Strategic Moments and Personal Growth in the Scaleup Phase
For the past few months, I’ve been closely following the scaleup of a startup. So many steps ahead, and so many S’s, T’s, and P’s all packed together! It all started when I was still living in Paris, and one of the co-founders sent me a voice note: “Silvia! I heard there are riots in Paris—is it dangerous?” I was thinking about this the other day. Protesting, in all its possible forms, has always been a top priority for me, ever since I attended Alvise Cornaro High School in Padua—a school that, in my opinion, was quite progressive. There, we were taught to make our voices heard. Fun fact: my father was not allowed to attend this school because his family was too strict. But I? I thrived in that environment. The best part of my school was the lack of prejudice—we were genuinely closer as friends than students in the more traditional city schools. Recently, I heard that my old high school became the first in Italy to officially recognize gender-neutral pronouns, and maybe that’s exactly what we need today: places that prepare young people for civic life. While I had participated in a few student strikes back then, it was in France that I truly understood the social significance of protesting. When I returned to Italy, I tried to figure out why protests here feel full of anxiety but empty of energy. I don’t have a clear answer yet—or maybe it just requires too much time to explain. But back to those co-founders. Their voice note included a direct question:“When are you coming to Milan to work with us?” Once I returned, they were among the first people I dedicated my energy to. One of them is one of my dearest friends, and with the other two, it took some adjustments, but we soon clicked. All men? Yes, all men. A band of friends? Yes, a band of friends. And there you have it—the inspiration for many of my articles. Introducing the AMBA: A High School Band or a Scaleup Team?
Let’s call them the AMBA (All Men, Band of Amigos), for the sake of this article. The AMBA are their own organism—and in my world, they’re more famous than Måneskin. Especially on Fridays, when we all gather around the table, and I watch them fly down parallel tracks, each in their own expertise lane. Their greatest strength is understanding that a shared vision requires shared work—but work nonetheless. My only job is to align these tracks—occasionally derailing a small train or two to ensure we’re all heading in the same direction.
And that, essentially, is scaleup. Not much more than that. I believe this moment of awareness—this need for change—exists in many projects, not just in business. It’s that moment when you realize something has to change. But what exactly? Identifying that is crucial. Then comes the realization that change requires both individual and collective effort—two sides of the same coin. Change doesn’t happen alone, yet it also happens within ourselves. Strange, isn’t it? And when change is not yet perceived as urgent, you protest—you make its necessity known. I find myself reflecting: I’ve been protesting my entire life, for so many causes. Maybe it’s time to question this part of me? Or is it too deeply woven into my identity?
The Bonfire Revolution: A Childhood Metaphor There’s an episode from my childhood that serves as the perfect metaphor. I spent a lot of time in the Friulian countryside (cue Pasolini imagery), where bonfires were a traditional part of Epiphany celebrations. This tradition is layered with folklore. In our town, one woman was in charge of crafting the Befana effigy—the unquestioned leader of the ritual. That woman was always Vanda, with her jovial smile and profoundly sacred yet irreverent presence. The women prepared the food, while the men spent all day building the bonfire. At night, they would light it from four different sides in a solemn ceremony. But I, a wild little child who practically lived in the woods, had a revelation—one that cost me quite a bit of effort. I insisted to my friends: “Why should only the adults get to build a bonfire? We should have our own!” The grown men, with their calloused hands and deep-set eyes—men who fascinated me endlessly, including my uncle—stood by watching us struggle with our mini-bonfire, never intervening unless we truly needed help. The moment that changed my life was when we lit the fires together—their huge bonfire and our tiny one, side by side. From that year onward, the kids’ bonfire became a serious tradition. I admit, we never managed to scale up the kids’ bonfire. But maybe that was for the best. Opening the Shutters: A Shift in Perspective
Last Friday marked a small but symbolic milestone. For the first time, before heading into the startup’s “basement”, where we hold strategic meetings, I opened the shutters. Usually, I’m too rushed to even think about it. The shutters stay closed. But that day, I called the meeting, and as the AMBA gathered, we clashed over ideas like five stubborn legal experts. For the first time, I opened the shutters. For the first time, I took half an hour to write my article before diving into work. Maybe there is light at the end of the tunnel.
Maybe—just maybe—there’s a place in the corporate world for disruptors. For those who derail trains. For those who shake things up. For those who push for change. But how crucial are allies in keeping the fire burning? And once it’s lit, how do we keep it alive? Now that bonfires are being banned for environmental reasons, now that traditional gender roles are shifting,who helps us? Where is the fire? I believe we’ll always remember our allies—even as our environments change. I, for one, will never forget those men with their big hands, building fires better than we ever could. Postscriptum At this point, my editor asked: “How do you align everyone if you’re derailing trains?” Good question. Sometimes, creating chaos forces reflection. And sometimes, reflection leads to a better foundation for the next rebuild.
Final Note
Dear friends, Those who know me know that when I have a project, I immediately reach out to my circle of allies. This experimental lab is my attempt to merge creative writing and… everything I dare to think. (A nod to Everything I Dare to Think, a bizarre and nonsensical book I once found at a second-hand bookstore in Milan.) If you’re reading this, it means I specifically thought of you. If you signed up after I sent you the link, thank you. (And of course, you can unsubscribe—I won’t take offense.)
Suggestions are always welcome!
