How We Build Product Teams at Owner

Set the bar to Delta Force

You have to model your team after the most elite groups in the world.

The Navy SEALs are elite. Out of ~20,000 Navy candidates each year, only 1,000 make it to SEAL training, and fewer than 200 graduate. The Delta Force is the elite of the elite - ~1,700 special forces members apply each year, and ~6 make it through. That's 0.35%.

That's the bar we aim for at Owner. Our application-to-offer rate is ~0.22%. We'd take 6 Delta Force operators over an army of average engineers any day of the week.

Small teams only work when every person is exceptional. Here's why one average performer breaks the whole model:

1. Standards are contagious. Exceptional people raise everyone around them. Average people do the opposite. On a small team, one bad hire sets the new standard.

2. Judgment replaces process. Small teams trade rules, reviews, and layers for trust and independent decision-making. That only works if judgment is excellent.

3. Ownership is non-negotiable. On a small team, there's no one to hand off to and no layer to hide behind. People who can't take full ownership of their work break the model immediately.

If it's not a hell yes, it's a hell no

Early in my career I'd finish an interview and immediately start doing calculus in my head. This person is strong at X but maybe not the best at Y. I'd waste hours weighing tradeoffs and talking myself into or out of candidates.

Then at a certain point I'd interview someone who was so clearly exceptional that I felt embarrassed by all the energy I'd wasted on the previous candidates. There was no calculus needed. It was just obvious.

That feeling - the hell yes - is now my bar. If I don't feel it, that absence is the signal. I've stopped trying to talk myself into people. The right hire doesn't require me to convince myself.

Hire people you would put your job on the line for

Recruiting isn't just a leadership job. It's everyone's job - which means everyone needs a way to hold the same bar.

The heuristic we use to keep the bar high across the whole team: "would you put your job on the line for this person?" If the answer isn't an immediate yes, it's a no.

This question forces you past surface impressions and into genuine conviction. The gap between impressed and convicted is where bad hires live.

Stop being Iron Man. Start being Nick Fury.

Early on, I thought my job was to be the best engineer on the team. Then we hired someone who was clearly better than me. At first it was hard to accept - I had an ego about it, and it cost us. I created friction instead of space. I second-guessed him. I held onto ownership I should have handed over completely. The moment I let go, we were getting 2-3x more done.

Since then I've stopped thinking of myself as Iron Man and started thinking of myself as Nick Fury. My job isn't to be the superhero. It's to go find them, believe in them completely, and then unleash them. Now I only hire people who are better than me in some significant way. If I'm the most talented person in the room, I've failed.

Everything short of a restraining order

When we find the right person, we don't take no for an answer. We turn no into maybe, and maybe into yes.

One of our engineers took 4 years to recruit. Every month I'd send a text or hop on a call - checking in, building the relationship, making the case. Every time he said no, I told my cofounder "not yet." Not "he's not joining." Not yet.

Eventually it worked. It always does if you're patient enough.

My cofounder and I joke that we'll do everything short of a restraining order to get the right person on the bus.

What Delta Force talent looks like in practice

One of our engineers solo-built our restaurant mobile app generator in under 3 months - this was pre-AI. It now powers 6,000+ apps across the US. That same engineer, alongside 3 others, built our Point of Sale from zero to live in under 8 weeks. At a typical company, these would take 10–12 months each and teams of 6–8 engineers.

Imagine a company full of people like this.

AI is making the talent bar more important than ever

Many people think AI is leveling the playing field for builders. I think they have it exactly backwards.

AI is not an equalizer, it's a multiplier. Exceptional people use it to compress months into days, do more in parallel, and build things that would have required entire teams. Average people use it to move slightly faster and often in the wrong direction.

The gap between exceptional and average isn't shrinking. It's exploding.

This changes the math on team building more than anything in the last decade. With the pace of AI, the companies that figure this out first will have a compounding advantage. Every quarter, the delta widens.

Talent isn't enough

You can hire the most talented team in the world and still watch it fall apart. Energy is what holds it together.

Elon Musk said building a company is like eating glass and staring into the abyss. He's not wrong. Most companies don't die from competition or lack of funding. They die because it's excruciatingly hard and their teams run out of energy.

Energy is the fuel that companies operate on - it's what keeps teams moving forward when shit gets hard. And it's contagious: one person's mindset ripples through the entire system.

I've become as uncompromising about energy as I am about talent. Here's what that looks like in practice.

Hire for love

The people I want on this team aren't just talented or energetic. They're loving. Genuinely loving - toward each other, our customers, and the work itself. That might sound like an odd thing to hire for. But I've found that love is what separates people who are great from people who are truly extraordinary. You can feel it in everything they do.

Think of a painter working alone in the forest - no audience, not for credit, just because they love the act itself.

