Rich guy in the kitchen with the candlestick. As the hours following the collapse of Silicon Valley Bank passed into days, and then finally our first week, the chaotic early takes rapidly evolved from tweets to pieces to actual positions. At this point, we now know venture capitalists were, and continue to be, The Problem — not the failed bank, not the regulatory framework within which the failed bank functioned, but a small subset of highly-visible investors who viciously, unthinkably put money in a bank that failed. The specific manner of the VCs’ evil has settled into three distinct genres.

First, from media voices philosophically amenable to a position that the financial system should protect depositors: a personal dislike of David Sacks, a prominent venture capitalist with a popular podcast, means let it burn (or don’t (all that really matters here is we think David is annoying)). Second, from finance bros with whacky internet personas: an opportunity to finally scapegoat another class of rich person means maybe startups should actually not exist. Third, from literal communists: an earnest belief that venture capitalists, who are capitalists, should simply all be executed (not really though, “I’m just referencing famed economist John Maynard Keynes,” wink wink *guillotine GIF*).

Now, I do think it’s worth acknowledging venture capitalists really are, for the most part, incredibly annoying. There is a reason for this. A venture capital firm is just money, and beyond a startup’s Series A the game of venture capital mostly consists of persuading the very best entrepreneurs to take money from you rather than the other guy. This dynamic naturally places a great prominence on brand, or reputation. Among top VC firms, reputation is mostly made by record, both as a great ally to founders, and — most importantly — a winner. But for firms or venture capitalists with less of a track record, you’ve pretty much just got Twitter. Given venture capitalists are also people who tend to have a lot more time on their hands than they’d generally like you to think, this is a recipe for incredibly dramatic status games, all played loudly out online, which is just to say I get it. I can’t stand a lot of these people myself, many of whom have spent the last week begging journalists to write hit pieces on my friends at Founders Fund, as it is easier to demonize a firm for acting responsibly in the middle of a crisis than it is to introspect and ask oneself difficult questions like “why did I tell my founders to sit still in the middle of a burning house,” and “how did I, a person literally professionally meant to understand risk, not understand this?”