Burn Rate

Burn Rate Plot Summary

Introduction

In the unforgiving arena of entrepreneurship, where success stories are celebrated and failures quietly buried, Andy Dunn's journey stands as a rare testament to the unseen battles fought behind closed doors. As the co-founder of Bonobos, a revolutionary menswear brand that changed how Americans shop for clothes online, Dunn appeared to embody the quintessential startup success story. Charismatic, visionary, and relentlessly driven, he built a company from a single product - better-fitting pants - into a digital retail powerhouse eventually acquired by Walmart for over $300 million. Yet beneath the veneer of entrepreneurial triumph lurked a shadow companion Dunn refers to as his "Ghost" - bipolar disorder type I, a diagnosis he received in college but denied for sixteen years. His story illuminates the perilous intersection between mental illness and entrepreneurship, revealing how the very traits that make for exceptional founders - creativity, resilience, hyperfocus, and elevated energy - can sometimes be amplified manifestations of an underlying condition. Through Dunn's raw account, we witness not just the birth and growth of a transformative business, but also the profound personal cost of success achieved while fighting an invisible battle, and ultimately, the path toward acceptance, treatment, and a more integrated life.

Chapter 1: Origin Story: From Gifted Kid to College Breakdown

Andy Dunn grew up in suburban Chicago in a middle-class family with a unique cultural blend. His mother, Usha, came from a family of Indian immigrants with a strong matriarchal structure, while his father, Charles, descended from Scandinavian and Irish American roots. This multicultural upbringing would later inspire the name of his company - Bonobos - after the matriarchal ape species. From an early age, Dunn showed signs of exceptional intelligence. In second grade, his teacher approached his parents about having him skip third grade entirely. This early recognition as "gifted" became a foundational part of his identity, instilling both a sense of special potential and heightened expectations. As he would later reflect, this designation planted the seeds for a particular kind of hubris: the dangerous leap from "being gifted" to "being a gift" - a mentality that would later fuel both his entrepreneurial drive and his manic episodes. At Northwestern University, Dunn's life appeared to be following a predictable trajectory of success. He joined Sigma Chi fraternity, excelled academically, and began developing his social network. It was during his junior year when things began to unravel. What started as ordinary college experimentation - including trying psychedelic mushrooms during a ski trip to Steamboat Springs - gradually escalated into concerning behavior. His friends noticed changes: excessive energy, rapid speech, grandiose ideas, and diminishing sleep. In early 2000, after a New Year's celebration marking the new millennium, Dunn's behavior became increasingly erratic. He began making peculiar statements, developing religious obsessions, and experiencing profound revelations about the world. His thinking became fragmented, and he wandered the streets of Evanston in the middle of the night, approaching strangers with cosmic theories. When he declared to friends that "God is a woman" and that his girlfriend was the Messiah, his worried roommates called his parents. Dunn was eventually admitted to the psychiatric ward of a hospital. After a week of treatment, he received a diagnosis: bipolar disorder type I. For a high-achieving twenty-year-old with ambitious plans, this diagnosis was devastating. The psychiatrist explained that while this might have been a one-time psychotic episode triggered by drug use, if he experienced another episode within five years, the bipolar diagnosis would be confirmed. Rather than accept this possibility, Dunn chose denial. He stopped taking medication shortly after leaving the hospital and buried the incident deep in his psyche, determined to move forward as if nothing had happened. This pattern of denial would persist for sixteen years, during which Dunn would build a company, navigate intense relationships, and battle recurrent depressions - all while refusing to acknowledge the Ghost that shadowed his every move.

