Mark Pincus on "Proven, Better, New": Why Great Products Start with Copying and Humility

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Overview

Mark Pincus founded Zynga, the company behind FarmVille, Words With Friends, and Zynga Poker, and started several companies before it. In this conversation with Lenny Rachitsky, he lays out the product philosophy he has spent five years turning into a book, Life at the Speed of Play. His central claim is that product builders usually fail for the wrong reasons. They innovate where they should copy, aim too big too early, and hold on to mediocre ideas out of hope. His alternative is a framework he calls "Proven, Better, New," supported by a set of beliefs about ambition, testing, retention, and management.

32 min read
3:56

Instincts versus ideas

The framework became what Pincus calls "a religion" at Zynga and the core of how the company did product management. For three of the four years he spent writing, the book's working title was Proven Better New. He changed it because the name felt too dry and because "life at the speed of play" captured the broader idea of the book.

The philosophy starts with a split between instincts and ideas. People have gut-level human instincts about what they want to build, and Pincus believes those are almost always right. The problem is the specific ideas they layer on top of those instincts. His rule of thumb is that "your instincts are right 95% of the time. Your ideas are wrong 75%," or at best right 25% of the time. Proven, Better, New is meant to isolate the "innovation zone" around the instinct, test many ideas inside it, and make sure that when an idea fails, it fails for the right reason.

His cautionary example is Sid Meier, whom he calls the godfather of game design. When Meier released a social version of Civilization on Facebook, Zynga's team first thought the ultimate game designer had arrived. Ten minutes after launch, Zynga's product managers were emailing around an analysis that said the game was dead on arrival. The first-time user experience took so many clicks that nobody would ever see the design underneath. Zynga's most junior PMs understood the best-of-breed onboarding approach on Facebook. Because Meier didn't copy that proven piece, Pincus says, his innovation never got seen.

7:38

The three parts of the framework

Proven means taking everything you are not innovating on off the table and copying the best existing version of it, legally and ideally with taste. Pincus uses the many AI camera apps he sees as an example. If you're building one, the basic workings of a camera aren't your innovation, so study where the best version already exists, whether at Apple, Snapchat, or Instagram, and copy it. You should get a "PhD in proven" first. In his words, you haven't earned the right to innovate on the camera until you're the world's leading expert on the best mobile cameras that already exist.

Better is narrower than people assume. It's usually small, incremental, and often about polish that intense or power users notice most. His test is strict: a change is "better" only if 10 out of 10 existing users of that kind of product would say "f*** yes." The judge isn't the builder. "What we think is better is new." Examples of real "better" include a product becoming free or needing no download, improvements that can be shown statistically and that every user would accept.

New is the novel "back of the box" idea that gets people to download and try the product. Pincus says it is probably going to fail. Teams are usually too ambitious here. He recommends accepting that the first new idea is likely wrong and having four others ready to test.

Words With Friends shows all three. It was Scrabble, which is proven. It was polished for mobile, which was the better. Its new idea was social: it attached to the Facebook graph, so your friends were already there to play with you. Pincus notes that even that idea might not have gotten 10 out of 10 people saying yes, which is why it belonged under "new." The game reached 14 million daily active users while Scrabble itself hadn't become that kind of hit, and he attributes the difference to getting better and new right on top of proven.

He describes the framework as a kind of time machine. If he could talk to himself in 2003 or 2004, he would say his instincts were more right than he knew. One of them, he says without naming the company, pointed to something that became a $1.6 trillion company, and he was a year ahead of it. His idea at Tribe (Tribe.net) turned out to be Reddit, and there was also a listings business in it. At Tribe he knew the metrics weren't working. Thirty-day retention was terrible, and he calls the company "a sinking speedboat." If he had been testing many more ideas and looking around for proven "heat" in the market, he believes he would have greatly improved his odds.

13:06

The TED touchscreen, misuse of "proven," and Slack

Lenny pointed out that the iPod and iPhone fit this pattern: existing product categories made better, with something new added. Pincus added a memory. At a TED conference he watched an MIT team demo a touchscreen on a giant whiteboard and a table, and Steve Jobs spent the whole time with them, obsessed with it. Pincus says he doesn't know if that was the first time Jobs saw it, but on his reading, touch was the iPhone's one new idea.

