“ A Butterfly flaps its wings, causes a storm in Beijing” — Chaos Theory
It was 12:42 p.m. , just eighteen minutes away from our next cleaning assignment. My first-ever 9 a.m. deep cleaning project was clearly overrunning, over budget, and from the looks of it, my staff would be late for her next cleaning appointment. Disaster for a new cleaning company.
I had to improvise. I loaded the backpack vacuum cleaner, cloth, and chemicals onto our blue Mercedes Benz B-Class family car and told “Aunty Leong” to get in — I was driving her there myself.
Aunty Leong is not my actual aunt, of course. In Singapore — a prosperous and by any measure successful country — we retain a deferential and respectful tone towards our elders. Therefore, we have the habit of addressing our cleaners as “Uncle” or “Aunty.” This practice stems from the fact that many local cleaners are elderly, a consequence of generational inequality.
“Ten minutes from Bishan to Toa Payoh if I step on the gas and avoid bad traffic. We’ll make it,” I thought to myself as I turned the air conditioner to full blast to cool down my crew in preparation for her next appointment. As Aunty Leong chowed down her prepared home-cooked lunch, she looked at me curiously and said, “You’re a Masters graduate, aren’t you? Why are you doing this? Isn’t this a waste of your time and talent?”
Her words — while well-meaning — made me feel dejected. Not because I felt ashamed of the work, but because I knew there was a lot to be done for the workers themselves to feel proud of their own work and profession.
But I am getting ahead of myself. Aunty Leong’s facts were indeed correct. I did graduate with a master’s degree from Oxford, and I had completed my undergraduate studies in Philosophy and Economics at the prestigious London School of Economics. This was my chosen profession, my meticulously planned career path.
So how did I end up here, navigating the streets with a vacuum cleaner in tow? The answer lies in the unpredictable journey that began on that sunny graduation day, propelled by a desire to break free from the conventional and a determination to follow a path less traveled.
As it turns out, luck — rather than risk-taking — played a bigger role in how I stumbled into entrepreneurship. Picture this: 2014, fresh out of college, broke, and armed only with a degree in philosophy and economics. My sole skill? Teaching in ancient Greece. “Time to get a real job now, Daniel,” echoed in my head.
I was convinced my destiny lay in consulting. The banks and consulting firms swooped onto campus like seagulls on a dropped sandwich, pitching consulting as the golden ticket to success. They sold us dreams of crafting PowerPoint slides and wrestling with Excel models.
Caught up in the allure, I dove into intense case interview prep, spent endless hours interrogating my reflection, and clung to my shiny degree from the UK.
Miraculously, I snagged a prestigious consulting job offer in the UK, one of the chosen few out of 24,000+ applicants. I felt like a rockstar. I’ve finally “made it” and “belonged” and could finally justify my four-year educational adventure abroad.
But something about the prospect of diving headfirst into a full-time consulting job didn’t sit quite right with me. Maybe it was the thought of being tethered to a desk, crafting PowerPoint slides with the precision of a Renaissance artist, or perhaps it was the realization that my Ancient Greek philosophies wouldn’t see much daylight in a corporate boardroom. Whatever it was, I felt a nagging itch to do something different. I wanted to start tiny business projects, read philosophy, travel the world, do something creative.
Before I started my consulting gig, I decided to take a gap year and dabble in small business ventures. It was a bold move, but I had an ace up my sleeve: Isabella, my ever-supportive long-term girlfriend, who was all for me taking this detour. “Go on, do whatever you need to do,” she said, with the kind of faith that makes you feel like you can conquer the world. So, with her blessing, I traded London’s grey skies for the vibrant streets of Singapore.
But fate threw a curveball that could rival any sitcom plot twist. During my gap year, the visa cap for non-EU citizens was breached for the first time since 2011. Firms had to rescind offers to meet their pre-agreed visa quotas. Naturally, offers to candidates on a gap year were the first to go.
Suddenly, my consulting job offer evaporated like a mirage. I couldn’t legally work in London anymore. My dream job had slipped through my fingers, and my world was turned upside down.
Going from having a secure job to facing the prospect of a long-distance relationship, everything seemed uncertain. It was as if the universe was playing a prank on me, just when I thought I had it all figured out. Jim Carrey’s 2014 Commencement Speech suddenly came into sharp focus: if one can lose one’s job at even the most stable and conservative choices, one might as well take a chance on doing what they love, even if it means failing spectacularly.
