3 businesses we think are about to blow up

The episode begins with Shaan Puri and Sam Parr framing the conversation as a return to My First Million’s roots: finding ideas before they become obvious businesses. Shaan says the show has previously discussed trends such as GLP-1 drugs before Ozempic reached the market, testosterone-replacement businesses, sperm freezing, and IVF. They did not build all of those companies, but they invested in a TRT business and saw that opportunity work. Shaan also reiterates his idea for a trusted, branded chain of IVF clinics—the “Chick-fil-A of IVF”—where patients would know exactly what experience and standard to expect. That setup leads to two new ideas tied together by loneliness and human connection. The first is a biological intervention intended to strengthen relationships; the second is a business model that creates community around a shared identity and monetizes that community through financial products. Shaan says he found the first idea while scrolling Instagram and saw Palmer Luckey, the founder of Oculus and CEO of Anduril, answer the usual “what would you do if you started from zero?” question. Rather than giving a vague answer, Luckey immediately proposed “oxytocin doping for marriage counseling” to help end the tragedy of divorce.

Luckey’s proposed business is based on the idea that many couples want to stay together and that, particularly when children are involved, more couples should remain together. He argued that if people accept SSRIs as a legitimate intervention, then using oxytocin during marriage counseling should also be considered acceptable. Oxytocin is commonly associated with bonding between mothers and infants, and with the relaxed, affectionate feeling people may experience after sex or while cuddling. Shaan and Sam are impressed less by the medical certainty than by the packaging of the idea. Shaan says Luckey starts with a massive problem—divorce affects roughly 50% of people—and then proposes a surprising, specific intervention rather than generic relationship advice. They call it a strong example of first-principles thinking, although Shaan emphasizes that he is not claiming oxytocin is safe or effective. Luckey also pointed out that oxytocin is comparatively unregulated and can be purchased in bulk through chemical-supply websites, joking that it might help people avoid dying alone. The hosts treat this as an unusually memorable pitch for a business that could eventually be positioned around marriage counseling.

Shaan explains that oxytocin is a naturally occurring hormone involved in bonding. He mentions animal research on prairie voles, which form unusually strong lifelong pair bonds, and says researchers have connected those bonds to oxytocin. In small human studies, people given oxytocin reportedly created more physical distance from an attractive stranger while with their partner, including sitting about 15 centimeters farther away or spending less time looking at the person. The hosts repeatedly acknowledge that these studies are small and may not be robust. The most interesting interpretation for them is that oxytocin may act more like a “highlighter” than a love potion. If someone already feels warmth toward a partner, it might amplify that warmth; if someone is in an abusive relationship, it might instead intensify the feeling that they need distance. Shaan also cites online journals from people with autism-spectrum diagnoses or PTSD who say oxytocin made eye contact and social interaction easier. A doctor reportedly described small-team experiments in which people worked together better after taking low doses, though the details were unclear. Sam remains wary of chemically altering his mood, but admits that peptides, psychedelics, and other once-fringe interventions have become increasingly mainstream. They predict that targeted ads claiming oxytocin can prevent divorce may appear within a year, while stressing that the idea could still be “bullshit.”

The second idea starts with the Knights of Columbus. Shaan says the organization was founded in New Haven in 1882 by a Catholic priest, Michael McGivney, after a parishioner died and left behind a wife and two children. McGivney organized roughly 200 men and priests into a mutual-benefit society: members contributed money, and the group helped families when a breadwinner died. That model eventually became a major fraternal organization with roughly two or three million members, around $30 billion in assets, billions of dollars in annual revenue, and approximately 14,000 local chapters. Members pay dues—Shaan estimates about $300 per year—and meet through their churches to organize charity projects and support one another. The Knights make much of their money by selling life insurance to members. Shaan sees this as a repeatable model: begin with a deep shared identity, provide belonging and useful member benefits, and then sell financial products to a community that trusts the organization. He points to Good Sam, an RV-owner membership group that offers insurance and campground discounts, and the USCCA, which provides concealed-carry training and coverage for legal expenses after a shooting. Sam summarizes the opportunity as selling an otherwise commoditized financial service through a community that creates preferential attachment to the brand.

The hosts connect the fraternal-organization idea to faith-based businesses and discuss healthcare-sharing programs. Shaan says some mutual-benefit structures receive tax advantages, though tax treatment is not necessary for the core model to work. Sam describes healthcare-sharing programs in which members contribute perhaps $1,000 to $2,000 per month and the community helps cover a member’s large medical bill. He notes that these programs may not be legally obligated to pay claims in the same contractual way as conventional insurers, while Shaan explains that many groups partner with established insurance providers rather than underwriting the insurance themselves. They then turn to Angel Studios, which Shaan describes as a values-based entertainment company doing more than $400 million in annual recurring revenue. Its audience consists of roughly two or three million members who pay approximately $13 to $20 per month for content designed to avoid profanity, sex, drugs, and morally bleak storylines. The company began with a filtering service that removed objectionable scenes from existing films, which led to a lawsuit and a reported $10 million payment. It eventually decided to make its own content. Members vote on projects, and a film generally needs at least 70% approval to move forward. Shaan says the company’s trust-based audience and voting system helped it become a values-oriented alternative to mainstream studios.

Shaan uses A24 to explain his broader theory that strong businesses often emerge as the “reaction to the action.” Facebook made photos public and permanent, creating an opening for Snapchat’s disappearing images. Food abundance helped create demand for GLP-1 drugs, while excessive screen time has created demand for products such as Brick. In film, Shaan argues, major studios became increasingly conservative: instead of financing unusual projects, they preferred sequels, superhero movies, and broad “four-quadrant” films designed to appeal to men and women across age groups. A24 took advantage of what those studios ignored. It funded lower-budget, distinctive films from independent directors and built a recognizable brand through unusual marketing, limited-edition merchandise, and guerrilla stunts. Examples include a leaked-looking Timothée Chalamet trailer and a Kevin James campaign in which he sat alone at the Super Bowl in a tuxedo with flowers, surrounded by empty seats and influencers who could prompt online speculation. Shaan says this kind of marketing created intrigue that traditional studios often lacked the culture or incentives to attempt. He describes A24 as a reaction to Hollywood’s risk aversion: when the largest companies chase the same proven audience, an independent company can win by making the films nobody else is willing to make.

The hosts are surprised by how little of a successful movie’s box office becomes profit. Shaan gives the example of a film that cost $14 million to produce and roughly $40 million to market, for a total investment of about $54 million. It generated $250 million at the box office, but theaters and distributors took roughly half, leaving about $125 million before other considerations. That is a strong return, but not the enormous multiple Shaan expected from a hit. He says the biggest success may need to support several failures, much like publishing, games, and other creative industries. They compare this with Mark Manson’s book The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, which reportedly sold around 20 million copies and helped make its publisher profitable in a given year. Books can have much higher margins because printing costs are low once a title becomes a hit, whereas films carry large production, distribution, and marketing expenses. They also learn that actual movie filming may take only about 30 to 60 days, with one example taking 37 days; the years are spent writing, financing, editing, completing post-production, and distributing the movie. Shaan concludes that film is a difficult business because many movies are made, fewer are distributed, and even the hits may only produce modest multiples after all participants take their share.