He warns that founders often misuse "proven" to justify a wrong idea, for example by pointing to a game that was popular in the 1990s. Proven has to be exact, down to "the pixel level of this experience": proven on this platform, for this audience, for this experience. Older successes can inspire new ideas, but if they aren't on your platform, they don't count as proven.

Masters of the craft do this so gracefully that nobody notices what the product is derivative of. Pincus thinks Slack may have been only proven and better, with nothing new, and says that's even better if you can pull it off, because "people don't like change." Taking a behavior people already like and making it more accessible or more fun can win them over more than novelty would.

15:24

The "moral arbitrage" of copying

Asked why the idea of copying bothers people, Pincus calls it, "in the Peter Thiel sense," a moral arbitrage. Founders became founders to be innovators, schools taught that copying is cheating, and so starting from other people's work feels like a beatdown. That resistance creates an opening for people with less ego involved.

His line to Zynga's product makers was: "If you're truly ambitious, burn your resume." If you define ambition by your consumer rather than your peers, you aren't chasing awards. You're trying to win the hearts and minds of, in FarmVille's case, "nurses in Indiana." Innovation then becomes whatever gives her an experience she loves more. Pure copying gives her no reason to switch, but taking something she already loves and making it "one inch better" might beat showing her something she's never seen and didn't know she wanted. He adds that consumer taste also resists obvious copies, the way movies or books that feel too derivative can turn audiences off, so the art is doing this without the user noticing.

His model of a world-class product maker is Craig Newmark. Newmark lived in Pincus's neighborhood and, Pincus jokes, was better friends with his dog, Zynga, than with him. Newmark once told him he had spent two years adding photos to Craigslist listings, because he wanted to make sure people liked it and that the photos appeared the right way. Pincus admits he still doesn't fully understand what took two years. But he took the lesson that people feel ownership of products they rely on and get angry when those products change, even for the better, because they move through life on pattern recognition. He imagines, as a hypothetical, that adding photos might have pushed the text below the fold, when what users valued most was scanning text quickly to compare prices.

19:32

Finding proven inside someone else's product

Lenny observed that most products he could think of, from the iPhone to his water bottle to Chrome, are improved versions of earlier things, and that product teams already study competitors' flows. Pincus added that gold often lies in a proven feature buried in someone else's product that its owners haven't recognized. He cites Nikita Bier's TBH, which Bier found as a near-perfect product inside an Arabic-only version of an existing app. His own first company, Freeloader, came from the same pattern. Netscape and Internet Explorer had offline browsing buried as a power-user feature. Because bandwidth was so slow at the time, Pincus saw that an entire product could be built around that one feature.

He doesn't claim every product comes from Proven, Better, New. His question is which path a founder wants to take. On the blank-whiteboard path he points to Rovio, which as far as he could tell made 45 totally different games without learning much from previous failures or the market, and hit on the 45th with Angry Birds. He calls that "wildcat drilling." The contrasting story is OMGPop. After an entirely original product failed completely, the company was down to its last dollar and needed a hit. It then took a proven game, studied everything already working and viral on mobile, and copied the turn-based system from Words With Friends. The result, Draw Something, was the number one game and app in the App Store for 60 days in 2012, and Zynga bought the company.

23:55

Be less ambitious

Pincus says he is relearning this lesson right now. If founders start out too ambitious and visionary, they usually miss product-market fit, because the right starting point is often "embarrassingly small." He notes that Facebook began as an app for checking out people at Harvard.

His own career has come in waves. Freeloader and Support.com both started from humble premises and became bigger successes than he expected. Afterward he felt he could do anything. He treats Elon Musk as the exception, partly because Musk can raise seemingly unlimited capital, but says most founders feel the urge to go bigger after a win. At Tribe he saw how large social networking could be and tried to do everything instead of picking one use case, even though several inside it worked, including the "urban tribes" people loved. The company failed. He then went through what he calls an abyss. By the time he started Zynga at 41, as a multi-time successful founder, he made a poker game on Facebook. People told him he had "no dignity" and could do so much more. He says his ambition had come down to a thousand-foot altitude instead of 100,000 feet, and that was the key.