So there I was, jobless in Singapore, with nothing but a suitcase full of dreams and a heart full of determination. I realized that maybe, just maybe, this was a sign to pursue something different. Why not take a leap of faith and dive into the world of startups? Why not try to build something from scratch, something I was truly passionate about?
And that’s how my unexpected journey into entrepreneurship began. Not with a grand plan, but with a series of fortunate missteps and the realization that sometimes, the best-laid plans are meant to be upended.
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Returning to Southeast Asia in 2015 was a blessing in disguise. I came back with a newfound determination to explore unorthodox career paths. If the ‘safe’ path could evaporate overnight, why not roll the dice on something you’re passionate about?
2014 was the advent of the on-demand economy, a time when startups were revolutionizing traditional industries and changing the way we lived, worked, and played. Companies like Airbnb and Uber were at the forefront, disrupting the status quo and proving that convenience was king. Airbnb was transforming spare bedrooms into mini-hotels, making it possible for anyone with a spare room to become a host and for travelers to find unique, affordable accommodations. Uber, on the other hand, was turning everyday cars into taxis, offering a seamless and often more economical alternative to traditional cab services.
But it wasn’t just services that were becoming on-demand. E-commerce giants like Amazon were changing the retail landscape, making it possible to order virtually any product and have it delivered to your doorstep, sometimes within hours. This instant gratification was feeding into a culture that valued speed and efficiency, and it was setting the stage for an entire economy built around the idea that anything you needed could be obtained with just a few clicks.
Smartphones and the internet had turned the world into a giant hotel, and everyone was becoming a concierge service to the increasingly rising and affluent middle-class consumer. From getting food delivered to your door, to ironing your shirt, to arranging your transportation, the on-demand economy was reshaping daily life. This was the Mobile Internet Revolution, I thought, where convenience and instant access were the new currency.
This was also around this time ‘MyTeksi’ ( now know as Grab) an Uber-lookalike solution was making waves in Southeast Asia, getting a commanding lead in its local markets through strong hyper-localisation , aggressive marketing and focus on this part of the region.
Joining a fast-growing startup solving real-world problems therefore seemed like the logical next step. But after chatting with numerous local startups, I struggled to find one that lit a fire in me. That was until a chanced reunion with a bunch of Oxford alumni in Malaysia who — inspired by Anthony Tan’s success at Grab- have set their sights on Uberizing a seemingly neglected sector of the on-demand economy — cleaning.
If you can lose your job even at the most ‘stable’ and ‘conservative’ of choices, you might as well take a chance on doing what you love and fail- Jim Carrey
Coming back to Southeast Asia in 2015 was one of those pivotal moments in my life that, in hindsight, carried more meaning than I could ever have anticipated. It wasn’t just about returning to a familiar environment — it was about clarity, a sense of purpose, and the realization that conventional paths weren’t as stable as I once believed. Losing a ‘safe’ job in a so-called conservative industry made one thing crystal clear: if even the predictable can fail, why not take a chance on something you truly believe in?
That’s when I found myself drawn to the energy of startups. Companies like Lazada and Grab — homegrown Southeast Asian powerhouses — hadn’t just competed with global tech giants like Amazon and Uber, they had surpassed them. They were living proof that disruptive, innovative ideas could emerge from anywhere. That energy lit a fire in me. Why couldn’t the same principles be applied to an industry as mundane yet essential as home services?
It clicked for me: the home services industry had far broader implications than taxis or e-commerce. At some point, everyone needs a plumber, a cleaner, or someone to fix their air conditioner. Yet in 2015, people were still finding these services the old-fashioned way — taping flyers to trees, hoping someone would stop long enough to notice. The sheer contrast between a digital-first world and these outdated methods convinced me there had to be a better way. Why couldn’t finding a plumber or cleaner be as simple as hailing a ride?
That’s when I joined forces with a group of Malaysian Oxford MBAs who were already working on the same concept. Together, we imagined a services marketplace that would ‘Uberize’ the Home Service experience — making it easy for customers to connect with reliable freelance cleaners, plumbers, and repairmen, while giving local service professionals a platform to grow their business in an increasingly digital world (not like the photo above!).
This was my first business where I joined as a founding team, and in many ways, it felt like I was doing an applied MBA — except the stakes were real, and the consequences of every decision were immediate. The theoretical knowledge I had accumulated over the years was suddenly being tested. We were navigating uncharted territory, and every small win felt like validation that we were onto something.