The heuristic I use is: would I invite this person to my wedding? If the answer isn't yes, why would I work with them every single day?

Hire people who raise the room

Some people walk into a room and the energy lifts. Others walk in and it drops. The best way I've found to think about this: above the line vs. below the line:

When you're above the line - open, curious, focused on learning - you don't just think better. You make everyone around you better. Ideas flow. People build on each other's thinking. You tap into the collective genius of the group.

When you're below the line - closed, defensive, committed to being right - the opposite happens. The energy drains. People protect instead of build. Progress slows.

I saw this at a recent hackathon. A team of 4 engineers and I built a fully functional restaurant kiosk in under 12 hours - work that would take months at a typical company. Customers were begging to take it home. The only reason we pulled it off was because everyone was above the line.

If even one person had drifted below it, the soul would have been sucked from the room.

I want to work with people who make every moment better just by being in it. It shows up in everything they do - how they write a Slack message, show up to a meeting, talk to a customer. Every interaction is a chance to lift the room or drain it.

Zero tolerance for bad vibes

Most leaders know bad energy is a problem. Very few act on it fast enough.

I learned this the hard way. We had a top performer who was brilliant and exceptionally productive. But they were also draining to be around and difficult to work with. It wore on me but I told myself the output justified the cost.

After months it got so painful that I finally pulled the plug. The moment they were gone, teammates started coming to me one by one thanking me.

The energy across the team lifted overnight. Our output exploded. I was shocked.

The team won't always tell you when someone has bad energy. They'll absorb it, work around it, and suffer quietly. As the leader, you have to make the call and you have to make it faster than feels comfortable.

Now I reward bad energy with a severance package. Not eventually - immediately. The team deserves to work alongside people they love. The customers deserve a product built with genuine care. The mission deserves people who believe in it. Persistent negativity, pessimism, and defensiveness are a tax on all three.

The cost of holding this standard is real. It means hiring slower and letting go of exceptionally talented people when everything is on fire. But one exceptional person with great energy is worth more than five talented people without it. I've learned to stare into the storm and hold out.

Everyone is a vector

Every person on a team is a vector. They have magnitude (their talent and energy) and direction (what they're actually focused on). Progress isn't the sum of talent. It's the sum of aligned vectors.

Misaligned vectors don't just slow you down. They actively work against each other. A team of brilliant people pointed in different directions accomplishes less than a mediocre team pointed at the same thing.

When every vector points at the same outcome, a small team moves with the force of something much larger.

Fight entropy deliberately

Teams naturally drift toward disorder. Priorities blur. Energy scatters. People start optimizing locally. Entropy is the default, and you have to fight it deliberately.

On my teams, each individual knows exactly what we're trying to achieve, why it matters, and what problem they need to solve right now. Not ten things - the one thing that matters most.

I do that by making sure every person on the team has internalized 4 things:

1. Why does this matter? Anchor the work in real customer pain and the business opportunity it creates.
2. What does success look like? Describe what winning looks and feels like 2–3 years out.
3. What's the strategy? Define where you'll play and how you'll win - and what you'll deliberately ignore.
4. What matters right now? We use a simple now / next / later roadmap so everyone knows what deserves full focus today and what can wait.

Make reality undeniable

Most leaders think alignment is a communication problem. Explain the plan clearly enough and people will get on board. So they write better docs, run better meetings, get better at selling the vision.

That's wrong.

People don't align to plans. They align to reality they can see for themselves.

When a team shares the same ground truth - the same customers, the same data, the same firsthand experience - alignment happens naturally.

When they don't, you get consensus theater. Endless debate. Meetings that produce agreement but not commitment.

The uncomfortable truth is that if you're working hard to convince people, you probably don't have alignment. And if you don't have alignment, someone isn't close enough to reality.

The job of a leader isn't to sell the plan. It's to make reality undeniable.

At Owner, we've mandated since the early days that everyone in the company talks to at least one customer per week. Our entire product team has a recurring weekly meeting with a customer - not to gather feedback, but to deeply experience the same reality together. To feel the same frustrations. To build the same empathy.

When everyone on the team has looked a restaurant owner in the eye and heard them describe their biggest problems, the right path becomes obvious. You stop debating what to build because reality is already telling you.

Customer impact is the highest-order bit

When you create real value for customers, the business takes care of itself. Revenue, retention, word of mouth - these are all effects, not causes. You don't serve the business directly. You serve it by serving the customer first.

When teams invert this - optimizing for metrics, revenue targets, feature checklists - they drift. They build impressive things that don't actually matter. The work loses its anchor.

Focusing on customer impact recenters the work around what's real.

Know your customer so well you know what gum they chew

Great products come from great mental models of the customer.

