Want to Network in Silicon Valley? Bring a Bathing Suit

When tens of thousands of software engineers, tech enthusiasts and salesmen descended on San Francisco for the annual Salesforce megaconference in September, startup founder Jari Salomaa had an idea: What if he rented out a sauna?

Salomaa was looking to pitch his startup Valo, which has built an artificial-intelligence tool that helps users on Salesforce’s platform. But an anti-alcohol movement that’s sweeping through the tech industry is disrupting work gatherings that revolve around drinking or eating. That’s leading Salomaa and others to try “social saunas,” where networking happens inside a steamy 200-degree box. In bathing suits.

The experience can take some getting used to. Bathrobes and bikinis can be distracting. It’s also very sweaty.

But investors and venture capitalists say it’s refreshing to have someplace other than a bar to gather and that business is getting done everywhere from a pop-up sauna in a Napa vineyard, to an 80-person sauna in New York.

Salomaa, 46, grew up in Finland where the sauna was part of everyday life and at his first job for Nokia in Helsinki, saunas were built inside the offices.

“There are more saunas than cars in Finland,” he said. “As many saunas as toilets.”

Still, he worried how Americans would react to hanging out in their bathing suits for a corporate event. “Scandinavians are more at ease with body images than the average American,” he said.

He thought about having one event for women and another for men, but the planning soon got complicated. In the end, Salomaa decided on a sort of social experiment: a coed gathering in San Francisco. He wound up with a wait list of 100 guests.

Salomaa imposed some sauna etiquette—bathing suits required and stay hydrated. And he started the event like any other investor pitch, by giving a PowerPoint presentation to an audience clad in bathrobes.

Attendees shared images of the event on social media, and soon Salomaa was fielding calls from friends in the tech industry, asking how they could do a similar event. He’s eager to help, but maintains some reservation about moving too much work inside the sauna.

“If it’s all talk about work, it kind of kills the vibe,” he said.

New social saunas have popped up in San Francisco, New York and Colorado this year.

They are built with stadium seating to fit more people—usually around 20 to 40 people—and conversation is often encouraged.

At Othership, a new sauna facility that opened in New York City’s Flatiron district in July, the sauna can fit up to 90 people. Lined with ambient lighting that can switch from warm red to neon pink, the sauna looks more like a nightclub than a place of tranquility.

Founder Robbie Bent, 40, said young tech founders make up a large part of his clientele. “They want to be healthier, meet like-minded people, and often don’t want to be out late,” he said.

The company hosts founder nights, as well as events for investors and founders to mingle. Othership says tech companies big and small are considering offering its services as a benefit to employees.

Othership has also offered to organise complimentary “team sweats” as team-building exercises. But according to Bent, they received pushback from human resources at companies across tech and Wall Street. Colleagues congregating in bathing suits wasn’t going to fly.

In response to these critiques, Bent designed a “corporate swimsuit”—basically a full-body rashguard for people to wear in the sauna.

Will Drescher, 29, built a social sauna in Boulder, Colo., after going to one in Minneapolis this year. “Neither me nor my co-founder drink,” said Drescher. “And we just thought, why don’t we have this?”

They built Portal, a “more DIY” option than the saunas popping up in New York and San Francisco, said Drescher.

“We wanted to bridge what’s happening in the coasts with what we’re seeing in the middle of the country,” said Drescher.

Venture investor Helene Servillon, 35, proposed a meeting with a founder of a tech company at Portal.

The meeting lasted an hour, which allowed them to cycle in and out of the sauna for three sessions. After learning more about the startup, Servillon said she plans to invest in it soon.

“VCs socialise a lot. If we only have two options—have a drink or a meal—that can just get really exhausting,” she said. When founders or investors ask to meet for happy hour these days, she will often counter-propose with a sauna or a hike.

Fintech investor Sheel Mohnot, 42, co-hosted an August social sauna event in San Francisco and attended an investor event in Napa, where a mobile sauna was wheeled on to the vineyard.

“The reality is there are always chances for people to feel uncomfortable, and more people are feeling that way about drinking,” Mohnot said. “We just didn’t have great sauna options here before.”

Not all tech workers have bought in. Laila Danielsen, chief executive of an AI software company, was invited to a social sauna event in October. She enjoyed the event and the environment it provided to have conversations, but she didn’t go into the hotbox.

“I don’t know if I’d necessarily put on my bikini to go out and pitch a VC, you know what I mean?” the 55-year-old said. “I’ll consider meeting them at the sauna after we close the deal.”

There has rarely, if ever, been so much tech talent available in the job market. Yet many tech companies say good help is hard to find.

What gives?

U.S. colleges more than doubled the number of computer-science degrees awarded from 2013 to 2022, according to federal data. Then came round after round of layoffs at Google, Meta, Amazon, and others.

