Hello!
Jeff Bezos has a rule at Amazon.
If two pizzas cannot feed a team, the team is too big.
Five to eight people.
That is the ceiling on how many humans can build one thing without the wheels coming off. Add a ninth and the meeting slows. Add a tenth and the meeting becomes a memo. Bezos did not pick two pizzas for the calories. He picked it because coordination breaks past a point, and the point is small. Small enough to share a couple of pies.
Hold that number. I want to walk you through three more. Each one bigger than the last. The fourth is the reason I am writing this post.
150.
Robin Dunbar is an anthropologist at Oxford. In the 1990s he lined up the brain size of primates against the size of the groups they run in, and found a straight line. Bigger brain, bigger tribe. He ran the same math for humans and landed on a number.
150.
That is the count of stable relationships a human brain can hold. Not contacts. Relationships. People whose story you carry: what they do, who they married, what they fear, what they are building, what they owe you and what you owe them.
Dunbar also found layers inside the 150. Five people you would grieve. Fifteen you lean on when it goes dark. Fifty you would put on a wedding list. 150 whose name, face and rough situation you can hold without writing anything down. Past 150 the wiring quits. You have met them. You cannot hold them.
150 has not moved in 50,000 years. Your phone got smarter every year. Your brain stayed the size it was on the savanna.
611.
Here is the trap. You know far more than 150 people.
In 2010 a team at Columbia ran a clever study. They used first names. If you know six people named Rahul, and Rahuls are a known slice of the population, they can work backward to the size of your whole network. No survey where people flatter themselves. Just math on names.
The average person, they found, knows 611 people. The median came in around 472. Either way, four times what the brain can hold.
Sit in that gap for a second. Your head caps real relationships at 150. Your actual web of humans is 600 plus. Which means three out of every four people you know are sliding out of your memory while you sleep. You met them. You liked them. You meant to stay in touch. You forgot. Not because you are cold. Because 611 does not fit in a skull built for 150. The forgetting is not a character flaw. It is a hardware limit.
For the average person, that forgetting costs little. You lose touch with a batchmate from college. Sad, not expensive. For you it runs a different tab. Every name that slips is a deal that did not happen, an intro that never got made, a person who decided in silence that you did not care. Your forgetting carries a price tag. And the more connected you get, the higher the number climbs.
And 611 is the average person. You are not the average person.
5,000.
Now look at you.
Glance at your own LinkedIn connection count. A lot of you are past 2,000. Plenty of you are past 5,000. LinkedIn caps the whole thing at 30,000, and I know people who hit that ceiling and had to start deleting humans to make room for new ones. Think about that. A tool so full of your relationships that it forces you to evict some.
5,000 is not 611. It is not 150. It is a network that outran every biological limit you were issued at birth by a factor of thirty. Thirty times Dunbar. You are carrying a tribe the size of a town in a brain rated for a dinner party.
You have a name for people like you. SuperConnector.
You have been the investor who met forty founders in a week and cannot recall which two you swore to introduce. You have been the community builder running three WhatsApp groups, a Telegram and a Discord, and losing the one message that mattered inside the noise. You have been the operator who moves people and deals between five worlds, and the journalist whose sources are their entire life, and the studio runner everyone treats as the switchboard.
You sit at the center of things. People come to you to reach other people. That is the job. And you are drowning.
Not in contacts. Contacts are free and infinite. You are drowning in memory. Who did you promise to connect to whom. Who told you they were raising, and in which month. Who you owe a warm intro and have owed since March. Who used to be close and has gone quiet, and you have not noticed because there are 5,000 of them and one of you.
Two weeks ago, over a coffee you had no time for, someone told you they were raising a seed round in fintech. You knew in that second who they should meet. A partner at a fund who backs fintech at seed and who owes you nothing but a hello. Hand on heart, you said: I will connect you. You meant it. Then four more coffees happened, and a flight, and a launch, and the promise dissolved into the pile. Three weeks later they got funded by someone else. You were glad for them. You also lost the one moment where you got to be the hero of their story. Now multiply that by a year.
The superconnector’s real job is not meeting people. Meeting people is the easy part. The job is remembering them. And remembering is the first thing that breaks.
Let me be honest about my own version of this.
