Marisa Tomei: The Oscar They Tried to Explain Away She was 28 years old. A young actress from Brooklyn whose résumé was filled with soap operas, small television appearances, and supporting roles few people remembered. Standing beside her on Oscar night were four of the most respected actresses in the industry—women with decades of acclaim behind them. When the winner was announced, the room seemed stunned. And what happened afterward would follow her for years. Her name was Marisa Tomei. This photograph was taken on March 29, 1993, during the 65th Academy Awards—the night she won an Oscar and unintentionally exposed some of Hollywood’s deepest assumptions about who deserves recognition. Born on December 4, 1964, in Brooklyn’s Midwood neighborhood, Tomei grew up in a hardworking family. Her father, Gary, was a trial attorney. Her mother, Patricia, taught English and encouraged her daughter to refine her speech—not because she wanted Marisa to hide where she came from, but because she knew the entertainment industry could be unforgiving toward anyone who sounded different. Ironically, the voice people once viewed as a disadvantage would later become one of her greatest strengths. Her passion for acting began early. At 12 years old, she saw A Chorus Line on Broadway and left the theater knowing exactly what she wanted to do with her life. Throughout high school, she immersed herself in drama productions, earning a reputation as one of the strongest performers in every show she joined. After graduation, she enrolled at Boston University to study theater. But opportunity arrived quickly. While still a student, she landed a role on the CBS soap opera As the World Turns, appearing in 19 episodes as Marcy Thompson. The opportunity convinced her to leave college and pursue acting full-time in New York City. The years that followed were filled with auditions, acting classes, off-Broadway performances, and small screen appearances. She had minor roles in films like The Flamingo Kid and The Toxic Avenger, along with television work that helped her stay employed but did little to make her a household name. Like thousands of aspiring actors, she kept working and waiting. Then came My Cousin Vinny. Released in 1992, the comedy starred Joe Pesci as an inexperienced lawyer trying to defend his cousin in a murder case. Tomei played Mona Lisa Vito, Vinny’s fiancée—a sharp-witted Brooklyn woman whose expertise in automotive mechanics ultimately helps save the case. On paper, it looked like a supporting role in a light comedy. On screen, it became unforgettable. Tomei’s performance was energetic, precise, hilarious, and remarkably authentic. Every expression, every line delivery, every gesture felt perfectly calibrated. The film’s most famous scene—Mona Lisa Vito dismantling the prosecution’s argument while testifying as an automotive expert—instantly became one of the great comedic courtroom moments in movie history. Audiences loved her. Critics noticed. And the Academy nominated her for Best Supporting Actress. The competition was intimidating. Judy Davis. Joan Plowright. Miranda Richardson. Vanessa Redgrave. All acclaimed veterans. All widely respected. Many industry observers assumed Vanessa Redgrave would take home the award. Marisa Tomei was viewed as an outsider. Then came Oscar night. The presenter was Jack Palance, the legendary actor who had won an Academy Award himself the year before. He opened the envelope. Then he read the winner's name: “Marisa Tomei.” The audience reacted with visible surprise. Tomei walked to the stage, accepted her award, and delivered an emotional speech filled with gratitude. That should have been the end of the story. Instead, it was only the beginning. Almost immediately, rumors began circulating. A bizarre theory spread through Hollywood suggesting that Jack Palance had somehow read the wrong name from the envelope and accidentally announced Tomei instead of the actual winner. According to the rumor, the Academy supposedly decided not to correct the mistake in order to avoid public embarrassment. The story had no evidence behind it. Yet it spread rapidly. Entertainment publications repeated it. Industry gossip amplified it. The rumor became so widespread that many people treated it as fact. The Academy quickly responded. Academy president Karl Malden publicly confirmed that the results were accurate. Price Waterhouse, the accounting firm responsible for safeguarding the ballots, also verified that the correct winner had been announced. Every official check confirmed the same thing: Marisa Tomei won. Fairly. Legitimately. Without any mistake. But the damage had already been done. Years later, Tomei admitted that the rumors deeply affected her. The conspiracy theory was never really about Jack Palance. It was about perception. Many people simply could not accept that a young actress from Brooklyn had defeated a field of prestigious dramatic performers with a role in a comedy. The assumption was clear: A loud, funny, working-class character