A Field Guide to Builders, Believers, and Bullshitters

A non-exhaustive, deeply biased field guide to the startup species.

Let me be honest up front: I’m not a founder. I’ve never had to make payroll, or beg a friend to beta test something broken, or duct-tape together a product while pretending it’s stable. I’ve never cried over churn. I’ve never lost sleep over a feature rollout.

What I have done is spend the last two years listening. In Zoom calls, glass-walled conference rooms, and half-shouted conversations at college canteen tables. I run a fund that backs India’s youngest founders- people building startups before they’ve figured out rent. Some walk in with metrics. Some with delusion. Many with both.

In that time, I’ve heard hundreds of pitches. Some brilliant. Some baffling. Some so raw and alive I couldn’t stop thinking about them. And somewhere along the way, a pattern started forming. Not a framework. Not a checklist. Just... observations. Human tells. A certain tilt of the head when they don’t know the answer. A quiet kind of clarity when they do.

At WTFund, we’ve backed 18 startups. And across hundreds of conversations, a pattern has emerged. Not a playbook, but a kind of muscle memory.

Here’s what I notice.
When people are building with skin in the game. When the mask slips. When the work begins.

This post isn’t about judgment. It’s about attention. It’s about the little things that make me sit up and think, “Oh. You’re really building something.”

1. The best founders don’t wait to be taken seriously. They make themselves legible.

There’s a difference between being impressive and being understood. I’ve seen founders walk into a room trying to sound like the smartest person there, using words like “flywheel” and “ecosystem” and “zero-to-one” within the first sixty seconds. But the best ones? They don’t need to posture. They just get to the point. They can explain the problem, the customer, the solution, and why they care in plain English. Not because they’re simple, but because they’re clear. It’s wild how rare that is. Especially in a world where pitch decks are written for applause, not comprehension. If I don’t know what you’re building by slide two, I’m not intrigued. I’m confused. And confused investors don’t write cheques.

2. Some founders are solving a real problem. Others are solving for vibes.

Passion is cute. But clarity is better. I’ve met dozens of founders who are “so excited” about what they’re building and can’t quite explain why it needs to exist. They’re solving for narrative, or aesthetic, or a vague sense of "the market is hot." And you can always tell. They fumble when you ask, “Who is this for?” or “What are they using right now?” But the founders who are genuinely solving a problem? They’re oddly calm. They don’t oversell. They just know. Their conviction isn’t loud, it’s steady. It comes from proximity. They’ve either lived the problem or sat with someone who has. That’s the difference between building with a thesis, and building with a mood board.

3. You can tell who’s been coddled by how they respond to confusion.

One of my favorite ways to gauge a founder is by asking them, “Can you explain that again?” Sometimes I’ll ask twice. Not because I didn’t get it, but because I want to see how they react. The fragile ones immediately get defensive. They assume the question is a threat. They start over-explaining or repeating themselves, just louder. But the good ones? They pause. They get curious. They take responsibility for being unclear and find a better way to say it. That tiny moment tells me everything. Are you here to be admired, or are you here to be understood? One builds trust. The other builds LinkedIn threads about “bad investors who didn’t get it.”

4. Some people want to build a company. Others want to be known for having built one.

If the first thing you tell me is your press feature, brand photoshoot, or influencer collab, I already know where your energy is going. Founders like this tend to optimize for visibility. They want to be seen as a founder more than they want to do the actual work of building. And hey, some of them still raise money. But most of them don’t survive the long, boring middle of company-building — the years where no one’s watching and nothing’s working. Founders who really want to build? They talk about margins, users, retention, weird little tweaks to their onboarding flow. They’re not curating a persona. They’re trying to figure stuff out. I’d bet on them every single time.

5. Founders who interrupt the most often believe they have the least time.

There’s a frantic energy some founders carry, like every second of a call is a pitch battle they have to win. They cut you off, talk over follow-ups, fill every silence with more words. It’s like they’re afraid that if they stop talking, the interest will evaporate. But confidence doesn’t sound like that. Confidence sounds like a pause. Like breathing room. Like asking a counter-question instead of sprinting through a monologue. The best founders I’ve met have a quiet confidence. They know their value doesn’t vanish if they don’t perform constantly. They know how to read a room, take a beat, and actually listen. It makes them more convincing, not less.

