasise that you do not receive a tenancy interest in any particular office, just that you are entitled to an office of a certain area. It’s more like a hotel, as they’re fond of saying. Although it’s not too common, they can and will move you to a different office if it suits a commercial objective of the moment. This is probably fine for people that need little more than a desk and a laptop, but not so good for those of us who nest with equipment, files or books in our workspaces, and more generally, build nontrivial attachments to the aesthetics of particular rooms. On one occasion, we were bumped (well, strictly speaking, priced) out of our then-current Regus centre altogether to make room for a client who wanted lots of short-term offices clustered together and was waving a lot of money around. You’re just a number.

Speaking of numbers, prices seem to be continually adjusted to reflect “market conditions” (i.e. a salesperson’s sense of how much you’re willing to pay) and proposed annual rent increases can be jaw-dropping. It’s a lot like sitting on a plane, knowing that every single passenger paid  a different price for their ticket, a price that should be (in the view of the airline’s revenue management department) specially calibrated for every individual’s unique needs, so to speak. Traditional corporate landlords will wheel-deal and negotiate within a certain band that tracks average rental trends in a given market, but Regus have the flexibility to negotiate at the individual office level, so all bets are off.

Despite the high quality of the office space and the professionalism with which it is managed, all this makes for a rather user-hostile experience. If you don’t like the slimy feeling of constantly being sold to, you won’t like Regus. On the other hand, if money is not a key object and you like let’s-make-a-deal, you can find a nice office in the best buildings damn near anywhere in the world. If that’s important to you, might be worth a look.

One more thing: most traditional office space of any kind isn’t going to solve the solipsism of the solopreneur. I’ve never met anybody in Regus or other conventional spaces. Everybody scurries to and from their opaque offices and doesn’t socialise much. I imagine many folks like it that way.


11990556_10104811416504600_7380303958159755701_nThe first time I saw Industrious’ promos, I knew I wanted to be there. Finally, there’s an office company that really gets it! I’m obviously not the only person to have come to that conclusion, as their occupancy in Atlanta is high and they’re expanding aggressively nationwide.

Since September 2015, the Atlanta Midtown location is Evariste’s new home, and we’re not going anywhere. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever said that with certainty and conviction about any office space.

11935100_10104811416514580_5986254207105796870_nThe Industrious model combines all the social virtues of coworking with the critical realisation that private offices with closing doors are critical for serious companies. It’s real office space, but it’s also Gemeinschaft. When you want to hang out, you can come to the common areas, and when you want to hide in your office, you can do that. When you want to be a freelance hipster, you can do that, and when you need your business to grow up and be taken seriously, it lends itself to that as well.


Our actual office.

Open-area coworking spaces don’t necessarily provide socialisation or collaboration opportunities consonant with the sales pitch. In places like that, people are trying to carve out their cocoon of concentration, siloed off into earphone-wearing atoms. At Industrious, there’s a real feeling of collective, which I think is an underappreciated key to the psychological health of the solipsistic entrepreneur or isolated small team.

All the coworking spaces push this angle strongly, but it’s only at Industrious that I’ve really seen it work. Some of that is just blind luck, I imagine; I was fortunate not to end up in another sea of SEO Creative Catalysts and Twitter emoticon visionaries with whom I had zero professional overlap. But some of that is because at Industrious there’s real balance, just like in a residential community; sometimes you want to go to the festival, but other times you just want to have a quiet evening at home. Industrious lets you do both.

I never made any friends at the open-area coworking spaces I’ve been in, but here, I’ve already done business with one neighbour and am getting ready to enter into a long-term contract with another! No collective setting can guarantee that one will make friends or strike up fruitful professional connections, but I think that Industrious’ claim is more substantive. They’ve got the facilities to situate non-trivial companies and groups of people engaged in higher-order business, not just individual professionals, so I think there’s a better chance of finding someone you’ll want to talk to.

12342653_10105058550740610_204125970256939411_nThe physicality is unique, original and well thought-out: all-glass office walls and front windows, a well-lit fishbowl in keeping with the latest architectural fashions in startup land. It’s very pleasing on all levels, and the ability to see into everyone’s office lends a surprising additional visual diversity to the interior, as the decorations, creature comforts, and the occupants themselves become part of a living, breathing décor. The glassy, transparent style of the place is oddly addictive. It makes me feel like I really want to be there. The transparency probably takes away privacy in the eyes of some, but it seems to me that the upsides greatly outweigh that. Overall, they’ve done a good job of skimping on things that the incorrigibly entrepreneurial don’t really care about; there’s exposed HVAC pipework, lots of concrete and a slightly industrial feel. However, they’ve been scrupulously attentive to design concepts for things that do matter, and I really like the values and priorities expressed in those choices. Having been through my share of projects with an “urban renewal” take on this, I know that’s hard to find.

The transparent, glassy anatomy is also an ingenious way to increase the ever-troubled value of interior (no window) offices, since daylight still finds its way into them, and one can see other people. Interior offices at Industrious are not depressing, isolated dungeons.