We were filled with excitement and optimism, but in hindsight, we were also pretty naïve. Like many first-time entrepreneurs, we focused on the things that made the business look good from the outside. We sketched out wireframes, designed the perfect logo, and even blew a good portion of our budget on a slick YouTube ad. It felt like the more polished our image, the closer we were to success. In our minds, that ad would get us noticed and turn ServisHero into a household name overnight.
Soon after, venture capital started flowing in. We raised close to US$3 million in seed money on this Uber for Home Service App idea, which only fueled our sense that we were on the verge of something massive. It felt like we were on a rocket ship. We launched in Kuala Lumpur, expanded to Johor, and set our sights on Singapore and Thailand. With each move, the pace picked up, and before I knew it, I was named the youngest country manager of Singapore.
This was my first big career break — it was thrilling but also daunting. I was responsible for breaking into an entirely new market, making fast decisions, leading a small team of two, and adapting on the fly. It was exciting, but also a crash course in what it really takes to manage a business, especially one with very little margin for error.
Finding Demand
The idea behind ServisHero was a classic two-sided marketplace. On one side, you had homeowners and businesses searching for a reliable handyman, cleaner, or electrician, and on the other, service professionals looking to increase their earnings. We aimed to solve the ‘chicken or egg’ problem — finding enough customers to entice service providers, and vice versa. How did we plan to make money? We charged service providers to respond to verified customer leads, similar to how dating sites charge certain users a fee to respond to matches. We didn’t mind if customers only used us once or twice for a quick service like gardening. The broader plan was to build a platform so comprehensive that people could find everything from swimming instructors to tuition teachers — a modern-day Yellow Pages.
But the reality hit fast — how does a one-year-old startup with a team of three in Singapore find enough customers to grow? Without customers, there would be no service pros interested in joining our platform. Without service providers, there would be no services, and without services, there would be no customers! It was the classic ‘chicken or egg’ problem every marketplace faces. I had to solve one side of the puzzle before the other.
Hustling was our only tool, and we leaned into it hard. I wasn’t above getting my hands dirty. I scrubbed the toilets and clean for our customers alongside our pros, I ran marathons in a tradie uniform to draw attention to our brand. We handed out free ice cream to anyone in Singapore’s central business district who downloaded our app. I personally distributed flyers, knocked on doors, and worked tirelessly to drum up consumer interest while my two-person team focused on onboarding more freelancers. Meanwhile, our HQ in Malaysia ran digital ads on Google, Instagram, and Facebook to bring in leads from online channels.
Finding Supply
On the supply side, Fareed Mustakin, my intern at the time, proved to be invaluable. He relentlessly cold-called hundreds of freelancers listed in the yellow pages and on flyers, persuading cleaners, plumbers, and handymen to join our platform. Fareed was so inspired by our mission to empower trade workers that he changed his class schedule to evening slots just so he could support the business full-time(!). His dedication was a game-changer for us. Fareed would later go on to become one of my key staff members at Nimbus — but more on that later.
Much of what we did wasn’t glamorous, but it was necessary. We hustled because that was the only way to keep the dream alive. It struck me that what motivated me to work so hard in this business is that we weren’t just helping people find home services — we believed we were empowering local tradesmen and women to improve their livelihoods, giving them a chance to compete in a digital age that was rapidly leaving traditional businesses and people behind.
Looking back, the journey was fast-paced and filled with uncertainty, but there was an undeniable sense of adventure in building something from the ground up. By 2016, we had successfully built a network of over 500 service providers in Singapore, fulfilling thousands of customer requests each month. It felt like real progress — but beneath the surface, cracks in our business model were beginning to show. These would soon set the stage for some tough business lessons I was about to learn.
The idea behind creating an “Uber for Home Services” seemed both clear and admirable at the time. Our goal was to provide homeowners with convenient, reliable access to home cleaning services (and eventually, other home-service verticals), while also giving service professionals — the “Heroes” — a platform to find consistent work and, in an ideal world, build their own entrepreneurial path.
But as noble as the concept was, the reality of working with freelancers quickly revealed a host of challenges that we hadn’t fully anticipated. The core problem lay in disintermediation. If we onboarded high-quality cleaners or service professionals, it didn’t take long for customers to realize they could bypass our platform and go directly to the freelancer to get a lower price. The freelance cleaners had every incentive to agree — by cutting us out, they avoided paying platform fees.
This created a vicious cycle. The best freelancers quickly formed direct relationships with customers, leaving us with lower-quality professionals who weren’t as concerned with customer satisfaction or maintaining high standards. We saw bizarre quality control issues — some cleaners insisted on using outdated methods like cleaning windows with newspapers, a far cry from what customers expected when they booked through a “modern” app. Customer complaints began to pile up, and our platform’s reputation started to suffer.
