Decks Written for Approval vs Belief

Most decks I see are written for approval. They’re full of what the founders think I want to hear — market sizes, hockey-stick charts, buzzwords, competitor matrices. It’s as if they’re trying to pass some kind of test, and they’re worried about getting the answers wrong.

But the truth is, no one ever got funded because their deck checked all the boxes. You don’t win by meeting the minimum standard. You win by making someone believe in you and your story.

Belief is a very different target. Approval means “this looks plausible, and you seem competent; I don’t have comments or questions.” Belief means “I’ve never thought of this, but it makes so much sense, and I think you’re the ones to do it.” The founders who trigger belief show me something alive — a product people already love, a problem so painful it can’t be ignored, or even just an insight so sharp it changes how I see that specific industry. Approval is about compliance and not bothering people, while belief is about conviction and making proselytes.

Ironically, the things that make me believe are often the things founders feel they have to hide. That rough prototype poorly coded over the weekend. That tiny cohort of obsessed users. That founder’s personal obsession with a weird corner of the world. These are the parts of the story that feel too messy or too small to put in a deck — but they’re usually the most powerful.

It’s easy to tell when a deck was written for approval. Everything feels smoothed over and inflated. Numbers are rounded up, risks are downplayed, and the whole thing has the generic polish of a management consulting deliverable. All bold ideas have been moderated, and even the typical founders’ optimism is well-dosed. That kind of deck might keep you from getting rejected outright, but it won’t make anyone excited to wire money.

So if you’re raising, don’t aim for approval. You’ll receive it because approval is a commodity, but that’s all you’ll get. Aim for belief. Be opinionated, show me what you really have. Give me insights and make me say, “That’s smart!” Remember: a platitude is an obvious truth; an insight is a surprising one, something I haven’t thought of, but which I can immediately recognize as being true.

A good deck doesn’t answer every question. It leaves me with only one: how do we make this happen?

Most decks I see are written for approval. They’re full of what the founders think I want to hear — market sizes, hockey-stick charts, buzzwords, competitor matrices. It’s as if they’re trying to pass some kind of test, and they’re worried about getting the answers wrong.

But the truth is, no one ever got funded because their deck checked all the boxes. You don’t win by meeting the minimum standard. You win by making someone believe in you and your story.

Belief is a very different target. Approval means “this looks plausible, and you seem competent; I don’t have comments or questions.” Belief means “I’ve never thought of this, but it makes so much sense, and I think you’re the ones to do it.” The founders who trigger belief show me something alive — a product people already love, a problem so painful it can’t be ignored, or even just an insight so sharp it changes how I see that specific industry. Approval is about compliance and not bothering people, while belief is about conviction and making proselytes.

Ironically, the things that make me believe are often the things founders feel they have to hide. That rough prototype poorly coded over the weekend. That tiny cohort of obsessed users. That founder’s personal obsession with a weird corner of the world. These are the parts of the story that feel too messy or too small to put in a deck — but they’re usually the most powerful.

It’s easy to tell when a deck was written for approval. Everything feels smoothed over and inflated. Numbers are rounded up, risks are downplayed, and the whole thing has the generic polish of a management consulting deliverable. All bold ideas have been moderated, and even the typical founders’ optimism is well-dosed. That kind of deck might keep you from getting rejected outright, but it won’t make anyone excited to wire money.

So if you’re raising, don’t aim for approval. You’ll receive it because approval is a commodity, but that’s all you’ll get. Aim for belief. Be opinionated, show me what you really have. Give me insights and make me say, “That’s smart!” Remember: a platitude is an obvious truth; an insight is a surprising one, something I haven’t thought of, but which I can immediately recognize as being true.

A good deck doesn’t answer every question. It leaves me with only one: how do we make this happen?

Most decks I see are written for approval. They’re full of what the founders think I want to hear — market sizes, hockey-stick charts, buzzwords, competitor matrices. It’s as if they’re trying to pass some kind of test, and they’re worried about getting the answers wrong.

But the truth is, no one ever got funded because their deck checked all the boxes. You don’t win by meeting the minimum standard. You win by making someone believe in you and your story.

Belief is a very different target. Approval means “this looks plausible, and you seem competent; I don’t have comments or questions.” Belief means “I’ve never thought of this, but it makes so much sense, and I think you’re the ones to do it.” The founders who trigger belief show me something alive — a product people already love, a problem so painful it can’t be ignored, or even just an insight so sharp it changes how I see that specific industry. Approval is about compliance and not bothering people, while belief is about conviction and making proselytes.

Ironically, the things that make me believe are often the things founders feel they have to hide. That rough prototype poorly coded over the weekend. That tiny cohort of obsessed users. That founder’s personal obsession with a weird corner of the world. These are the parts of the story that feel too messy or too small to put in a deck — but they’re usually the most powerful.

It’s easy to tell when a deck was written for approval. Everything feels smoothed over and inflated. Numbers are rounded up, risks are downplayed, and the whole thing has the generic polish of a management consulting deliverable. All bold ideas have been moderated, and even the typical founders’ optimism is well-dosed. That kind of deck might keep you from getting rejected outright, but it won’t make anyone excited to wire money.

So if you’re raising, don’t aim for approval. You’ll receive it because approval is a commodity, but that’s all you’ll get. Aim for belief. Be opinionated, show me what you really have. Give me insights and make me say, “That’s smart!” Remember: a platitude is an obvious truth; an insight is a surprising one, something I haven’t thought of, but which I can immediately recognize as being true.

A good deck doesn’t answer every question. It leaves me with only one: how do we make this happen?

Most decks I see are written for approval. They’re full of what the founders think I want to hear — market sizes, hockey-stick charts, buzzwords, competitor matrices. It’s as if they’re trying to pass some kind of test, and they’re worried about getting the answers wrong.

But the truth is, no one ever got funded because their deck checked all the boxes. You don’t win by meeting the minimum standard. You win by making someone believe in you and your story.

Belief is a very different target. Approval means “this looks plausible, and you seem competent; I don’t have comments or questions.” Belief means “I’ve never thought of this, but it makes so much sense, and I think you’re the ones to do it.” The founders who trigger belief show me something alive — a product people already love, a problem so painful it can’t be ignored, or even just an insight so sharp it changes how I see that specific industry. Approval is about compliance and not bothering people, while belief is about conviction and making proselytes.

Ironically, the things that make me believe are often the things founders feel they have to hide. That rough prototype poorly coded over the weekend. That tiny cohort of obsessed users. That founder’s personal obsession with a weird corner of the world. These are the parts of the story that feel too messy or too small to put in a deck — but they’re usually the most powerful.

It’s easy to tell when a deck was written for approval. Everything feels smoothed over and inflated. Numbers are rounded up, risks are downplayed, and the whole thing has the generic polish of a management consulting deliverable. All bold ideas have been moderated, and even the typical founders’ optimism is well-dosed. That kind of deck might keep you from getting rejected outright, but it won’t make anyone excited to wire money.

So if you’re raising, don’t aim for approval. You’ll receive it because approval is a commodity, but that’s all you’ll get. Aim for belief. Be opinionated, show me what you really have. Give me insights and make me say, “That’s smart!” Remember: a platitude is an obvious truth; an insight is a surprising one, something I haven’t thought of, but which I can immediately recognize as being true.

A good deck doesn’t answer every question. It leaves me with only one: how do we make this happen?