6. The ones who name their competitors up front? 10x more credible.

When a founder says “no one else is doing this,” it’s usually a red flag, not because it’s impossible, but because it’s rarely true. Either they haven’t done their homework, or they think acknowledging competition makes them look weak. But in reality, the opposite is true. The best founders want to talk about who else is in the space. They know that naming competitors shows they understand the market. They can tell you why the incumbents are slow, why the new players are missing something, and where they slot in with clarity. They aren’t threatened, they’re informed. And more importantly, they can answer the golden question: why now, why you, and why this way? That answer requires context. And if you can’t show me the landscape, you’re probably not ready to build in it.

7. If they make fun of their own startup idea just a little, I trust them more.

There’s something deeply endearing about a founder who says, “Okay, this sounds ridiculous, but hear me out…” It’s not insecurity, it’s self-awareness. They know that early-stage ideas are messy and fragile and often a little absurd. But they also know something most don’t: the absurd ones are usually where the gold is. I trust these founders more because they’ve already played devil’s advocate. They’ve interrogated their own assumptions. They know how weird it sounds to build a marketplace for X or a hyperlocal solution for Y. And they’re building it anyway. That balance of self-deprecation and conviction? That’s founder-market fit on a human level.

8. Some founders carry urgency like a backpack. Others wear it like a straightjacket.

You can tell the difference in how they show up. One is clear, calm, and focused. They know what needs to happen and by when. The other is chaotic, reactive, and constantly overwhelmed. Both are in motion. But only one is moving in a direction. I’ve sat across from founders who radiate this compulsive energy, like every question is a fire drill, every meeting is life-or-death. It’s exhausting. And it usually means they’re too close to the chaos to build from it. The best founders treat urgency like fuel, not panic. They move fast, but with intention. They know when to sprint and when to slow down. Because not everything is urgent, just the things that matter most.

9. I can tell how someone builds based on how they handle the word “no.”

“No” is where the real work begins. And founders who can’t handle it? They tend to plateau fast. I’ve seen people get visibly upset, argumentative, even snarky when told “this isn’t a fit right now.” That tells me their identity is too tangled up in approval. On the flip side, the strongest founders love the “no.” Not because they enjoy rejection, but because they mine it for information. They follow up. They ask smart questions. They circle back months later with proof of progress. They’re playing the long game. If your ego can’t survive a polite rejection, you probably won’t survive a pivot. And there will be pivots. Trust me.

10. The founder is always their first user.

It doesn’t mean they’re solving their own problem (although sometimes they are). It means they’re obsessed. They’ve felt the friction. They’ve walked through the user flow a hundred times. They know what feels clunky and what sings. And they care enough to fix it. I’ve met founders who couldn’t explain how their product worked because they hadn’t actually used it. That’s terrifying. If you’re not your own biggest critic and earliest evangelist, something’s off. The best ones are nerdy about every pixel. They use their own product. They test it on their friends. They know where it breaks. That’s not vanity. That’s proximity to the problem. And it makes all the difference.

11. Some people have Google Docs energy. Some people have pitch deck energy.

Google Docs founders are the ones who’ve been iterating quietly for months. They’ve got user quotes in bullet points, a “maybe later” list of features, and screenshots with ugly UI but real traction. They’ve rewritten the same paragraph ten times and tested three landing pages that all flopped before one clicked. Deck founders, on the other hand, come polished. Slick slides, big claims, not much depth. Everything looks ready, until you ask about churn, CAC, or retention and get a vague shrug. Docs founders are still building. Deck founders are already performing. One is thinking. The other is selling. I don’t mind selling. But I want to see what’s underneath. The mess. The notes. The work. That’s where the company is hiding.

12. Founders who say “we’re raising” in the first five minutes are usually less compelling than the ones who say “we need this to get here.”