Chapter 2: Building Bonobos: Hypomania's Double-Edged Sword

After graduating from Northwestern, Dunn worked at Bain & Company and later in private equity before heading to Stanford Graduate School of Business. It was at Stanford where he met Brian Spaly, his future co-founder. Spaly had developed a novel concept: better-fitting men's pants that eliminated what they jokingly called "khaki diaper butt." While initially Spaly's side project, the pants gained traction among their classmates, who appreciated both the improved fit and the convenience of buying directly from Spaly rather than visiting traditional stores. As graduation approached, an unexpected role reversal occurred. Spaly accepted a private equity job, while Dunn, who had been helping sell the pants, proposed becoming the CEO of what would become Bonobos. They struck a deal: Dunn would run the company day-to-day while Spaly would contribute on nights and weekends. With $50,000 of Spaly's savings and additional funding from angel investors including their Stanford professors Joel Peterson and Andy Rachleff, Bonobos was officially launched. Dunn moved to New York with suitcases full of pants and unbridled enthusiasm. The early days were magical - he converted his apartment bedroom into a warehouse, hired their first employee for $10 an hour, and built a growing customer base through word-of-mouth. This period coincided with what Dunn now recognizes as hypomanic episodes: extended periods of elevated mood, decreased need for sleep, racing thoughts, and intense creativity. Hypomania, the milder cousin of full-blown mania, became his entrepreneurial superpower. "The beauty of hypomania is that it's an engine for creativity, optimism, and vision," Dunn writes. "On the one hand, this is what is required to change the world. On the other, the line between fantasy and reality can become threadbare." This state enabled him to work around the clock, charm investors, generate endless ideas, and maintain unwavering conviction in the face of skepticism. When conventional venture capitalists rejected the Bonobos concept - selling its own brand exclusively online, without physical stores - Dunn simply raised more money from angel investors, eventually accumulating $8 million from over 120 individuals. Yet hypomania's gifts came with hidden costs. Dunn made impulsive decisions, struggled to maintain focus on core priorities, and cycled through periods of overconfidence followed by crushing self-doubt. His relationship with Spaly, who eventually joined full-time, deteriorated under the strain of their diverging visions. While Spaly advocated for careful growth and financial discipline, Dunn pushed for rapid expansion and increased spending, convinced that Bonobos could revolutionize retail. The company's early success - reaching $1 million in annual sales within its first year - validated Dunn's ambitious vision. But beneath the surface, the untreated bipolar disorder was taking its toll, creating a precarious foundation for both the company and its increasingly unstable founder.

Chapter 3: The Co-Founder's Departure: When Relationships Unravel

By 2008, Bonobos had outgrown Dunn's apartment and moved into a proper office in Manhattan. The team was expanding, and Spaly had relocated from Chicago to New York to work full-time as the Chief Creative Officer. On the surface, everything seemed to be going well - sales were strong, the team was energized, and they had a clear mission to disrupt men's retail. Yet the relationship between the co-founders was deteriorating rapidly. What had once been a productive partnership based on complementary skills devolved into constant conflict. Dunn and Spaly disagreed about virtually everything: inventory levels, hiring decisions, product strategy, and even the names of pants colors. Their fundamental approaches to business had become incompatible. Spaly was a scrappy bootstrapper focused on building a sustainable pants company, while Dunn was a swing-for-the-fences dreamer determined to create a revolutionary brand-building platform for the digital age. The rising tension manifested in different ways. Spaly was direct and critical, often challenging Dunn's decisions with cutting commentary. Dunn, increasingly insecure about his leadership and fashion credentials, responded by stonewalling - withdrawing emotionally and avoiding difficult conversations. Their relationship exhibited what relationship expert John Gottman identifies as the "Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse" in failing partnerships: criticism, contempt, defensiveness, and stonewalling. As cash burn accelerated and financial pressures mounted, Dunn began to fixate on Spaly as the source of their problems. He collected negative feedback about Spaly from team members and shared it with board members and investors, building a case that the company would be better off without its co-founder. Rather than addressing his own role in their deteriorating relationship, Dunn projected his insecurities onto Spaly, convincing himself that removing his partner was the only solution. In August 2009, after months of tension, Dunn finally asked Spaly directly: "Would you be willing to step aside?" To Dunn's surprise, Spaly agreed. With tears in his eyes but remarkable dignity, Spaly left the company he had conceived. He would go on to build Trunk Club, another successful men's clothing company that would eventually sell to Nordstrom for $350 million - in less time and with less funding than Bonobos required. Only years later would Dunn fully recognize the irony of this painful chapter: "I thought Spaly had been impossible to partner with, but I was the one who had failed at building enduring partnerships." His inability to engage in honest conflict, to receive feedback without defensive reaction, and to take responsibility for his own contributions to their problems were symptoms not just of leadership immaturity but of his untreated mental health condition. The co-founder divorce had significant consequences for Bonobos. Without Spaly's product genius and financial discipline, the company faced new challenges in creating its second product line. More profoundly, Dunn lost his built-in accountability partner - someone who could challenge his wilder impulses and grandiose visions. Without this counterbalance, Dunn's manic tendencies would increasingly drive the company's strategy, for better and worse. In retrospect, Dunn came to a painful realization: "For all my conflict with Spaly, the unpartnerable person was me." While he had successfully eliminated Spaly as a source of friction, he had not addressed the deeper issue - the untreated bipolar disorder that distorted his perception of himself and others, and that would continue to shape his leadership in increasingly destructive ways.

