First time driving your family somewhere. As simple as going from home to market, a 5-minute drive. You’re in the driver’s seat. Next to you sits your mother or father or uncle, your predecessor who hesitantly handed over the keys. As you drive, everyone in the car, especially your predecessor, is suppressing their reactions, holding back comments when you take a different approach. They’re watching you, scrutinising your every move. The keys are technically yours now. If you complete this journey without cracking under the weight of their silent judgment, the transition will be real. You’ll have earned the authority. You’ll have proven yourself. Things could revert at any moment, but for now, the wheel is in your hands.

With a greater margin of error—and more frequent regressions to the status quo—this is precisely how product authority should shift from founders to teams as organizations scale. After surviving the tumultuous search for product-market fit and growing into a seemingly stable business, founders inevitably face new challenges that demand their attention beyond product decisions. Though often unbearable, founders wind up transferring decision-making authority to their trusted teammates, ceding the meeting rooms to those they consider “followers”—individuals expected to execute within the constraints of the founders’ grand vision.

Yet, as with many power transfers, the transition frequently derails due to poor planning or deep-seated resistance. What appears to be a transition often becomes a futile exercise. The visible symptoms vary, but the outcome is usually disappointing. Many organizations fall into a cyclical pattern—a transition charade—where founders repeatedly delegate and reclaim control. This dance intensifies during crises, when founders conveniently blame poor outcomes on their absence from decision-making rooms. The reality might be more revealing though: neither the founders nor the teams were adequately prepared for this fundamental shift in authority. Unprepared transitions yield mediocre results, which then justify reverting to founder control. However, as organizations reach certain scale thresholds, delegation becomes non-negotiable and happens regardless of readiness. This forced transition creates both stagnant products and a decaying culture, as team members pick up on the underlying resistance to natural organisational evolution—a resistance that ultimately blocks meaningful impact.

A product’s origin story strongly foreshadows how authority will evolve within an organization. When clear command chains and founder-centric decision-making are viewed as the components of a winning formula, early warning signs of future resistance to change surface. In successful ventures, founders might attribute their wins to absolute authority and decisiveness—regardless of whether this attribution is accurate. As this belief calcifies, founding teams become increasingly sensitive to relinquishing control and uncomfortable with the emotional impact of stepping away from the command center. The conviction that past success signals future wins creates mounting reluctance as layers are added and the distance from decision-making grows.

An organization’s initial structure plays a role in how authority will flow as the company matures. The degree of decentralisation established at the outset—how flat or pyramidal the organisational chart— correlates with the founding team’s later willingness to distribute power. Both organisationally and product-wise, early fragmentation often predicts future autonomy and decentralised decision-making.

Contrary to common practice, even when founders intellectually accept the need to transfer authority, the organisational culture they’ve cultivated may undermine any transition. If a founder-centric, cult-like atmosphere permeates the company’s thinking and hiring practices, teams will likely resist new leadership. They’ve been selected and conditioned to pledge allegiance to a tight inner circle. In their minds, the founders remain the only legitimate authority, and new leaders appear as temporary placeholders. This dynamic proves exceptionally difficult to break down after years of careful team formation. If founders themselves foster this dynamic under the guise of maintaining control, they create perfect conditions for repeatedly reclaiming the wheels whenever they feel the impulse.

Playing devil’s advocate, should authority transfer at all? Could committed founders maintain product control regardless of scale? Might a clear chain of command—vision set at the top, execution handled by those below—create optimal outcomes? Numerous examples show founders successfully controlling all aspects of their businesses. We’ve recently witnessed a resurgence of “founder mode,” celebrating founders who remain deeply involved in every facet of their companies, justified by their unique understanding and vision. The challenge is undeniable: identifying trustworthy successors, patiently developing them, ensuring their commitment matches yours, and accepting their inevitable mistakes. After multiple disappointments, while burning through resources and facing stakeholder pressure, the temptation to handle everything personally may become overwhelming. Whether driven by perfectionism, dedication, or obsession, many founders conclude they must maintain control because only they truly understand the path forward.

This approach can certainly deliver results—which explains its periodic popularity. However, success depends heavily on how we define “results.” Does success mean market dominance, personal satisfaction, or simply maintaining control? If the definition centers around personal gratification, solo leadership might suffice. Yet the power of collective intelligence eventually prevails, as the “I’m always right” perspective gradually corrodes judgment and creates dangerous illusions where failures are invariably attributed to others.

At the heart of the debate between “founder mode” and distributed authority lies the challenge of vision transmission. The energy required to cultivate a team that both shares your perspective and contributes independent judgment is immense—a never-ending endeavor requiring constant attention. Founders who relentlessly communicate their vision and successfully identify aligned talent are more likely to create room for successors. But, while intellectual alignment can bridge the gap, trust remains profoundly personal and bidirectional—impossible to manufacture on demand. “Founder mode” often serves as an elegant euphemism for a simple calculation: exerting control and accepting occasional mistakes requires less effort than building trust and cultivating shared vision. Rather than investing in helping others understand your perspective, you choose to relegate them to simple operators executing your commands at the expense of shouldering some mistakes along the way.

Finding talent you can trust, individuals who will faithfully embody your vision, is extraordinarily difficult, particularly under pressing constraints. If this serves as your justification, perhaps the real issue is not finding people as committed as you are. But, no matter how hard, there’s a profound satisfaction in truly relinquishing control, and watching ideas, not personalities, to drive your organisation. You can observe your driver closely, perhaps even reflexively reaching for imaginary brakes as if you were still in the driving seat. However, the comments you make or the interventions you attempt will inevitably influence the driver or worse, destabilize the entire vehicle, ultimately undermining yourself sooner or later in the near future.