Krishna Rao is the CFO of Anthropic, and this is his first podcast appearance. He joined the company two years ago when run-rate revenue was about $250M. Today it is $30B. He has helped raise ~$75B and is responsible for the procurement and allocation of compute. I feel lucky we get to hear what it is like to sit inside a company this consequential at a moment this pivotal. We discuss: - The cone of uncertainty - How he allocates compute across Trainium, TPUs, and GPUs - What investors misunderstand about model companies - Why the returns to frontier intelligence keep rising - Platform vs application and where Anthropic builds its own products - How Anthropic uses Claude internally I have asked my closing question about the kindest thing more than 500 times. Krishna's answer is one I have never heard before. Enjoy! Timestamps: 0:00 Intro 2:38 The Compute Canvas 6:51 The "Cone of Uncertainty" 11:58 Why the Returns to Frontier Intelligence Are So High 16:45 Recursive Self-Improvement 20:20 Scaling Laws 23:30 Sourcing $100 Billion in Compute 28:05 Platform vs. Application Strategy 32:52 Pricing Dynamics 38:48 How Anthropic’s Finance Team Uses Claude 43:24 Raising Capital & Overcoming Investor Skepticism 52:32 Public Perception, Risks, and Government Regulation 57:25 Mythos Release 1:12:33 What Could Derail the AI Revolution? 1:13:47 Biotech and Healthcare 1:15:31 The Kindest Thing

Larry David is one of America’s unlikeliest icons, and one of history’s purest founders. In our latest profile, Correspondent-at-Large @blakejharrisNYC—who spent six years talking to Larry for his new book—explains what makes Larry so special, and why it took him so long to break through. Larry was a mediocre student with a middling social life. His first two jobs—selling bras and driving cabs—ended quickly. At 25, he called his mother from a hotel room: “Ma, nothing good is ever gonna happen to me.” She urged him to become a mailman. Soon after, he found what he thought would be his calling: stand-up comedy. His material was funny, but he rarely finished a set. If somebody in the audience looked at their watch, or didn’t laugh when he thought they should, Larry stormed off. 14 years later, aged 39, he got a break. He was asked to write his first sitcom script for a big new Showtime series. Only an eighth of what he wrote survived the edit, but the episode was still his. He was broke, and the writing credit could have sparked his career. But Larry refused to put his name on it. Even with Seinfeld, Larry nearly hit self-destruct. The pilot performed worse than almost any other show NBC had ever tested. Still, the network ordered four episodes, one of the smallest orders in TV history. Larry barely made it through them. When the studio installed a showrunner to oversee the scripts, Larry endured the man’s notes, then said “NO. I’m not doing one thing,” and walked out. In the summer of 1991, with the show finally starting to work, NBC wanted Jerry and Elaine to get married and have a baby. Larry quit in the parking lot and wished everyone good luck. Jerry stood with Larry, and NBC caved. Larry’s friend and comedian Bill Scheft put it this way: “He doesn’t [act this way now] because he has fuck-you money. It’s the opposite. He has the fuck-you money because he’s always acted this way.” Read the full profile by Blake, author of Emperor of Nothing: The Making of Larry David.

Larry David is one of America’s unlikeliest icons, and one of history’s purest founders. In our latest profile, Correspondent-at-Large @blakejharrisNYC—who spent six years talking to Larry for his new book—explains what makes Larry so special, and why it took him so long to break through. Larry was a mediocre student with a middling social life. His first two jobs—selling bras and driving cabs—ended quickly. At 25, he called his mother from a hotel room: “Ma, nothing good is ever gonna happen to me.” She urged him to become a mailman. Soon after, he found what he thought would be his calling: stand-up comedy. His material was funny, but he rarely finished a set. If somebody in the audience looked at their watch, or didn’t laugh when he thought they should, Larry stormed off. 14 years later, aged 39, he got a break. He was asked to write his first sitcom script for a big new Showtime series. Only an eighth of what he wrote survived the edit, but the episode was still his. He was broke, and the writing credit could have sparked his career. But Larry refused to put his name on it. Even with Seinfeld, Larry nearly hit self-destruct. The pilot performed worse than almost any other show NBC had ever tested. Still, the network ordered four episodes, one of the smallest orders in TV history. Larry barely made it through them. When the studio installed a showrunner to oversee the scripts, Larry endured the man’s notes, then said “NO. I’m not doing one thing,” and walked out. In the summer of 1991, with the show finally starting to work, NBC wanted Jerry and Elaine to get married and have a baby. Larry quit in the parking lot and wished everyone good luck. Jerry stood with Larry, and NBC caved. Larry’s friend and comedian Bill Scheft put it this way: “He doesn’t [act this way now] because he has fuck-you money. It’s the opposite. He has the fuck-you money because he’s always acted this way.” Read the full profile by Blake, author of Emperor of Nothing: The Making of Larry David.

Larry David is one of America’s unlikeliest icons, and one of history’s purest founders. In our latest profile, Correspondent-at-Large @blakejharrisNYC—who spent six years talking to Larry for his new book—explains what makes Larry so special, and why it took him so long to break through. Larry was a mediocre student with a middling social life. His first two jobs—selling bras and driving cabs—ended quickly. At 25, he called his mother from a hotel room: “Ma, nothing good is ever gonna happen to me.” She urged him to become a mailman. Soon after, he found what he thought would be his calling: stand-up comedy. His material was funny, but he rarely finished a set. If somebody in the audience looked at their watch, or didn’t laugh when he thought they should, Larry stormed off. 14 years later, aged 39, he got a break. He was asked to write his first sitcom script for a big new Showtime series. Only an eighth of what he wrote survived the edit, but the episode was still his. He was broke, and the writing credit could have sparked his career. But Larry refused to put his name on it. Even with Seinfeld, Larry nearly hit self-destruct. The pilot performed worse than almost any other show NBC had ever tested. Still, the network ordered four episodes, one of the smallest orders in TV history. Larry barely made it through them. When the studio installed a showrunner to oversee the scripts, Larry endured the man’s notes, then said “NO. I’m not doing one thing,” and walked out. In the summer of 1991, with the show finally starting to work, NBC wanted Jerry and Elaine to get married and have a baby. Larry quit in the parking lot and wished everyone good luck. Jerry stood with Larry, and NBC caved. Larry’s friend and comedian Bill Scheft put it this way: “He doesn’t [act this way now] because he has fuck-you money. It’s the opposite. He has the fuck-you money because he’s always acted this way.” Read the full profile by Blake, author of Emperor of Nothing: The Making of Larry David.