The more freelancers we onboarded, the more high-quality workers we lost to disintermediation. It became a game of attrition, and what we were left with was a marketplace full of what economists call “lemons” — low-quality workers who were driving down the overall value of the service. As a result, customer satisfaction eroded, and our platform became less attractive to both homeowners and the remaining service professionals.
To make matters worse, our business model depended on a lead generation fee. We charged service providers a one-time fee for each customer lead they received. But because customers often took the relationship off-platform after their first experience, we weren’t able to recover the marketing costs we had invested in acquiring them. Instead of generating recurring revenue through repeat services — like cleaning or aircon maintenance — we were stuck in a cycle of constantly needing to attract new customers, only to collect a small, one-time fee. This simply wasn’t sustainable.
The intention was always to take a recurring transaction fee for each service booked through the platform, but the reality was that customers and service providers found ways to cut us out after the first interaction. The more this happened, the more we realized that relying on a one-time lead fee wasn’t going to cut it. Our whole model hinged on recurring transactions, but what we were getting was a revolving door of one-time introductions that weren’t enough to keep the platform afloat.
Furthermore, as we navigated the rapidly shifting landscape of the gig economy, it became apparent that even the most mature companies like Uber were running into significant legal troubles. The classification of freelancers as independent contractors was increasingly being scrutinized by governments. Rightly so, in many ways. These platform workers were essentially functioning as de-facto employees without any of the protections that traditional employees enjoy, such as social security, unemployment benefits, or healthcare. Worker misclassification lawsuits began to pile up, with countries and states going after companies like Uber, Instacart, and others over their labeling of platform workers as ‘independent contractors.’
This looming regulatory headwind meant that the sustainability of any mobile app platform connecting service professionals to customers was in question. A long-term, self-sustaining business model seemed further and further out of reach without constant venture capital infusions to keep the engine running.
As if that weren’t enough, the unraveling of larger, more established on-demand cleaning platforms in the U.S. and Europe signaled an even bigger problem. Unicorns — those billion-dollar-valued companies — were starting to go bankrupt, and investment appetite in the space began to dry up rapidly. Investors were waking up to the harsh reality that scaling these businesses globally was not only expensive but also unsustainable without deep pockets or a clear path to profitability.
Back in Asia, it became clear that the writing was on the wall. We were burning cash across multiple cities and countries, none of which were showing any sign of profitability. As the country manager for Singapore, this put me in a difficult position. I felt a deep sense of responsibility toward the hundreds of freelancers and small businesses I had personally convinced to join the platform. These weren’t just faceless profiles on an app; they were real people — small businesses like moving companies, aircon technicians, and individual cleaners — who relied on us every day for job leads and marketing support.
I remember sitting in executive meetings, advising and even pleading for us to shrink our scale. My argument was clear: we should focus on the Singapore market. It was the one region with the highest potential to break even, and it already had one of the highest revenue streams among the countries we were operating in. I advocated for us to stop spreading ourselves thin across too many geographies, to concentrate on making Singapore a success, and to use that as a proof point for growth. But I was met with resistance. Focusing on just one market was seen as “unsexy.” It might scare off future investors who wanted to see scale and expansion. I was told that shrinking operations wouldn’t give us the kind of vanity metrics that would attract more funding.
It was a frustrating and disheartening situation. I knew chasing vanity metrics — like expanding into new cities without a clear path to profitability — was a dangerous game. It felt unstable and, more importantly, it went against my core values of building a responsible and sustainable business. I wanted to build something enduring, not just a flash in the pan that burned bright before burning out.
So I made a tough decision. I quit. I stepped away from the very business I had helped build. I moved on to employment in a venture fund, where I could apply the lessons I’d learned to advise young startups on their business strategies. It wasn’t an easy choice, but looking back, I don’t regret it. My time at ServisHero taught me invaluable lessons about what it takes to run a business, the intricacies of managing an internet marketplace, and the hard realities of scaling too quickly without a solid foundation.
Yet, even after leaving, one thing kept gnawing at me: the freelancers and small businesses that had placed their trust in me. These were real people who had come to depend on ServisHero for their livelihoods, and walking away from them didn’t sit right with me. Should I just give up on the industry and move on? Or should I find a way to create a more sustainable, enduring business model that could really serve them? The questions lingered in my mind, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was unfinished business. It was clear to me that this was more than just a career pivot — it was a mission I hadn’t completed. The challenge was figuring out how to do it the right way this time.