It's the story of a 90s rave concept that moved me out of tech and into the bar business.
In bars and restaurants, we like to pretend it's all about margins, menus, and inventory. Let's be clear: If you don't master those things, you won't be open long. However, if that's all you master, you won't be open much longer.
I was in the rave scene in the 90s. I didn't really look like your typical raver. At every party I went to I looked more like the son of a state senator who was tagging along with one of his friends to "see what it was all about." I was trying to grow a tech business at the time, but man, I sure did love that scene. I loved the energy, the music, and the people. They were usually outcasts and misfits who found each other through a love of the music but also because they just wanted a space where they didn't have to be around a bunch of assholes. It wasn't about going somewhere to get drunk and try to get laid. It was hippies, but on ecstasy.
I was working in tech in Las Vegas but I would drive five hours on weekends just to hang at some of the best parties in Southern California. I was alive when I was there.
In 2000, a small-budget movie named Groove came out. It was decent. It didn't get everything right, but it got enough right that most of the scene at the time was okay with it. But one specific thing stuck with me: the concept of "The Nod."
For me, the movie was less about what it was like to go to these parties, and more about the collective friction of a hundred different moving parts suddenly syncing up into perfect harmony. Throwing those parties was thankless and profitless, but the promoter character dealt with every setback, heartache, and drop of sweat because of one thing: The Nod.
There were moments where you would look out across this thing that you created with so many others, and you would see someone just completely locked in. They weren't just having a drink or listening to a track; they were experiencing the exact ecosystem that you sweated and bled to build. You could tell they just got it.
Then, if the Gods of the Party were smiling upon you, they would suddenly catch your eye, look right at you, and give you The Nod.
No words. No gushing acknowledgment from someone sucking up to make sure they got into your next gig. Just another human being who “got it,” making eye contact to give you The Nod. That is the real validation of the effort. Sure, there are other things about this business that are great, but that moment? That’s the high.
This was everything. The goal: Chasing The Nod.
This single concept is why so many people stay in hospitality despite the brutal grind. It’s the ultimate currency for anyone who creates spaces for people to connect. You aren’t selling a dish or a drink—you’re engineering a feeling. Once you get The Nod, and you know what it feels like to deliver it, it permanently shapes how you view service, connection, and success.
This became my compass.
The First Nod (And How It Broke)
My first bar with my then-wife was all about that feeling, even if we didn’t articulate it that way at the time. It was her food, my drinks, and our shared love of the industry—how we wanted to make it better however we could.
Our first bar in 2014 might look a bit “basic” in hindsight, but in reality, it was interactive art. We put ourselves on display so some could pass us by, while others could stay and take it all in. We gave our town something distinct, and we let them reflect that energy back on us. It was a healthy, beautiful loop of community and creation.
I wanted to build a sanctuary. You can go anywhere in the world and get torn down; why not build a place that doesn’t make it worse? I didn’t want people to have to be cool to come to my place. You came to my place to be cool.
We were getting The Nod all the time, so we opened another spot shortly thereafter.
But life is real life, and this kind of work isn’t easy. It eventually led to a divorce in 2018. We sold one spot, she kept the other, and I was left on my own to figure out what was next.
I found some amazing partners, and we were off and running to build out a gorgeous new space. When we were about six months away from opening, the lockdown hit.
This was supposed to be my comeback, and everything was riding on it. I had built up some fame in the bar business, I was trying to prove to myself that I could still do this on my own, and I wanted to get back to a place where I was working for myself. It was my Proof of Life.
But it seems I had forgotten about The Nod.
I lost the trail—but to be fair, the lockdown had completely obliterated the path anyway. Shifting customer behavior, crazy price fluctuations, and an outdated pre-pandemic map made it incredibly hard to navigate.
Here’s the thing: I still wanted The Nod, but I was dealing with a crowd of people who were fractured, anxious, and socially out of practice. There were more demands and less patience. They wanted a drink, and they wanted it right now. They had spent 18 months sitting at home learning everything they wanted to know about food and cocktails from the internet.
You can’t curate an experience for people who have forgotten how to experience things.
A room can’t appreciate the nuances of lighting, the music, the menu, and a high hospitality standard when they are just trying to remember how to be people again.
We built a beautiful space with beautiful people, but we couldn’t hold on. Almost five years into the project, we closed the doors. No one was giving us The Nod anymore, and maybe we had forgotten that we were even searching for it, or what it actually meant.
A New Vision: Learning From the Ledger
If I’m being honest, the economics of the business aren’t any different today than what I said at the beginning. You’ll see it in every business book, every blog post, and every consultant will tell you the exact same thing: Watch your cost centers and your profit centers. It’s not even that hard. Hell, modern software and AI will get you 90% of the way there.
There are some people who will do the business part and they will grow and grow and be just fine, they aren't looking for it.
Me? I don't want 30 spots, I don't want to tour and open bars all over. I want The Nod.
Getting those boring parts down though and knowing why you're doing it, that's when you feel good about the things you're doing. Sure, there are systems for hospitality and ways to get your staff to sell it but you need to know why you're doing it and believe it. Believe it so much that you think you are the greatest in the world at it.
It doesn't matter if anyone else believes you're the greatest. What matters is that you believe it and you'll take a lie detector test around that belief. Believe in why you're doing it and others will follow.
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