Chapter 4: The Breakdown: When Bipolar Disorder Returns

In March 2016, sixteen years after his first manic episode in college, Dunn's carefully constructed life began to unravel during a speaking engagement in Las Vegas. Though he had built Bonobos into a $100 million company and recently gotten engaged to Manuela Zoninsein, the Ghost he had denied for so long returned with devastating force. The descent into mania began subtly on a red-eye flight to Vegas. As the plane took off, Dunn became convinced it would crash. Rather than experiencing normal flight anxiety, he developed an absolute certainty that he was heading toward his death. When the plane landed safely, rather than feeling relieved, he experienced a spiritual rebirth - convinced he had been spared for a divine purpose. Over the following 48 hours, his thoughts accelerated and reality dissolved around him. In this manic state, Dunn began experiencing classic symptoms: religious preoccupations, grandiose thinking, and bizarre behaviors. He believed he was receiving special messages through mundane events. A random black bird became a powerful omen. A cat in a storage unit seemed to speak to him about animal rights. He became obsessed with solving the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. He attempted to give away his expensive watch to strangers, convinced of money's illusory nature. During this psychotic break, Dunn managed to maintain enough social awareness to appear functional at his speaking engagement. However, those close to him noticed concerning behaviors. When he returned to New York, he spoiled his carefully planned marriage proposal by impulsively showing Manuela a photo of her engagement ring. He blasted music in their apartment at odd hours and mistook normal interactions for threats. His behavior grew increasingly erratic until one night when everything exploded. During a manic rage, Dunn violently struck both Manuela and her mother. The details of this event remain partially blacked out in his memory - a self-protective mechanism against the horror of what he had done. When police arrived, they took him to Bellevue Hospital's psychiatric emergency ward. There, restrained on a gurney under bright lights, surrounded by other patients in crisis, Dunn spent a week in treatment before finally accepting the reality he had denied for sixteen years: he had bipolar disorder type I. The consequences extended beyond hospitalization. Upon discharge, Dunn was immediately arrested and charged with misdemeanor assault and felony assault of a senior citizen. He spent a night in jail before being released with a restraining order preventing him from seeing Manuela. The professional and personal life he had carefully built now hung by a thread. "I'd nearly lost everything I loved," Dunn writes. "The freedom to walk out of the mental ward, and then out of jail, was a gift. The knowledge that I wouldn't likely have to return was a gift. Manuela's decision to stay with me, to see how it went, was a gift." This second major episode forced Dunn to confront what he had been running from for sixteen years. There would be no more denial, no more attributing his mood swings to the stresses of entrepreneurship or the natural ups and downs of startup life. The Ghost had a name - bipolar disorder - and it would need to be faced head-on if he was to have any hope of rebuilding his life.