He believes this gives first-time founders an edge over repeat founders, who have "too much rope to hang ourselves." It's too easy for them to raise money and hire against a big vision before finding fit. "The world doesn't care about your resume," he says, so everyone has the same chance. His paradox: the more ambitious you are, the humbler you should be and the smaller the place you should be willing to start. Lenny added that startups can chase ideas too small for a company like Meta to care about, and Pincus agreed that following flaky threads before they look like businesses is where many successful companies began.

As an example he admires Bolt.new. He liked it so much he cold-emailed the founder. As Pincus tells it, the team worked in obscurity on something they were passionate about, open-sourced it, and could barely keep commercial development going. Then they realized that adding their in-browser virtual machine and web stack to an AI coding copilot gave them something better than what anyone else had. He also points to Stewart Butterfield. Butterfield set out to build an ambitious mass-market MMO, was humbled, and noticed a small tool the engineers used internally. Building a product around it became Slack. Pincus says calling that shift takes an attuned, curious, humble founder.

31:12

Confidence, honesty, and the "third grade soccer" critique

Changing direction is hard when investors and a team are all moving one way and founders are expected to project confidence. Pincus says he errs toward transparency "to a fault" and has burned people out doing it, at Zynga and since. He repeats the criticism he's heard: working for Mark is "like third grade soccer," with a new exciting idea every Monday. He says the critics aren't wrong. What he'd like to get better at is building a culture where the team agrees up front that it won't hold on to a B+, even one that has traction or could be funded, and won't stop until it finds fit against its north star. People who would rather join a company already taking off can make that choice. To him, the real "founder mode" is having the courage to tell your team and investors that this isn't it.

33:19

Kill hope before hope kills you

Pincus says he didn't coin the phrase, but he loves it. He separates belief from hope. Hope is "confidence without basis," a prayer not grounded in your experience with your product, with users, or with the data. Too many teams keep going on the hope that the next release will do something magical. The best product makers, he argues, are "collecting winnings" rather than placing bets. He says Brian Chesky, for example, already knows a launch is a hit before it ships.

This leads to his contrast between a minimum viable product and a "maximum launchable product." In his view, "viable" is the word to kill along with hope, because viability is where hope comes from. Putting something out to learn is different from launching something you believe will be a hit, and founders need to be clear about which they're doing.

He considers AI dangerous right now because it's so powerful. It lets teams reach a viable product in maybe three months instead of three years. He expected people to use AI to build "failure machines" that test "more ideas in a week than your industry tests in a year," a hundred ideas a day instead of one every three months. What he sees instead is AI used to build one idea in three months. His advice is to "build it wrong before you know it's right." If you believe today's product is probably wrong, you'll spend a day or a week on it instead of three months, and you'll ask only whether it's good enough to produce signal.

One cheap test teams often skip is the ad. Pincus was repeatedly surprised at Zynga by teams that hadn't tested ads before launch. When Zynga prepared FarmVille's first expansion pack (he recalls it as an English countryside theme), the team planned a $10 million ad budget for "coming soon" ads elsewhere. Pincus pointed out that 25 to 30 million people were already in the game every day. Instead, the team placed locked versions of the new art on the game board, tested different looks and messages by counting clicks, and let players sign up for early access. Almost everyone clicked, since it was a change on their board. The test showed which marketing and product variant worked best. Unexpectedly, Zynga also started selling early-access keys for a player and a friend, and sold $19 million worth. Something planned as advertising turned into product signal, scarcity, and revenue.

40:13

Why Zynga's games worked, and it wasn't virality

Lenny noted that FarmVille and CityVille put some product people off, while Poker, Words With Friends, and Mafia Wars are admired. Pincus replied that FarmVille and CityVille were Zynga's biggest hits by installs, engagement, retention, and revenue. Words With Friends and Poker lasted longer because they made the move to mobile and the others didn't. He grants that Zynga became "a victim of its own success": its games took over Facebook feeds enough to annoy non-players.

His main point is that Zynga's eight hits out of ten major game launches didn't come from being good at virality. The company had many competitors copying it and kept winning, so in his view it couldn't have been just spamminess. He credits two things.