I get it, you need capital. Everyone does. But if the first thing out of your mouth is your funding ask, you’re skipping the good part. What are you building? Who’s it for? What’s changed in the world that makes this urgent now? If you tell me that with clarity, then tell me what the raise unlocks, I’m in. But if the whole pitch is just a number and a runway, I can’t help but think you’re more focused on validation than velocity. Great founders raise to build. Mid founders build to raise. The order matters.

13. Watch how they talk about their team.

The most revealing thing about a founder isn’t their deck or their TAM. It’s how they talk about the people building alongside them. Do they say “we” or “I”? Do they credit junior teammates by name? Do they talk about the team’s growth with the same pride they have for product milestones? I’ve had founders light up when describing an intern’s brilliant customer insight. That’s leadership. I’ve also had founders tell me they “don’t believe in middle management.” That’s usually code for control issues. The early team is a mirror. If you can’t respect your co-builders, how will you attract the ones who’ll stay when it’s hard?

14. If their answers are too perfect, I assume something’s missing.

Founders who come with airtight, rehearsed answers to every question- it’s impressive on the surface. But I start to get suspicious. Startups are messy. There should be gaps. Open questions. Tension. If everything is buttoned up and nothing has gone sideways, I wonder if they’re telling me the story they wish were true, not the one they’re actually living. I don’t need perfection. I need process. Tell me what confused you. Tell me what you tried that failed. Show me the scar tissue. That’s how I know you’re real.

15. Founders who talk about revenue too early are often scared.

There’s a specific kind of defensiveness I see in founders who immediately lead with “We’re already making X lakhs a month.” It’s not confidence, it’s cover. They think early revenue will protect them from hard questions about the market, the product, or the plan. But early revenue, especially from friends, family, or one-off pilots, is easy. Repeatable, growing, retained revenue? Much harder. I’m not saying don’t make money. I’m saying don’t use money to paper over the hard stuff. If you’re pre-PMF, I’d rather hear about what you’re learning from the people who didn’t buy.

16. Some founders come in wanting to be impressive. Others come in trying to be useful.

I can usually tell within the first five minutes. Impressive founders have polished resumes, crisp diction, and a strong sense of how they should sound. They know how to talk the talk, especially if they’ve been in startup circles long enough. But useful founders? They’re a different breed. They’re the ones who bring insights to the conversation, even if it’s not fully formed. They’ve been in the problem long enough to be confused by it, and they’re not afraid to say so. They’re not just building a company. They’re solving a real puzzle, and they know we might not have the answer yet. I learn more in 10 minutes from a useful founder than I do in 30 from a performative one.

17. Founders who pause before answering tough questions are underrated.

The pause is a superpower. It tells me you’re not on autopilot. That you’re not reciting lines. That you’re thinking in real time. In a world of slick pitches and templated decks, that kind of presence is rare. When I ask, “Why now?” or “What are you assuming that might be wrong?” I want a moment of silence. It means you’re not afraid of the question. You’re not afraid of not knowing. Founders who can hold that silence, metabolize the discomfort, and still find their voice on the other side? That’s someone who’ll survive the inevitable pivots.

18. I always ask: “What happens if you fail?”

Not because I want you to spiral, but because your answer reveals your orientation to risk, shame, and resilience. Some founders freeze. Some say “We won’t”, which is cute, but not useful. The best ones? They smile, maybe wince a little, and tell me what they’d take with them. They’ve already imagined the crash, and they’re building a parachute along with the rocket. That’s what makes them builders. They’re not afraid of failing. They’re afraid of not learning fast enough to avoid it.

19. If they name their users before naming themselves, I lean in.

It’s subtle, but powerful. When a founder talks more about “she,” “they,” “my user,” than “we,” “our,” or “my startup”, I pay closer attention. It tells me their energy is focused in the right direction: outward. They’re studying the customer. They’re embedded in the problem. They aren’t trying to be the main character, they’re trying to build something that matters to someone else. That kind of orientation isn’t just emotionally mature, it’s strategically sound. You can’t build sticky products if you’re obsessed with your own reflection.

