While he may not have realized it at the time, Asa Griggs Candler helped pioneer the “platform” business model used by thousands of web companies today. But Chandler wasn’t a tech startup guy, he was the founder of The Coca-Cola Company.
Coke became a platform company almost by accident. Beginning in 1886, Coke was principally sold to soda fountains and Candler saw little demand for bottled Coke. Couldn’t you just get a Coke at your local drugstore? Besides, creating a bottling and distribution operation was expensive, and lower-margin. The Coca-Cola Company had great margins. They didn’t even make the Coke that people drank. They manufactured concentrated Coke syrup and marketed the final product. It was the pharmacy soda fountains that added carbonated water to Coke’s concentrate to make the drink.
In the late 1890′s, Candler was approached by two Chattanooga businessmen who proposed creating a Coke bottling operation. Candler signed a contract with the two men, giving them control of Coke bottling for one dollar (Candler never actually collected the dollar). Whether Candler didn’t see the potential for bottled Coke or was nervous about the risks and costs associated with building a bottling operation in-house, the decision was incredibly beneficial to Coke over the long-term. Coke was able to focus on its two core competencies while the technology and manufacturing processes required to bottle mass quantities of soda developed in parallel. Coke benefited massively from the greater volume and distribution that bottlers enabled.
APIs provide a similar function in the programming world. Platform companies such as Twitter have stuck to developing their core capabilities (their syrup and marketing) while enabling others to innovate around the Twitter APIs. Basically, it’s a licensing strategy. As of the Spring, Twitter was generating about 75% of its traffic through third-party clients (its bottlers) utilizing the Twitter APIs.
Apple’s app strategy for iOS is another example. Apple developed a few core applications (iCal, Safari, Mail, etc.) for the iPhone platform and then enabled the creation of hundreds of thousands of applications via the iOS SDK. This has enabled Apple to create enormous value for its platform without shouldering the costs of building thousands of applications in-house (which it couldn’t do with the same efficiency and creativity of its developer community anyway).
There are of course benefits and dangers to innovating on top of another company’s platform. Primarily, there is a hold-up problem with this type of innovation. For example, Coke could hold its bottlers hostage and force the bottlers to pay higher fees for concentrate. On the other hand, bottlers could threaten to choke off Coke’s distribution. The way to solve these hold-up problems and to improve manufacturer-supplier coordination is through vertical integration, and that’s exactly what we have seen from both Coke and Twitter.
Vertical integration allows a company to remove coordination problems and reduce costs by bringing the relevant supplier(s) or partner(s) in-house. Coke did this by acquiring its North American bottling partner in February 2010. Twitter did this by acquiring complementary functions such as search (Summize) and mobile (Tweetie). These acquisitions reduced coordination problems for Twitter, enabling them to accelerate development of their roadmap. Most importantly, both companies were able to maintain focus while enabling the ancillary innovation that would become critical to their long-term growth.
On a much broader level, the trend of outsourcing corporate R&D to venture-funded companies seems to be accelerating. Steven Kaplan and Josh Lerner wrote a great paper explaining this trend, noting that venture-backed firms are three times as efficient in generating innovations as corporate research. Incumbent (and upstart) technology companies can take advantage of this trend by providing entrepreneurs with the tools that accelerate innovation: API’s, open source software, and greater access to data/information.

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Deconstructing The Economist
The Economist is my favorite newspaper. It’s also one of the only profitable news publishers. Why is it successful while the rest of the industry is gasping for air? It’s not because they’re extremely innovative in how they charge for or deliver content. They don’t have a splashy online presence although they slowly waded into crafting online-only content that takes advantage of the web’s interactivity. They don’t have a fancy iPhone or iPad app yet. The simple reason for their success is the content itself.
There is no close substitute for The Economist‘s product and so people are willing to pay for it. They cover business and political news with a breadth and depth that is unequaled, and because they are a weekly, they can chew a bit more on their stories before publishing. Most importantly, they are transparent about their views (socially liberal, fiscally conservative). They take a side on every issue but deliver arguments in an even-handed way, enabling the reader to agree or disagree with the facts and data presented. They don’t even publish bylines, making it all about what is written and not who has written it. Since I like their style, and would love to read more news written this way, I thought I’d briefly deconstruct a typical article to see how their editors tick.
Each article’s headline is brief and opaque (i.e. “Race to the bottom” or “An empire built on sand“) or non sequiturs (i.e. “No, these are special puppies” or “Cue the fish“). Sometimes the headlines read like the Old Spice guy wrote them (“I’m on a horse”), but that’s part of dressing up what could otherwise be dull subject matter. The non sequiturs force you to read on just so you can understand what they’re talking about.
The sub-header is all business. There’s no fat and they read like well-crafted tweets. For an article on genetic testing, one reads, “The personal genetic-testing industry is under fire, but happier days lie ahead”. The subheader is usually one or two sentences and plainly states the paper’s view on the issue (“Google has joined Verizon in lobbying to erode net neutrality“). I really like this method because at bottom all journalists have an opinion, so why not be transparent and lay it bare? By laying out the conclusion in a couple sentences upfront, it also allows the reader to get something even if she’s just paging through.
Many times, the lede introduces the article with a story or quote. In the article about personal genetic testing, it starts with a quote from Ozzy Osbourne, “By all accounts, I’m a medical miracle”. It gets the reader interested and humanizes what would otherwise be a purely technical subject.
The next paragraph or two include a strong argument in support of the subheader. In the genetic testing article, the author writes about how Osbourne “is not alone in wondering what mysteries genetic testing might unlock”. It goes on to say that Google is invested in a genetic testing company and that Warren Buffett himself has been tested. It discusses the promise of people understanding their risk for getting a disease and how that information holds great promise for treatment. At this point, the reader may be wondering how anyone could oppose genetic testing.
Not so fast. In typical Economist fashion, the next paragraph eviscerates the thesis of the article. While the subheader supported genetic testing, the next paragraph cites a damning report from a credible source that found many test results were “misleading and of little or no practical use to consumers”. Game over. At this point, the reader is scratching her head thinking, “I thought testing was supposed to be a good thing”?! By so willingly presenting a counter argument, The Economist strengthens the credibility of the view it supports in the subheader. It’s an effective writing tactic and their use of it has made me a more critical reader, forcing me to always search for the other side of the story.
The bulk of the article then presents a series of facts from either side, filtering each one through the views presented in the subheader. The facts are laid out, but placed in context. The reader can decide which facts are convincing and which might be discarded.
The final paragraph is almost never definitive. It summarizes the main arguments and concludes with an open question of whether or not The Economist‘s view will come to pass. It’s not that they waffle, they’re just practical. And they don’t play the prediction games that all the cable news talking heads play. I think it’s a refreshing approach that lets readers decide on the future for themselves.