By John Gruber
WorkOS Pipes: More context makes for smarter products.
Exactly Like Om Malik
Saturday, 11 July 2026
Fred Vogelstein (Om’s partner at Crazy Stupid Tech):
We met a week later at his outdoor office — a bench in SF’s South Park. He told me that he was going emeritus at True Ventures, the VC firm, and that he was going to spend more of his time writing.
It was awesome to see him. Sitting on a bench with Om could be quasi religious. He talked so softly and deliberately that it forced you to slow down, lean in and forget about everything else.
What became clear was that we actually saw the world the same way. We didn’t agree what Wired should be doing about it. But we did agree on this: While everyone was fixated on big tech, an explosion in tech innovation not seen in a generation was taking place. We both agreed that not enough people were writing about it.
“Maybe we should do something together then,” I said.
So saddened to hear about @om. His writing was one of the reasons I went into tech journalism. Right out of college, I was working at a PR agency and started reading his site. It inspired me to start blogging.
Years later, he tried to recruit me. Even after I went elsewhere, he’d send me notes telling me how proud he was of my work. He’d often review my reviews, so here’s mine of him: Generous with his time. Honest with his feedback. Endlessly encouraging to those coming up behind him.
Very sad to hear about the passing of @om. He shared two lasting lessons with me: the first when I was a cub tech reporter at the SF Chronicle; he interviewed me for a job but told me he didn’t think I could hack it at GigaOm because newspaper writers were too slow. It taught me that I needed to get out of print media ASAP.
The second was many years later, when I was having a drink with him and some other reporters. We asked him for advice. “Never name a blog after yourself,” he said. RIP
One day on Twitter I got a DM from someone with the handle @om.
“I don’t know who this is,” I thought, “but damn that is a great handle!”
Then I peaked at the follower count: over 1 million!
“WTF? Who is this???” I thought.
I’d never — then or since — been contacted by someone with such a high profile online.
How was I even on this person’s radar?
Om seemingly read everything.
Jason Hiner, in a post on LinkedIn:
This is the opening anecdote from “Chapter Six: The Blogger” from my 2016 book, *Follow the Geeks, co-authored with Lyndsey Gilpin. Om once told me that “For three years, it was every day a rejection” as he tried to break into tech journalism. This was how he finally broke through.*
David Churbuck checked his voicemail. There was a message from someone looking for a job.
Because of the guy’s thick Indian accent, David could barely make out what he was saying, except that he worked for a wire service down on Wall Street and was a big Forbes fan. The guy heard that Forbes was going to be one of the first media companies to launch its magazine on the web and he wanted to come help.
David ignored the message. He had a small team and hardly any budget.
Then he got a fax. It was from this guy, explaining why he was a perfect fit to join the team.
The next day, the guy left another message. If David would just give him a call, it would be great to talk with him. He wouldn’t regret it.
Ignore.
The following day, he left another. Whatever time limit there was for voicemails, this guy always used up every minute.
Still, David ignored it.
And then the guy started getting creative.
[...]
One of the journalists, Michael Noer, said half jokingly, “Just call the guy in!” So, partly out of admiration, and partly out of pure morbid curiosity, David called him back.
One interview. Fifteen minutes. That was all it took for David to hire Om Malik.
“They do not sell themselves”, Om told me in a separate story from that same time in his life.
Hiner made the entire chapter available to read as a handsome PDF. It’s so good, and so utterly Om. It’s a crackerjack good read about the very early “WWW” days of the web. A bit:
Om is charming and disarming, forceful and accommodating. He has an easy smile, a quiet, melodic voice, and a handsome face. Once he opens his mouth, it’s obvious how much he reads and how thirsty he is to learn. It’s rare to meet someone who is ready to debate you on almost any topic, but who’s also genuinely curious about your life and your opinion. It all makes the burly journalist one of the most huggable people on Earth. That’s what David was up against when he met Om. He didn’t stand a chance.
“It was destiny,” said David, with a self-deprecating laugh. “It was total destiny.”
Om’s close friend, photographer Christopher Michel, published “Om the Great”, an enormous gallery of portraits of him. Here’s just one of hundreds:
Lastly, here’s a story from Andrew Sasaki, which he sent me by email, and I’m reproducing with his permission. It’s the perfect Om story:
I met Om briefly at a tech event in NYC around 2008 or so. He was talking with a friend of mine, and when I walked up he introduced himself: “Hi, I’m Om.”
“‘Om’ like ‘Om Malik’?” I asked.
This amused him greatly.
“Yes, exactly like Om Malik”, he said.
A couple of years later the iPad had just launched, and I saw my friend again at another industry event. I asked him a question related to the unprecedented development effort we were already seeing around the new platform that didn’t yet have a single compelling use case.
“You know who I bet would know about that? Om Malik”, he said, and gave me Om’s email address.
I hesitated to bother Om, but eventually reached out with my question. “I don’t know if you remember me, but we met a couple of years ago, and…” blah blah blah.
Naturally, there was no answer. Why would there be? He doesn’t know me from Adam, and he’s Om Fucking Malik.
Except there was an answer about 4 days later. Om started off by apologizing for the delay in responding, but he had taken the time to research his answer before writing to me. And of course, his answer was thoughtful, insightful, and absolutely correct. I was gobsmacked at the generosity he had shown replying to someone he didn’t even know. He gave no indication that he even remembered me until his signature line:
“Exactly Like Om Malik”