The common area is a pleasant place to relax, and there are frequent low-key social events. That appears to be consistent across all the locations.

Did I mention that you can draw on the glass?


Industrious provide a variety of room sizes, too, ranging from a small single-person office to rooms that can support five or even ten people. You can grow a team quite a lot before you outgrow Industrious. Upsizing or downsizing is trivial, subject to availability.

I wouldn’t say it’s cheap per se, and pricing does vary by market and facility. The larger rooms can stretch into the thousands of dollars monthly. However, all rent is strictly month-to-month; there are no leases. When you consider that none of their rental revenue is under contract, you can’t expect it to be cheap. There’s no slimy, high-pressure sales atmosphere; Internet access is included, as are snacks and coffee. There are no games. You can print things without anxiety.

I think the concept is a clear winner. This is unquestionably the right way to do a la carte office space for freelancers, startups and small companies.  I think they’ve succeeded in redefining the category and anchoring a trend.

(No mention of my positive experience with Industrious at Atlanta-Midtown can be complete without a shout-out to Mary Catherine Hardage, the location manager. Aside from being a genial personality and pleasant to work with, she’s highly organised, diligent, and scrupulously attentive to detail. She takes excellent care of the place and is a huge asset to the company. Say I’m being gushy and saccharine, fine, but in bottom-line terms, I can’t tell you how much this stuff matters when you need something.)

Nitpicking is the lowest form of criticism

In general, pedantic nitpicking isn’t one tenth as insightful as it might seem. In a pointed critique, it’s best to think holistically about big, central ideas and refute on that level.

It’s harder work, since it requires a close reading to truly grapple with and comprehend the idea one aims to dismantle. It’s also more risky, because there’s more “skin in the game”; big-picture theses necessarily depend on advancing certain generalisations, summations and interpretations of opposing positions, exposing the critic to accusations of having failed to properly understand what they’re assailing.

As with many gambles in nature, however, there’s a risk-reward ratio here. Fortune favours the bold. Engaging at a high level is lot more efficient, effective and persuasive, but you’ve got to put yourself out there. That is why taking small pot shots at ideas from the sidelines is a more popular sport; guerilla warfare from a sniper position, ensconced in the foliage, is a lot safer. It’s a common refuge of intellects too feeble or cowardly to wrestle with the main corpus.

However, not everyone whose criticism operates on technicalities is feeble or a coward. Some simply don’t understand that it’s not generally insightful. I’ve commonly encountered this in two areas.

One is in academic disciplines in the humanities, where bright-eyed, bushy-tailed graduate students, often young, uninitiated and not capable of much original thinking in their field, fall prey to great institutional pressures to “publish or perish” into the sizzling carousel of spam cite-able research work. A seductive, intellectually lazy cop-out for them is to bring a little of the quantitative “rigour” of the hard sciences to the reputedly equivocal headspaces of their fields by “troubling” broad claims with pedantic caveats. And so, conference papers and entire dissertations are built on the dubious notion that there’s something meaningful to be illuminated in demonstrating that yes, Virginia, there do exist exceptions to generalisations!

Another bastion of notionally insightful pedanticism is techies, and more broadly, technocrats. The kinds of left-brained–if you’ll excuse the pop psychology–people who are stereotypically drawn to mathematics and computer science often seem to have an axe to grind with the humanities and “soft” sciences. Many programmers get into software in part because they are powerfully drawn, at an aesthetic and psychological level, to disciplines with finite, deterministic, and self-consistent systems of deductively logical rules. Such systems are not only elegant in their eyes, but appeal strongly to their sense of justice and fairness. Clear, distinct, binary, black-and-white right and wrong answers leave little to whims, tastes, customs and habits.

And so, aggrieved and slighted by the “subjectivity” of some literature, arts, history or philosophy professor in their past–fields for which they did not show exceptional aptitude–they find in pedantry a personal vehicle for restitutive vindication. If they can just show that not all truisms in sociology apply to everyone, they’ll expose the whole field for the colossal tower of bullshit that it is! There are powerful currents of vicious contempt circulating in the technocracy for anything not “user-friendly”–that is, problems which threaten to burden the thinker with consideration of relative meaning and varied interpretation. As most crystal balls into future of private sector employment in the developed world prophecy demand for human thought processes and skills that are complementary to machine intelligence, I do worry about what this means for the already imperiled state of the liberal arts.

Anyway, there are certainly some claims where small details matter or whose foundations can be invalidated by singular exceptions. Such quality control is table stakes for the design of satellite guidance systems and aircraft engines, for the teaching of open-heart surgery, and the certification of medications for sale. We wouldn’t have it any other way.

Still, before being “that guy”–ever quick on the draw with the “actually…”–it’s wise to ask onesself in an honest and open-minded way: if I pull this block out, will the whole tower collapse? Or have I spun my wheels, emitting a lot of heat and light into the cold emptiness of space, in committing a disposable, utterly forgettable act of superficial vandalism?