The first was the mission of connecting the world through games. He and Bing Gordon kept returning to what he calls a "bold beat": adding a whole new dimension to something that has become boring or rote. Adding social features and real identities let people meet others or improve relationships inside a game. He says many players, especially middle-aged women, loved FarmVille because they had a hobby they weren't doing alone. The most successful features were co-op play and gifting. Zynga described its games as "invest, express, and connect." One of his lines: "people don't want to be creative, they want to feel creative." He says Midjourney does that for him today.

The second was that the core metric was retention, not virality. Pincus believes Zynga was the only consumer company in the world tracking day-365 retention and doubts anyone tracks it now. He says the most valuable companies have the highest day-365 retention and calls that statistically true. You can't wait a year to see it, but early indicators correlate. Low day-1 and day-30 retention predict poor day-365 retention. The reverse doesn't hold: most products have strong day-30 numbers and near-zero day-365 numbers. Users themselves ask whether something is worth investing in because they'll still use it in a year. He calls virality-driven companies (he mentions BeReal) "sinking speedboats," trying to drive faster than they sink rather than plugging the hole or building a better boat.

He also shares what he calls an Easter egg: a metric named ASN, "active social network," which counted round trips with other players. You take a turn and they take one back, or you send a gift and they send one back. According to Pincus, going from zero to one round trip meant an 80% chance Zynga saw the player again in the next month. At four, there was an 80% chance they'd return on 22 of the next 30 days. Teams could innovate directly against that number, and he connects it to the dopamine of positive feedback loops like likes and comments.

48:48

Latent demand and the future of social

On why so few durable consumer social apps appear today, Pincus says people have given up for good reason, since nothing proven is working. He looks for latent demand instead. In 2007, video games were a $23 billion business, yet he had stopped playing and didn't know anyone who played. Getting people to play with him felt like "crawling across broken glass." He once set up two machines for his gamer nephews and two for himself, with video chat running and a game server for Rise of Nations. It was fun, but they did it only once. His premise for Zynga was that adults wanted permission to play if it became extremely accessible: free rather than a $60 purchase, a game they already knew, "three clicks and you're in," five to fifteen minutes of their time, stumbled upon like comics in a newspaper rather than a trip to the comic book store. Gaming is now, by his figure, a $280 billion industry. He still doesn't play and knows no adults who do, so he thinks another large wave of growth is waiting.

Social, he argues, is beyond latent demand, since people already use Snapchat, Instagram, and TikTok. The problem is that it has "lost the adrenaline." It feels like eating potato chips. He says his team looked at net promoter scores and found that people who quit Facebook or Instagram went from +35 to -35, like people who just quit smoking. People are proud to say they're not on Instagram because they don't feel they're missing a party. He calls this the biggest unexplored opportunity on the internet and is confident someone will reinvent social for the agentic AI age. His guess is that it will bring back productivity. Facebook let people stay in the loop with hundreds of friends and LinkedIn delivered real productivity, but in his view platforms drifted toward time-wasting engagement, with Instagram developing "TikTok envy."

His guiding image is the cocktail party. People know a great one when they feel it: obligation turns into eagerness because of who you're meeting. Great parties produce leads. For Pincus it started with Napster, where the lead was a music file, then continued with Friendster, Facebook, and LinkedIn, which delivered far better lead generation than Google or Craigslist. He once had a good date through Friendster. Zynga's strategy was to drop games into the party already happening on social networks. "Today, we're all hanging out on our Claude, on our GPT, but there's no cocktail party," he says. It's quiet and lonely, like the web before social networking, and his challenge to listeners is to "figure out how to make it rowdy."

57:07

How to know you have a B+

Returning to how you know an idea is only a B+, Pincus uses a dating analogy. With the right person you don't ask whether they're the one; you just know. With a B+ partner you keep asking. He cites Osho: if you're torn between two paths, both are wrong. "If you're asking whether or not your product is an A, it's not an A." A B+ can sometimes become an A, but intellectual honesty comes first. With real signal, "everything works": you're addicted to the product, friends love it, and the metrics confirm it. Nobody had to ask whether ChatGPT was "it." After admitting it's a B+, the questions are whether to kill it, learn from it, or look for proven or nearly proven things nearby.

