I was listening to a podcast recently by Mark Manson on the topic of purpose. It resonated a lot at the end of the year, when we're all taking stock of our wins, our losses, and where we're headed next.
I feel a strong pull to grow Margo I genuinely want to build this company, hire people who care as much as I do, and embrace the entrepreneurial adventure fully. But something from that podcast stuck with me: purpose only becomes sustainable when you can shift it back onto others. Manson referenced Aristotle, who argued that the highest form of purpose comes not from self-serving pursuits but from contributing to something greater than yourself.
That hit hard. Because if I'm being honest, a lot of my ambitions for this company are pretty selfish. I want agency over my life. I want an epic TV room dedicated to watching Liverpool matches. I want the nicest possible espresso machine and all the accessories. I don't want a boss. And maybe most importantly, I want to feel useful.
It made me question everything. Maybe this is just selfish. Maybe that's why it feels unsustainable sometimes.
I sat with that uncomfortable feeling for about a week.
Then I was writing copy for a cold email campaign. Daniel Priestley recommends ending each email with what he calls your "game." Not just what pain you solve and how, but the why behind it all.
And suddenly, what felt unanswerable a week ago clicked in the most organic way.
I remember being a kid and being genuinely scared of mediocrity. I dreaded the idea of a 9-5, sitting in a cubicle, watching the clock. The drudgery of traffic. The mundane repetition. I had this vivid image of Mr. Incredible hunched at his desk while his asshole boss drops off another stack of documents to process.
That scene was my biggest fear. Not monsters. Not failure. But spending my life doing work that slowly hollowed me out.
So I started working young. Tried to get good grades. Started businesses with basically no skills. I did everything I could think of to build a life free from that drudgery.
And then, sitting there trying to articulate the purpose of my company, it hit me.
That's it. That's what this is about.
I want to eliminate the kind of work that people hate.
Not all work. Work itself isn't the enemy. Craft, problem-solving, building things: that's deeply human. What I'm fighting against is the soul-crushing repetitive tasks that make people feel like they're just cogs in a machine. The data entry. The copy-pasting between systems. The manual processes that exist only because "that's how we've always done it."
What does this mean for society? Honestly, I'm not entirely sure. But I'm excited about the landscape of work that could emerge from this.
I imagine a future with a much stronger focus on building a world of beautiful design. And lucky for us, AI doesn't have great taste. I imagine it becoming normal to hire a designer for your apartment. Buildings that aren't just plain rectangles. A return to artisanship. A revaluing of things that are unique and made with care.
A de-IKEA-ification of everything.
A culture of happier, more inspired people who aren't buried under tasks they hate. A culture that values quality over quantity. Where humans do what humans do best (create, connect, and craft) while machines handle the rest.
That's the game.
That's what I want to build toward. We're not just building automation systems. We're building freedom from the work that diminishes people. We're betting that when you remove the drudgery, something better rushes in to fill the space.
Let's build something worth building.