The Bureau of Labor Statistics predicts businesses will employ 6% fewer computer programmers in 2034 than they did last year.

All of this should, in theory, mean there is an ample supply of eager, capable engineers ready for hire.

But in their feverish pursuit of artificial-intelligence supremacy, employers say there aren’t enough people with the most in-demand skills. The few perceived as AI savants can command multimillion-dollar pay packages. On a second tier of AI savvy, workers can rake in close to $1 million a year .

Landing a job is tough for most everyone else.

Frustrated job seekers contend businesses could expand the AI talent pipeline with a little imagination. The argument is companies should accept that relatively few people have AI-specific experience because the technology is so new. They ought to focus on identifying candidates with transferable skills and let those people learn on the job.

Often, though, companies seem to hold out for dream candidates with deep backgrounds in machine learning. Many AI-related roles go unfilled for weeks or months—or get taken off job boards only to be reposted soon after.

Playing a different game

It is difficult to define what makes an AI all-star, but I’m sorry to report that it’s probably not whatever you’re doing.

Maybe you’re learning how to work more efficiently with the aid of ChatGPT and its robotic brethren. Perhaps you’re taking one of those innumerable AI certificate courses.

You might as well be playing pickup basketball at your local YMCA in hopes of being signed by the Los Angeles Lakers. The AI minds that companies truly covet are almost as rare as professional athletes.

“We’re talking about hundreds of people in the world, at the most,” says Cristóbal Valenzuela, chief executive of Runway, which makes AI image and video tools.

He describes it like this: Picture an AI model as a machine with 1,000 dials. The goal is to train the machine to detect patterns and predict outcomes. To do this, you have to feed it reams of data and know which dials to adjust—and by how much.

The universe of people with the right touch is confined to those with uncanny intuition, genius-level smarts or the foresight (possibly luck) to go into AI many years ago, before it was all the rage.

As a venture-backed startup with about 120 employees, Runway doesn’t necessarily vie with Silicon Valley giants for the AI job market’s version of LeBron James. But when I spoke with Valenzuela recently, his company was advertising base salaries of up to $440,000 for an engineering manager and $490,000 for a director of machine learning.

A job listing like one of these might attract 2,000 applicants in a week, Valenzuela says, and there is a decent chance he won’t pick any of them. A lot of people who claim to be AI literate merely produce “workslop”—generic, low-quality material. He spends a lot of time reading academic journals and browsing GitHub portfolios, and recruiting people whose work impresses him.

In addition to an uncommon skill set, companies trying to win in the hypercompetitive AI arena are scouting for commitment bordering on fanaticism .

Daniel Park is seeking three new members for his nine-person startup. He says he will wait a year or longer if that’s what it takes to fill roles with advertised base salaries of up to $500,000.

He’s looking for “prodigies” willing to work seven days a week. Much of the team lives together in a six-bedroom house in San Francisco.

If this sounds like a lonely existence, Park’s team members may be able to solve their own problem. His company, Pickle, aims to develop personalised AI companions akin to Tony Stark’s Jarvis in “Iron Man.”

Overlooked

James Strawn wasn’t an AI early adopter, and the father of two teenagers doesn’t want to sacrifice his personal life for a job. He is beginning to wonder whether there is still a place for people like him in the tech sector.

He was laid off over the summer after 25 years at Adobe , where he was a senior software quality-assurance engineer. Strawn, 55, started as a contractor and recalls his hiring as a leap of faith by the company.

He had been an artist and graphic designer. The managers who interviewed him figured he could use that background to help make Illustrator and other Adobe software more user-friendly.

Looking for work now, he doesn’t see the same willingness by companies to take a chance on someone whose résumé isn’t a perfect match to the job description. He’s had one interview since his layoff.

“I always thought my years of experience at a high-profile company would at least be enough to get me interviews where I could explain how I could contribute,” says Strawn, who is taking foundational AI courses. “It’s just not like that.”

The trouble for people starting out in AI—whether recent grads or job switchers like Strawn—is that companies see them as a dime a dozen.

“There’s this AI arms race, and the fact of the matter is entry-level people aren’t going to help you win it,” says Matt Massucci, CEO of the tech recruiting firm Hirewell. “There’s this concept of the 10x engineer—the one engineer who can do the work of 10. That’s what companies are really leaning into and paying for.”

He adds that companies can automate some low-level engineering tasks, which frees up more money to throw at high-end talent.

It’s a dynamic that creates a few handsomely paid haves and a lot more have-nots.

Want to Network in Silicon Valley? Bring a Bathing Suit

Instead of bars and restaurants, saunas are the new place for investors and founders to socialise and raise money

A divide has opened in the tech job market between those with artificial-intelligence skills and everyone else.

Playing a different game

Overlooked