He applied this to himself two weeks before the interview, when he shut down his "Earth" project for about the fourth time. For 20 years he has pursued his own version of the metaverse, the vision that led him to Zynga. He credits Reid Hoffman with the definition he uses: blurring the lines between the virtual and the real, which he thinks life is heading toward anyway with AI. He says he "went native, not in the good way," building a browser-based game engine to prove he could, chasing a big idea instead of a small one. After four years and $25 million on this version, he stopped. He says he has felt more inspired about ideas in the two weeks since than in the previous four years.

1:01:36

Distribution when AI isn't yet a platform

On distribution, Pincus limits himself to consumer, which he knows best. He argues AI isn't yet a platform. Past platforms were hardware, interfaces like Windows, browsers, or open social networks, or in mobile's case both hardware and interface. Chat apps are a new portal, but not yet a platform for other developers' apps. He believes one will come but doesn't know how. Meanwhile we're still in the mobile and web era.

Platform shifts unlock discovery, and discovery has stalled. He says average app installs per user per month are zero, and that of roughly 40,000 games launched in the App Store last year, none became a top-10 hit or held a top-25 or top-50 spot. That, he says, makes consumer social and games nearly uninvestable right now, while prosumer and enterprise companies are growing revenue quickly. He still thinks it's a great time to work on consumer ideas. Distribution has to be built into the product and strategy from the start, not left to "hope strategy." He argues experimenting now is cheap, since in a year it may cost a hundred times more amid a hundred times more noise and a flood of competitors. Many successful companies, he observes, start by reaching power users and "whales" who care enough to find and pay for a product.

He shares an idea from Garry Tan: design consumer services as though tokens were effectively free, since today's token spend may cost almost nothing in a year or two. Pincus admits it sounds like a dot-com business plan and remembers ordering discounted pig ears for his dog while wanting to thank the VCs subsidizing them. The difference, he says, is that pig ears and delivery weren't going to get cheaper, and tokens will. Premium games and apps already hit token limits today, so working around that could open up interesting innovation.

He also sketches an agent that brokers social relationships, which he calls a "social membrane" of trust. It would know both people's context, share less than it knows, and adjust how much attention it asks for, like a great chief of staff. His example is two people in the Bay Area who both say they want to hang out, with unequal enthusiasm on a given weekend. The agents would find a way to meet without hurting feelings or booking Saturday when one person wants time with their kids. Lenny added that nobody wants a shared calendar to show they have nothing going on.

Asked whether a new distribution platform is coming, Pincus says he is "somewhere between belief and hope." The major labs are currently racing on coding, but he expects them to turn toward consumers and developers, and thinks it would serve OpenAI, Anthropic, or Grok to foster consumer-facing agentic apps built on their models. His favorite example is an agentic travel agent: free, available 24/7, aware of your context, able to book and, most valuably, to rebook when plans fall apart mid-trip. He says travel agents vanished because they couldn't earn enough commission and people wouldn't pay enough. A service like that, built into a chat product, would give users a clear reason to prefer one assistant. Today he often can't remember whether he's asking Claude or GPT. Lenny wondered whether the labs would simply build everything themselves. Pincus pointed to history: Microsoft was a brutal platform that absorbed everything around it, and Facebook absorbed nearly everything except music, because of rights issues, and games, because it didn't want to hire artists.

1:15:50

Management: CEOs, the metal, and micromanagement

Pincus says he doesn't like managing people and arrived at all his management principles "through desperation." Product-minded founders can't hand the CEO role to someone else without priorities breaking down, so the question is how to maximize time on what they love. He concluded that all of management comes down to getting people to do the right thing when you're not in the room. His answer was to "make everyone a CEO": give someone a hill to take, real operating control, a plan and a budget, and freedom inside that. He found this was very motivating and that those people rarely needed managing. He jokes that he is "a team player as long as I'm running the team," and says the best candidates are "frustrated expert witnesses," slightly know-it-all people eager to prove they were right. He ties this to current Silicon Valley talk about removing middle management and mentions Brian Armstrong's push for everyone to be an individual contributor.