Bad mental models create garbage products. Teams ship features that look good on the surface but don't move the needle. They argue endlessly because no one is anchored in reality. Progress slows - not because people lack talent, but because they're solving the wrong problems.

Good mental models don't come from dashboards or surveys. They require proximity. You have to be in the trenches - watching, feeling, experiencing the product the way customers do.

I joke with my team that you should know your customer so well you know what gum they chew. That's the bar.

Put down your computer. Put on your apron.

Knowing your customers deeply doesn't come from research. It comes from proximity.

Most product teams debug from a distance. They look at logs, read tickets, run surveys. They try to understand the customer's world without ever entering it.

That's how you miss the obvious.

We had a customer with persistent internet connection issues on their point of sale. We couldn't figure it out. Was it the router? The cellular provider? The modem? We were confused for weeks.

Finally we went to the restaurant and immediately saw that they had built their kitchen inside a steel enclosure. It was essentially a restaurant-sized Faraday cage. No wonder their internet didn't fucking work.

Weeks of confusion solved in an afternoon. Not because we got smarter but because we got closer.

Many people on our team literally work out of restaurants. They watch the rush. They feel the stress. The customer stops being an abstraction in their mind and becomes a real person with real problems.

You cannot build a great product for a world you've never entered.

Dig until you hit bedrock

Spending time with customers teaches you something counterintuitive: what customers ask for is rarely what they actually need.

Human needs are fractal. The closer you look, the more you find. The hard part isn't finding needs - it's going deep enough to find the fundamental ones.

At Owner, customers often say they want to rank higher on Google. But their deepest need isn't rankings - it's growth. If we fixate on SEO, we miss higher-leverage ways to help them win.

Find the timeless need

The most valuable needs aren't just fundamental - they're timeless.

At Owner, we've distilled everything down to two: more sales, less work. Ten years from now, it's impossible to imagine a restaurant owner saying "I love Owner, I just wish you drove me less sales." These needs don't change, and that stability is enormously powerful.

Timeless needs become a compass. Every feature, every tradeoff, every no runs through them. We started as a white-labeled online ordering product - a simple link on a restaurant's website.

But every order was generating guest data: names, emails, order history, all sitting unused. We thought: we want to help restaurants grow sales and we're sitting on a goldmine. So we built automated marketing.

Then we looked at the websites sending us those orders. They were terrible. They weren't ranking on Google and it took 10 clicks to get to the menu. We thought: if we want to help restaurants grow sales, we need to own the whole website. So we built a website builder.

Same north star. Completely different product surface. That's what a timeless need does - it doesn't just tell you what to build next. It tells you what to build for the next decade.

The customer describes the pain. You prescribe the cure.

Creating real customer impact requires a final shift: from listening to deciding.

You absolutely must listen to customers to understand their pain. But it's not their job to design the solution. That's yours.

Customers will never stop suggesting features. Many will be good. And there will always be reasons to say yes. But always saying yes leads to the slow death of the product:

Great products aren't built by stacking good ideas. They're built by nailing the 2-3 needs that matter most.

That requires saying no - a lot. It requires taste to distinguish signal from noise. And it requires the courage to invent on the customer's behalf, especially when the right answer is quieter than the loudest request.

Customer obsession isn't about building what customers ask for. It's about deeply understanding their world, identifying the needs that actually matter, and then building the right solution to help them win.

Craft is a force multiplier

Delta Force teams don't just care what they build. They care deeply about how it's built.

The common wisdom is that speed and craft are in tension - that moving fast means accepting rough edges, shortcuts, and debt you'll pay back later. That framing is wrong.

Speed and quality aren't tradeoffs. Quality is what allows speed to compound.

Teams that don't care about craft move fast at first. Shortcuts feel efficient. Then the system starts pushing back. Architecture frays. Cognitive load grows. Progress slows - not because the team got worse, but because the system did.

Craft flips that dynamic. When you obsess over foundations - clean architecture, clear abstractions, thoughtful design systems - everything new becomes easier to build. The system gets faster to work in, not slower. Excellence compounds.

Every paper cut is a trust withdrawal

Customers start with a finite amount of trust. Every interaction either charges the battery or drains it. A smooth flow, a thoughtful detail, a feature that just works - these are deposits. A bug, a rough edge, a broken state - these are withdrawals.

Most teams don't think about it this way. They treat bugs as technical debt, not trust debt. But the customer doesn't experience a bug as a technical problem. They experience it as a signal: this product doesn't quite care about me.

Paper cuts don't kill trust all at once. They whittle it away, interaction by interaction, until one day the battery hits zero and they churn. By then it's too late - and you never saw it coming because each individual paper cut seemed minor.

Craft is how you keep the battery charged.

Zero tolerance for tech debt

We have a controversial policy at Owner: zero tolerance for tech debt.