with a strong accent wasn't supposed to win an Oscar. If she did win, then something must have gone wrong. Rather than reconsidering their assumptions, some chose to question the result itself. Tomei responded the only way she could. She kept working. In 2001, she earned another Academy Award nomination for In the Bedroom, delivering a powerful dramatic performance that showcased a completely different side of her talent. In 2008, she received a third Oscar nomination for The Wrestler, where her emotionally raw performance earned widespread critical praise. By that point, any suggestion that her earlier success had been a fluke had become impossible to take seriously. Three Oscar nominations. One Oscar win. A career spanning decades. And a body of work that consistently proved her talent. Years later, a new generation discovered her through the Marvel Cinematic Universe, where she portrayed Aunt May in multiple Spider-Man films that collectively grossed billions of dollars worldwide. Through every stage of her career, she remained what she had always been: A hardworking actress who continued to let her performances speak for themselves. Look again at that photograph from March 1993. A 28-year-old woman stands there holding an Academy Award she earned through talent, preparation, and one unforgettable performance. Many people spent years trying to explain away that victory. Marisa Tomei never needed to. She simply kept showing up. Kept working. Kept proving herself. And eventually, the work became impossible to argue with. Sometimes the strongest response to doubt isn't defending what you've earned. It's continuing to earn it until nobody has a credible argument left.

.@GustoHQ co-founder @tomerlondon on why they don’t build minimum viable products: "The problem with a minimum viable product is you get something out there that works, but it solves the problem in a very local way without thinking end-to-end across the whole experience. A minimum viable product is the smallest thing you can ship that checks the box of saying you did what you said you'd do. The problem is you launch it, you're proud you shipped it fast, and then people don't use it. So you go, I guess it was a bad idea, let's throw it away. That doesn't work for us. We went with the Minimum Lovable product from the beginning. Because for Gusto to grow and get new customers, people had to love the product. You can't launch anything that's not lovable. So what does lovable actually mean? There are a few parts to a great experience. First, it works. If you're getting your employees health insurance, it actually works when they go to the doctor. That's the functional side. Second, it's intuitive. For a small business owner, the bar for intuitive is really high. You shouldn't need to watch videos or read manuals. You click a button and it just works, and you know where to go. And the third part, the one that turns viable into lovable, is delightful. A delightful product anticipates your needs. It looks at you and already knows: this is your first time getting health insurance. So instead of making you go find a comparison tool, it tells you proactively that companies like you, in your industry and your area, usually offer this package, and here's what it costs. The MVP version builds a benefits-benchmarking tool and buries it in a tab you have to find. The lovable version answers the question already forming in your head, right when you have it." Full conversation with Tomer:

Gusto co-founder @tomerlondon on how AI changed how they build product: "We've been doing this for 15 years. Every time a new technology comes in, you have to ask: how does this let us solve the problem for the customer better? AI is a fantastic example. There are capabilities and there are interfaces. A capability is: instead of building your employees' timesheets manually, you click a button and Gusto figures out the optimal timesheets for you. We built Cofounder as an interface. The idea is, what if instead of logging into you never needed to log in at all? You could just text Gusto and run your whole back office through text, like you’re talking to your co-founder over iMessage, Slack, or WhatsApp. It flips the model. In the old SaaS world, you log in and dig through menus, primary, secondary, tertiary, to find the one thing you need. Cofounder is proactive. It reaches out to you when there's something you should know, instead of making you go hunt for it. Here's what proactive looks like. Cofounder wakes up in the morning, looks over your account, and asks what it can do to help. It might say: you have seven PTO requests to approve before payroll, five look totally ordinary so I approved those, the other two I need you on. All over text. Or it says: payroll's set, benefits are handled, the new hire's onboarding is ready. But I noticed you've been hiring engineers and you're not claiming R&D tax credits, and those could save you $15,000 next year. Want me to set that up? An extra $15K, just from the software noticing."