‘Work Hard, Play Hard’ Is Over: Inside Silicon Valley’s 996 Culture
By
Dasha Shunina,
Contributor.
Dasha Shunina is a San Francisco-based contributor who covers VC
Jan 23, 2026, 02:36pm EST
A businesswoman staying late hours in the office concentrating on her work sitting with a laptop and typing.
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A recent job posting on LinkedIn reads:
“We’re hiring our first BDRs.
Since launch last week, we’ve been lucky enough to see our pipeline grow faster than we can handle—and we need help.
You’d be a great fit if you:
- want to grind (7 days a week)
- learn fast and move fast
- can figure things out
- can start within the next week.”
The company is
Corgi, a Y Combinator-backed startup that recently raised $108 million to build insurance for startups. And while a seven-day workweek might have once raised eyebrows, in San Francisco today, it barely registers as surprising.
“We don’t care about your background or years of experience,” the posting continues. “Just that you have the drive to execute and get things done.”
When asked why, Corgi Co-founder and COO
Emily Yuan is blunt: “It’s all about solving a big, important problem.”
How Has Startup Culture Changed?
Ten years ago, startup culture looked very different.
Offices were designed to feel like playgrounds. Foosball tables, nightly happy hours and weekend parties were part of the pitch. Shared workspaces blurred into social scenes. Hookup culture was common. Burnout was romanticized, and ambition was wrapped in excess.
If you weren’t there, Netflix’s WeCrashed offers a time capsule of that era—recounting WeWork’s rise and fall, fueled by charisma, capital and an unapologetic party culture.
Those days appear to be over.
“Instead of work hard, play hard, now it’s just work hard,” says
Kulveer Taggar, a two-time founder and venture capitalist, and the founder of
Phosphor Capital.
Taggar, who has deep ties to the Y Combinator ecosystem, says today’s founders are fundamentally different. They don’t drink. They don’t party. Many don’t date. They optimize. They work. And they do so with an intensity that feels closer to 996—or even 997—than the Silicon Valley myth of balance.
Recently, Taggar hosted a private founder dinner and offered an array of expensive wines. No one touched them.
“I visited one portfolio company where the founder proudly showed me mattresses on the floor in every office,” Taggar says. “During interviews, they ask candidates if they’re willing to sleep at work—and people line up for jobs there.”
996 By Choice, Not Pressure
For
One Chowdhury, the 24-year-old co-founder and CEO of
Octolane, the 996 schedule isn’t a badge of suffering—it’s a deliberate strategy.
“Why do I work 996?” Chowdhury asks. “It’s not about chasing burnout. It’s about chasing escape velocity.”
“At this stage, the startup doesn’t just need speed—it needs obsession,” he says. “I work like this because I choose to, not because someone forces me to. It’s ambition, not pressure.”
To Chowdhury, 996 is no longer exceptional—it’s table stakes.
“It used to be a flex. Now it’s the baseline,” he says. “The top one percent of founders design lives where the work is the reward. What looks intense from the outside is just flow state from the inside.”
The sacrifices, however, are real.
“My calendar is intentional. My sacrifices are not,” he says. “I say no to parties, weekends and sleep—not because I love pain, but because I love progress. The chaos isn’t glamorous, but the purpose is.”
“The only thing worse than 996,” he adds, “is regret.”
Why Younger Founders Are Optimizes Everything
This new cohort doesn’t just work longer hours—they optimize their lives with scientific precision.
Chowdhury doesn’t drink alcohol—not out of discipline theater, but efficiency.
“I’m chasing momentum,” he says. “I want clarity. I’d rather remember my twenties than drink them away.”
He closely follows longevity researcher Bryan Johnson and treats his life as a continuous experiment. Inputs are measured. Outputs are refined. Even rest is reframed.
“Rest isn’t always sleep,” he says. “Sometimes it’s staring at the ceiling after shipping something you didn’t think was possible. Sometimes it’s texting your co-founder at 2 a.m. just to say, ‘We’re really doing this.”
Relationships aren’t excluded—but they must align.
“This isn’t a job,” Chowdhury says. “It’s war. There’s no balance. There’s alignment.”
The New Founder Profile Is Younger—And Higher Agency
Cyril Gorlla, the 23-year-old co-founder and CEO of AI startup
CTGT, embodies this emerging founder profile.
Gorlla left Stanford to start the company. CTGT has raised a $7.5 million seed round backed by Google and General Catalyst. The team occupies nearly 6,000 square feet in San Francisco and regularly hosts executives from Fortune 500 companies.
His schedule is relentless.
“When I’m in the office, I leave around 3 or 4 a.m.,” Gorlla says. “Then I’m back the next day.”
He doesn’t drive. He takes Waymo—because it gives him 20 more minutes of work.
He doesn’t drink alcohol. He goes to the gym to disconnect. Slack is always on.
“It doesn’t feel like work,” Gorlla says. “When you’re building something meaningful, it takes on a life of its own.”
Asked to describe the modern founder archetype, Gorlla doesn’t hesitate.
“Younger. Higher agency,” he says. “That’s the shift.”
He points to resumes from teenagers who have already published research papers—and to a widening gap between high-agency and low-agency builders.
“That’s the real divide now,” he says. “Not age. Not privilege. Agency.”
Not Burnout—But Control
Unlike founders who have just dropped out of college,
Upeka Bee brings years of experience building engineering teams at Gusto.
Not all founders in this era subscribe to maximalist schedules—but even those who prioritize health still reject the old party culture.
Bee, the Founder and CEO of
DianaHR (YC W24)—an AI-powered HR-as-a-Service platform for small businesses—works relentlessly, but deliberately.
“I train like an athlete,” Bee says. “I work out multiple times a week. I meditate daily. I protect my sleep because that’s how I perform at my best.”
She doesn’t drink alcohol—not out of abstinence culture, but longevity.
“It makes me tired. It dehydrates me. It ages me,” she says. “Your body is the best instrument you have.”
Bee is married, deeply involved in her community and a longtime Burning Man participant. She doesn’t romanticize isolation—but she’s honest about the tradeoffs.
“I don’t have work-life balance,” she says. “I have no food in my fridge. I’m mostly at the office.”
Still, she insists that occasional joy is non-negotiable.
“If I don’t see friends, I burn out,” she says. “You don’t need alcohol to dance. You don’t need excess to feel alive.”
DianaHR recently announced a $3.7 million seed round led by SNR Ventures, with participation from General Catalyst, Y Combinator and unicorn founders including those from Mercury, Twitch and Dropbox.
Do We All Have To Keep Up?
This isn’t a prescription—and it isn’t sustainable for everyone.
What is clear is that startup culture has fundamentally changed. The performative perks are gone. The parties have quieted. The work remains.
This new generation of founders isn’t chasing vibes. They’re chasing velocity. And for better or worse, 996 is no longer an anomaly—it’s an option.
The question founders now face isn’t whether this pace is healthy. It’s whether it’s the right one for them.
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Silicon Valley’s startup culture is changing—996 schedules, sober founders, and relentless focus are replacing the era of "work hard, play hard."
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