20. Some founders want to change the world. Some just want to change their LinkedIn headline.

This one’s harsh, but true. You’d be shocked how many people are building companies because they like how it looks. They want to be seen as a founder. They want the press coverage, the blue tick, the perception of hustle. But once you ask about the hard stuff- user acquisition, retention loops, cash flow- the mask slips. Founders who want to actually change the world? They’re obsessed with nuance. They’ve wrestled with tradeoffs. They’re excited and tired and in love with the thing they’re building, even on the days it doesn’t love them back. That’s who you back. Every time.

21. You can see their relationship with failure in how they talk about past jobs.

Ask them what didn’t work, and listen closely. Founders who haven’t made peace with failure will almost always point fingers at bad bosses, unfair investors, broken markets. But founders who’ve processed the loss? They’ll talk about what they learned, what they’d change, and who they still respect. That kind of emotional posture matters. Because startups are basically a series of failures duct-taped to a few wins. If you can’t look at the Ls without flinching or finger-pointing, you’re going to struggle when things fall apart, and they will. It’s not about pretending everything’s okay. It’s about being the kind of person who knows how to make use of what went wrong.

22. “We just need distribution” is code for “we haven’t found PMF.”

I hear this all the time, usually from founders who are nervous that their retention numbers won’t hold up to scrutiny. They’ll say, “If we just had more reach, people would get it.” But distribution doesn’t fix a weak product. In fact, it can expose it faster. Pouring traffic on a leaky bucket doesn’t scale; it drowns you. The founders who have PMF? They don’t even call it that. They just talk about their users. They’re trying to keep up with demand, not convince you they’re close. Product-market fit isn’t a slide — it’s a feeling. And it’s unmistakable when it’s real.

23. If they show up early to the call, take notes, and follow up, they’re going to be fine.

It sounds basic, but you’d be shocked how many don’t do it. Founders who show up exactly on time (or late), have no pen, don’t recap, don’t follow through, I already know what the inside of that startup looks like. The ones who show up five minutes early with a clear agenda, listen closely, jot things down, and follow up with context? They’re managing their own chaos. That’s a green flag. Building doesn’t require you to be perfect. But it does require follow-through. And the little signals, like how you treat a 30-minute call, are usually loudest in hindsight.

24. Some people are solving for impact. Others are solving for identity.

It’s a blurry line. Startups are personal. But I’ve met founders who are more in love with being a founder than with the actual work of building. You can tell when someone’s startup is a mirror- reflecting their need to be seen, respected, validated. And honestly, some of them still raise and build decent companies. But the ones who are solving for impact? They get out of the way. They obsess over their users, not their narrative. They’re okay being invisible as long as the product works. And funny enough, those are the ones people end up watching the most.

25. Founders who don’t take themselves too seriously usually build things that end up being taken very seriously.

This is the paradox no one talks about. The founders who are light on their feet, open to feedback, and unafraid to laugh at how weird and hard it all is they tend to outlast the rest. They’re not precious. They’re present. They’re building something because they want to, not because they have to prove anything. And that energy? It’s magnetic. Because at the end of the day, building a startup is just a job. A wild, stressful, exhilarating job. And the people who know that- who show up every day to do the work without making it their entire personality- are usually the ones still standing when the dust settles.

Founders are a study in contradictions. Confident and chaotic. Earnest and strategic. Deeply lonely and somehow never alone. And if you spend enough time around them — if you really listen — you start to notice the architecture underneath the ambition.

And while I’ve never built a startup myself, I’ve learned that watching someone else do it, up close, in the mess, is an education in courage. It’s easy to sit on the other side of the table and ask tough questions. It’s much harder to answer them with honesty, clarity, and the conviction to keep going even when you don’t like the answer.

So if you’re a founder reading this: thank you. For letting me learn through your grit. For teaching me what persistence actually looks like. For reminding me that behind every deck and demo is a person doing something deeply unreasonable, and doing it anyway.

Some people are building companies.
Some are building identities.
A rare few are building lives.

And those are the ones I want to bet on. Every single time.