Chapter 5: Recovery, Love, and Leadership: Managing Mental Illness

In the aftermath of his breakdown and arrest, Dunn faced the overwhelming task of rebuilding his life while coming to terms with his diagnosis. The court placed him under a six-month observation period before his case could be dismissed. During this time, he had to navigate three critical relationships: with Manuela, with his company, and with his newly acknowledged bipolar disorder. His relationship with Manuela hung in the balance. After the restraining order was lifted, they tentatively began seeing each other again. Remarkably, both Manuela and her mother, Leni, approached his illness with compassion rather than judgment. "Andy," Leni told him during their first lunch after the incident, "it's just like diabetes. It's no different than that. You have to take care of yourself. As long as you take your medication and see your doctor frequently, we're good." This acceptance provided Dunn with a healing balm for his shame and became a model for how families might approach mental illness: clear-eyed, lovingly, without stigma, and with profound empathy. Professionally, Dunn faced the daunting prospect of disclosing his diagnosis to the Bonobos board of directors. In a call he describes as "the hardest conversation I'd ever had," he revealed everything: the hospitalization, the violence, the arrest, and the bipolar diagnosis he had hidden for sixteen years. To his surprise, the board responded with support rather than rejection. Joel Peterson, his mentor and early investor, said: "I know a few folks who have dealt with what you're dealing with, Andy, including more than a couple of entrepreneurs. It's entirely manageable. I have full faith in you to take care of yourself, and I have full confidence in you as our CEO." Most crucially, Dunn established a comprehensive treatment plan with Dr. Z, a psychiatrist who would become central to his recovery. Unlike previous attempts at therapy, where his diagnosis itself had been debated, Dr. Z accepted bipolar disorder as an undeniable reality and focused on helping Dunn build a sustainable life with it. They established a rigorous regimen: medication management, twice-weekly therapy sessions, and vigilant monitoring of sleep patterns. Finding the right medication combination proved transformative. Lamictal, a mood stabilizer that Dunn describes as "pure sorcery," became his daily anchor, stabilizing his moods without flattening his personality. For breakthrough depression, he eventually added Wellbutrin, carefully monitored to avoid triggering mania. This pharmaceutical balance allowed Dunn to access the creative energy and drive that made him an effective entrepreneur while preventing the dangerous extremes that had nearly destroyed his life. With this foundation in place, Dunn returned to leading Bonobos with a new perspective. Rather than chasing endless expansion and launching multiple brands, he focused on building a sustainable, profitable core business. This newfound clarity led to productive discussions with potential acquirers, culminating in Walmart's interest in purchasing Bonobos. During due diligence, Dunn took the unprecedented step of disclosing his bipolar disorder and recent hospitalization. After reviewing his medical records, Walmart's assessment team concluded that his condition was well-managed and proceeded with the acquisition for over $300 million. In October 2017, Dunn and Manuela married in a celebration that symbolized his journey toward integration and acceptance. "Resolved was a fear embedded inside a more vulnerable question," Dunn writes. "With this illness I was carrying, would anyone ever want to marry me?"

Chapter 6: The Diagnosis Accepted: Finding Peace with Medication

For sixteen years, Dunn had been at war with his diagnosis, denying its existence and refusing treatment. The consequences had been severe: recurring depressions, relationship failures, and ultimately a full psychotic break that nearly cost him everything. After his hospitalization at Bellevue, he finally confronted the reality that bipolar disorder was not something he could outrun or overcome through sheer willpower. It required ongoing medical management. The journey to medication acceptance was not straightforward. Like many with bipolar disorder, Dunn had experienced the numbing effects of his first prescribed medication back in college. Depakote, the pink pill he'd been given in 2000, had dulled his creativity and zest for life. This experience had reinforced his reluctance to try medication again. "We don't go off our meds because we're idiots," he explains. "We go off our meds because many of the prescribed medications might eliminate the possibility of mania but do so by vanquishing almost all feelings of positivity and inspiration." Working with Dr. Z, Dunn discovered that medication could be tailored to preserve his essential self while controlling his illness. Lamictal became the cornerstone of his treatment - a mood stabilizer that prevented both manic highs and depressive lows without flattening his personality. Starting at 25 milligrams daily to avoid the rash he'd experienced in a previous attempt, Dr. Z gradually increased the dosage to 300 milligrams, finding the sweet spot where Dunn remained stable yet vibrant. For breakthrough depression, they cautiously added Wellbutrin, an antidepressant that typically isn't prescribed to bipolar patients due to the risk of triggering mania. With close monitoring, this combination proved effective. Additional medications like Abilify (an antipsychotic), Rozerem and Ambien (for sleep), and Klonopin (for anxiety) formed what Dunn calls "a phalanx" to be deployed when needed. Beyond medication, Dunn established a comprehensive mental health maintenance system. He began sending daily sleep reports to his wife, mother, sister, and doctor - an innovation his mother suggested after a minor relapse in 2017. He committed to therapy three times weekly with Dr. Z, who served as both psychiatrist and therapist. The couple also saw a relationship therapist named Eliona, who helped them navigate the aftermath of trauma and build a stronger partnership. This rigorous approach allowed Dunn to regain stability while preserving access to the energy and creativity that made him an effective entrepreneur and leader. He learned to distinguish between dangerous mania and productive hypomania - the elevated state where thoughts flow quickly and energy abounds, but reality remains intact. As he explains, "The goal becomes finding a medical balance that takes the possibility of mania to near zero, insulates me from depression, but still allows for a range of human moods." Accepting his diagnosis also meant rethinking his identity and purpose. Rather than seeing bipolar disorder as separate from himself - a Ghost to be exorcised - he began to integrate it into his understanding of who he was. He recognized how the condition had influenced his entrepreneurial journey, providing both remarkable gifts and terrible costs. This integration allowed him to develop more compassion for himself and others struggling with mental health challenges. Perhaps most significantly, Dunn's acceptance of medication represented a surrender of the harmful myth of the self-made entrepreneur. It acknowledged that success doesn't come solely from individual effort but requires support, treatment, and sometimes pharmaceutical assistance. This humility opened the door to a more sustainable and authentic leadership style - one based on vulnerability rather than projected invincibility.