Most teams treat tech debt as inevitable - a necessary cost of moving fast. We don't accept that framing. Tech debt isn't neutral. It's anti-leverage. Today's shortcuts become tomorrow's bottlenecks - paid not once, but every day in slower builds, fragile systems, and rework that drags the team backward.

Great athletes don't sacrifice form for speed. They know form is what makes speed sustainable. We think about architecture the same way. We don't ship fast and fix later. We build it right and ship faster because of it.

Zero tolerance for bug backlogs

We have another controversial policy: zero tolerance for bug backlogs.

Most teams accept a "healthy backlog" of known bugs. What that really means is customers are experiencing constant paper cuts.

Zero bug backlog does two things. It preserves trust: the product is consistently reliable and customers never have to wonder if it's going to work. And it forces higher standards: you build things right the first time because cleaning it up later isn't an option.

This sounds slower. It isn't. It eliminates the endless rework cycle that kills momentum and demoralizes teams. Nothing is more soul-crushing than spending all your time fixing bugs.

Craft is a talent magnet

The best engineers are allergic to mediocrity. They've worked in codebases held together by duct tape. They've shipped features they weren't proud of. They've watched teams rationalize corner-cutting and spent months paying the price. They're not going back.

When someone sees clean architecture, cohesive design, and zero tolerance for sloppiness, they don't just think "this is a good product." They think "these are my people."

Craft is a signal. It tells exceptional builders: we don't normalize broken things. We build systems that make tomorrow easier, not harder.

This creates a flywheel: high craft attracts A-players. A-players raise the bar. Higher bars attract better talent. And on and on.

You don't put training wheels on a Ferrari

When you've built a Delta Force - exceptional people with great energy, clear alignment, genuine customer obsession, and high craft - the final principle is simple: get out of the way and let them cook.

The best people don't need to be managed. They need time, space, and trust to build.

This doesn't mean abdicating leadership. I'm still in the trenches - coding features, reviewing designs, debating tradeoffs, pushing for clarity when things get muddy. What it means is being ruthlessly intentional about how much structure you introduce. Every layer of process you add is a tax on the people you worked so hard to hire.

Minimum effective process

The goal isn't zero process - it's the minimum effective process. The fewest rules while staying out of chaos. That's the balance.

Too much process creates drag: approvals, handoffs, coordination layers that slow everything down. Too little creates chaos: unclear priorities, duplicated work, thrash. Great teams operate in the narrow band between the two.

We introduce structure only when it increases speed and clarity. We cut it the moment it doesn't.

The trust battery starts at 100%

Most companies treat trust like a probation period. You join at ~50%. Then you earn your way up, or burn your way down.

I think this is wrong. When you make someone earn trust before you extend it, you slow them down at the exact moment they have the most energy.

At Owner, everyone starts at 100% trust: Full ownership, from day one.

I want the people I hire to hit the ground running full sprint.

When our product leader joined, he immediately saw issues in our development process. His instinct was to observe for a few months before making changes. I told him: Don't wait. You have my full trust. If you believe in it, do it now.

He did, and within weeks, the team was moving faster than ever.

People rise to the trust you give them. Give 100%, and the path from "just joined" to real impact compresses fast.

Learning to let go

In the early days of Owner, I ran a tight ship.

Strict deadlines. Rigid processes. Constant check-ins. I was obsessed with velocity, and I thought control was how you maximized it.

Over time I realized something uncomfortable: I was the bottleneck. My grip - which I thought was increasing speed - was suffocating the team.

As I started letting go, 3 things happened:

1. Speed multiplied. Decisions that took days happened in minutes. The team moved faster - not because I pushed harder, but because I stopped getting in the way.

2. Energy soared. People spent their time building instead of sitting in status meetings or waiting for approvals. They felt trusted. Ownership deepened. The team felt alive in a way it hadn't before.

3. Quality improved. This one surprised me. When people had time and space to cook, they took full ownership. They weren't cutting corners to hit dates. They were building things they were genuinely proud of.

No deadlines

We don't do deadlines.

Most teams use deadlines to create urgency. We hire for urgency instead. If someone needs a deadline to move fast, we've made a hiring mistake.

The problem with deadlines is that they focus the team around the wrong thing: the date, rather than building something exceptional.

When you're racing a date, two things happen: corners get cut, and attention shifts away from the actual goal. It's hard to deliver magic when half your brain is on the clock.

Our job is not to deliver X feature by Y date. It's to build something exceptional.

How we operate

2 mandatory meetings per week. 1.5 hours total.

Monday standup: align on the one thing that matters most this week. Friday demo day: show what we built, celebrate, iterate. It's my favorite part of the week.

Everything else is async. No status updates. No approval chains. No constant check-ins.

When you've built a Delta Force, your job isn't to control. It's to unleash. Give them clarity, get out of the way, and watch what happens.