I have 25000+ contacts in my phone. I remember maybe forty of them with any depth. I have stood at a party, watched a face light up because they knew who I was, and had nothing to hand back. No name. No context. No thread.
“Aap? Sorry, hum kahan mile the?” is the most expensive sentence a superconnector can say out loud, and I have said it more times than I want to count.
I have also started and buried three personal CRMs. Notion. Airtable. A spreadsheet I was certain would be the one that stuck. Each died the same death: manual entry.
The database knew who I should call. It could not tap me on the shoulder. And typing it all in by hand was the first task to fall off the week I got busy, which was every week. The tool that needs the most upkeep is useless to the person with the least time. That person is the superconnector.
The few tools that do fill themselves in ask for a different price. Hand over the keys to your whole inbox and calendar and they will log your life for you. Fair trade for a sales team. A steep one for the most private list you own: the real map of who you know and what you know about them. I wanted the auto-fill without shipping my entire network to a server I do not run.
So I stopped waiting for someone to build the right one and built it.
The SuperConnector CRM.
A personal CRM for one kind of person. The superconnector with thousands of relationships and a brain rated for 150.
Three things make it different from every tool I walked away from.
1/ It fills itself in
Most of the record is written before you touch it. No blank form sitting there daring you to type in what you already forgot. The default state is populated, not empty.
2/ It remembers what people told you
Not just that you should call them. A wall of reminders is not a nudge, it is a threat. “You have not spoken to 300 people in 90 days” is a guilt machine, and guilt machines get muted. This flips it: a short list of who to reach out to, why now, and what you last spoke about. Memory over alarms.
3/ It tracks the intros you make and the favors you owe
The two things a superconnector lives and dies on, and the two things every other tool ignores. Who you connected. What came of it. Whether it landed. What you still owe, and to whom, and for how long.
That third one is the reason it exists. “Give first, keep no score” is the superconnector’s creed. Keith Ferrazzi wrote it into Never Eat Alone. Beautiful line. Impossible to live, because you cannot keep a score you cannot remember. You drop threads not from selfishness but from overload. The SuperConnector CRM keeps the thread for you, and never once turns it into a leaderboard. Follow-through, not a scoreboard. You stay the reliable one because the tool has your back, not because you turned your friendships into a game.
Picture that coffee again. This time you open the person and the meeting is already logged, because the tool read your calendar. You add one line: raising seed, fintech. You tap “introduce to” and pick the fund partner. The intro becomes a live object, not a good intention. It sits on a board where you can see it. It nudges you if it stalls. You run it double opt-in, so nobody gets a cold forward they did not ask for. You mark it made. Weeks later you write one line about what it led to, and the favor you owed closes itself. You never kept score. The tool kept the thread. That is the whole product in one flow.
The superconnectors already wrote the playbook
Give first. Stay in touch. Dig the well before you are thirsty. Every one of these books says the same thing. Not one of them tells you how to remember 5,000 people while you do it. That is the tool I am building.
- Never Eat Alone — Keith Ferrazzi. “It’s better to give before you receive. And never keep score.”
- How to Win Friends and Influence People — Dale Carnegie. “You can make more friends in two months by becoming interested in other people than in two years trying to get them interested in you.”
- The Tipping Point — Malcolm Gladwell. Connectors are “people with a special gift for bringing the world together.”
- Give and Take — Adam Grant. “The most meaningful way to succeed is to help others succeed.”
- Superconnector — Scott Gerber and Ryan Paugh. “Stop networking and start building business relationships that matter.”
Here is the ask.
I do not want to build this alone in a room and hand you a finished product. Finished products built alone in rooms are wrong in ways the builder is the last to see. I want to build it with the people it is built for. You.
So if you have more than 5,000 connections. If you are the one everybody comes to for an intro. If your superpower is your network and your bottleneck is your memory: connect with me. Comment below, or send me a DM. Tell me the one thing about staying on top of your people that drives you up the wall. That single line, from someone who lives this, is worth more to me than any survey with a hundred rows.
The first 100 superconnectors who help me build it get it free. For life. Not a 14-day trial that expires the moment it gets useful. Free, forever, because you helped shape it.
After the first 100, it retails at $99 a year. Less than ten dollars a month to run the most valuable asset you will ever own. Not your money. Not even your time. The 5,000 people who pick up when you call.
$99 a year. First 100 free. Built with you, not at you.
Who is in?