Chapter 7: A New Path Forward: Building a Sustainable Life

With his bipolar disorder finally acknowledged and properly treated, Dunn faced the challenge of creating a life that could accommodate both his ambitions and his illness. This meant fundamental recalibrations in his approach to work, relationships, and personal identity. Professionally, Dunn had to let go of his tendency toward endless expansion and "shiny object syndrome." After the Walmart acquisition, he remained with Bonobos as the company integrated into its new corporate parent. Rather than launching multiple brands or chasing new ventures immediately, he focused on ensuring the continued success of what he had built. This newfound discipline represented a significant evolution from his previous leadership style, which had been characterized by impulsive pivots and grandiose visions. In his personal life, Dunn and Manuela built their relationship on radical honesty about his condition. When Manuela became pregnant in 2020, Dunn confronted one of his deepest fears: the possibility that his son might inherit his illness, and the responsibility of being a stable father despite his diagnosis. "I've never felt more protective - of anything or anyone - than I did on the day my son was born," he writes. "I felt a primal urge to see Isaiah grow old and prosper, to teach him everything I knew, whatever that might be, and to shield him from all potential harm. It wasn't external threats that were on my mind. It was the Ghost." This commitment to his son intensified Dunn's dedication to managing his illness. He developed an unwavering routine: daily medication, weekly therapy, consistent sleep patterns monitored through daily reports, and complete transparency with his loved ones. The hypervigilance that might seem excessive to others became, for Dunn, the price of freedom from his Ghost's most destructive manifestations. Dunn also found meaning in sharing his story. After years of hiding his diagnosis, he began speaking openly about his experiences - first with close colleagues, then with the board during the Walmart acquisition, and eventually through writing this memoir. This openness represented a profound shift from his previous shame and secrecy. By naming his condition and discussing it publicly, he hoped to chip away at the stigma that prevents many entrepreneurs from seeking help. Perhaps most significantly, Dunn developed a more nuanced relationship with his illness. Rather than viewing bipolar disorder as either a curse to be denied or a superpower to be celebrated, he came to see it as simply part of who he was - neither defining him entirely nor completely separate from his identity. This integration allowed him to acknowledge both the gifts his neurodiversity had provided (creativity, energy, vision) and the devastating costs it had exacted when left untreated. In contemplating whether he could have built Bonobos without bipolar disorder, Dunn reaches a humble conclusion: "I don't know. Because I do have bipolar disorder. And I have no way to conceive of myself without having been through what I've been through... I'm not worried about whether or not I could have built a startup. I'm just glad I'm fucking alive." This shift from achievement-focused to life-focused priorities represents the heart of Dunn's transformation. While he remains an entrepreneur and investor, his definition of success has expanded beyond business outcomes to encompass mental health, relationships, and the quiet triumph of stability. In choosing to manage his illness rather than deny it, Dunn found a path toward sustainable living that accommodates both his ambitions and his limitations.

Summary

Andy Dunn's journey reveals a profound truth: that our greatest vulnerabilities, when acknowledged and integrated rather than denied, can become the foundation for our most authentic strengths. His story challenges the entrepreneurial mythology that glorifies relentless hustle, superhuman resilience, and lone-wolf heroics at the expense of mental health. Instead, it offers an alternative vision of success built on self-awareness, medical treatment, supportive relationships, and the courage to name and face one's demons. For those navigating their own mental health challenges while pursuing ambitious goals, Dunn's experience provides both caution and hope. The caution lies in recognizing how easily untreated mental illness can masquerade as entrepreneurial brilliance until it inevitably exacts its toll. The hope comes from his demonstration that with proper treatment, transparency, and support systems, even severe conditions like bipolar disorder need not prevent meaningful achievement and fulfilling relationships. His story suggests that the path forward isn't about conquering or transcending mental illness, but rather about building a life that accommodates it - one that allows for both professional contribution and personal wholeness, creativity and stability, ambition and health. As Dunn himself concludes: "Am I afraid of my Ghost anymore? Of course I'm afraid of the Ghost. The day I'm not afraid of this illness is not a good day for me or anyone I love."

About Author

Loading...

Andy Dunn

Read more