Reputation addict

The struggle to matter.

Reputation looks different depending on where you are. In Silicon Valley, it’s all about being a founder or an investor. In LA, it’s producers and actors. In NYC, it’s finance. Every place has its own version of who matters.

Last week, I went to a dinner with a group of MBA grads from Silicon Valley—people I didn’t know. And, as expected, the first question was:

“What do you do?”

I have a love hate relationship with that question.

I love it because I looooove (sometimes too much) learning about what people do—how they do it, the challenges they face, the innovations they’re building, and the opportunities they see. I get completely lit up by the stories, the business ideas, the industries being disrupted, and the problems waiting to be solved. At the end of the day, that is why I chose San Francisco as my home.

But I also hate it. Because, in Silicon Valley, that question isn’t just about curiosity—it’s often a measuring stick. The underlying assumption is that if you do nothing, if you don’t work, or if you have a “normal” job, you somehow rank lower. As if your worth is tied to whether you’re “changing the world,” “selling your second startup,” or “tackling an unsolved problem.” And I’ll admit—I’ve been (I am) guilty of this mindset myself.

Now that I’m the one saying, “I do nothing,” I’m starting to see it differently. Not everyone views work as their main source of energy. Not everyone ties their identity to their job. And they are not more or less than anyone else for living their truth.

The Weight of Reputation

Reputation is the lens through which others see us. And when you live in a place where reputation is everything—so much so that people might distance themselves from you the moment you’re no longer “useful” to their career or business—it can feel heavy.

I used to take (take) pride in being a (VC-backed) founder. I thought (think) it mattered. I thought it made me important. But as I shared in this post, that pride didn’t last. It didn’t bring me joy. Over time, I realized (and my cofounders made me realize) it was all tied to ego.

Reputation, ego, and identity

We all want to belong. To be accepted. To be respected. And reputation—our perceived social status—is often intertwined with our ego.

• Who am I if I’m not a founder?

• Who am I if I don’t have a “big” job?

That can be terrifying. I’ve spent years (and still do) defining myself through titles:

“I moved from Argentina to Duke. I worked in a strategic role at Microsoft. I quit to be a founder of a seed stage vc backedstartup (with revenue and product market fit!)”

As if those things are me.

Sure, they say something about my ambitious, go getter personality. But they don’t make me more relevant than anyone else. And if I no longer have them, I am still me.

Letting go of titles

I don’t think ego is inherently bad. Forging our own identity is important. But when ego takes over, it can pull us away from what we truly want—not what our parents, friends, or society expect from us. It is like it assumes that we all should do life the same way, and there are winners and loosers in this world, and nothing in between.

Reputation can even lead us to make choices that aren’t true to who we are—just because they’re validated by others. And that’s a dangerous place to be. Living misaligned for too long can break you. It can also close you off from opportunities and people who think differently.

But for those of us who have spent our lives chasing external validation, not having a title is liberating. It forces you to ask why you do things—to uncover the truth beneath them.

And the truth is somewhere there.

I hope that, one day, our only reputation will be built on being true to ourselves—our values, our desires. That’s hard to pinpoint. But maybe, taking some time off helps to clarify the road.