"Expert witness syndrome" describes early-career people who are closest to the data and often to the right answer, but furthest from the decision. They're called to testify, dismissed, and left to "disagree and commit" and clean up afterward. Pincus says that's why many become founders. Once they're in charge, the risk is losing touch with the metal. He believes the best product CEOs live in the details. He mentions the story of Steve Jobs choosing conference room carpet. The Discord founders told him they realized they were delegating the most important UX decisions to their least experienced people, so they flipped the pyramid and made themselves the "first and last mile" for the product. He also cites Brian Chesky doing things unscalably by hand, and stories of Jeff Bezos and Zuckerberg working deeply with teams a couple of days a week on what mattered most. If you're the best product maker in the company, "we want to put you on the ice."

He calls micromanagement "beautiful" and says to do it as long as you can. Up to about 50 employees, Zynga held two-hour standups where he went through a spreadsheet name by name, checking yesterday's commitments and setting today's. He says the company was far more effective for it, and that this was less accepted 20 years ago than it is now. His first principle is to be in the room as much as possible, assuming you're the best player. Only then do other strategies take over. One is the "teaching hospital," where as many people as possible attend product meetings to absorb the founder's approach. Another is the technical assistant: someone from the ranks, much like the founder in their twenties, who follows you for six to twelve months and takes on test projects. He calls it passing on "the vampire blood." He says that at Amazon under Andy Jassy, everyone on the senior team had once been a technical assistant to Bezos.

He also borrows from Bezos the idea that a CEO's number one job is to be right. He'd take the right product and strategy over excellent execution, because "being in the right body of water matters more than the right boat." When hiring, he looks for evidence that someone was right about something. "I'll take misfits who are right."

1:26:46

Parenting for an AI era

Pincus has five children, including a son with fairly extreme special needs, a one-year-old with a gene mutation who may also turn out to be very neurodivergent, and 15-year-old twin girls who are very different from each other. He says he's "growing my best friends." His first principle is to meet each child where they are, human to human, without talking down to them or treating them as adults. From there they can go surprisingly far. During the pandemic, seeing that the twins' school couldn't handle remote learning, he taught them and their friends "daddy math," aiming to build curiosity rather than follow grade levels. They were in fifth grade, and he later learned he had taught them through eighth-grade math.

He believes a hundred-year cycle of mass-produced education, built for factory and then knowledge work, is ending as knowledge work changes, and he feels uneasy that his kids are still being prepared for it. He tells them he doesn't care whether they go to college, which he admits is hard on kids who are achievers. What he cares about is critical thinking and being useful to people. His daughter Carmen, who has ADHD and dyslexia, created a sweatshirt brand called Comfy Fancy and a group for neurodivergent middle schoolers called Neurosparkly, which he describes as turning a supposed deficit into a way to connect with and help others. He encourages his kids to ask what's behind an adult's or teacher's point of view, including their agenda and lived experience, and to ask better questions rather than know more answers. Online, he pushes them to be generative rather than consumptive. He admits it works only sometimes. He tried to hold off on smartphones until 16 and made it to 14. The twins had flip phones until internships at Niantic, where they built a first-time user experience for Pokémon Go, required smartphones.

He also keeps a running Google Doc of life philosophies for his older daughters, written up with stories, and knows they read it because they repeat some. One entry is that nothing is personal: assume that and you'll be right 19 times out of 20, and you'll probably handle the 20th time well because of it. Another is not to be a victim, since the world is happening around you, not to you, and people are defined by how they react. He jokes that he once wanted to write a parenting book saying everything he knows he learned from his dog Zynga: clear boundaries, freedom, and love in between.

1:35:16

The "why": building an internet treasure

Pincus says it took him until age 41, when he started Zynga, to articulate his why. When people ask why a wealthy founder would keep working hard, he says he hasn't done his thing yet. That thing is to build an "internet treasure," defined as "a service we can't remember life before or imagine life without." He calls this the greatest ambition available to product makers. His friend Bing Gordon says such treasures will one day be in the Smithsonian, and Pincus agrees. He thinks this era's opportunity is to build "digital skyscrapers" that the next generation can't believe anyone lived without, and it's why he is still, in his words, "rubbing sticks together" and writing books.

He describes Life at the Speed of Play as his playbook and says he hopes someone steals its ideas and takes them further. He sees the book as part of an ongoing conversation among product makers who are all still learning.