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For a startup born in Armenia’s small ecosystem, “going global” isn’t just a milestone. It’s the dream, the obsession, the only real path to scale. Yet most attempts end quietly, and often painfully. One founder put it bluntly: “More than 99% of global expansion efforts fail. We hear only about the rare exceptions.” And it’s not hard to understand why. Entering the U.S. or EU market can feel like moving through an unfamiliar forest with your eyes half-closed, hoping your instincts are right.
Picture yourself as that founder. You know your product is good. You feel the fit. You’re convinced that somewhere out there, in Boston, Berlin or San Francisco, there is a customer who needs exactly what you’ve built. So what’s next? You fly to conferences, pay for booths at expos, send cold emails, move there, try to get on the radar of someone or anyone, who can open a door. And it’s all overwhelming. But here’s the interesting part: the founders who do make it often rely on something far quieter and far more effective than any official “global expansion strategy.” Something we don’t really talk about openly, but almost everyone uses once they learn it exists.
In September, I attended the Gateway to Europe event, where one of the panels focused on the Armenian startups that have already gone global, the so-called “global champions.” They really do exist now, and a few of them were on stage that day: Wirestock’s co-founder Ashot Mnatsakanyan, Prelaunch’s founder Narek Vardanyan and others who’ve managed to break out of Armenia’s small ecosystem. When the panelists were asked about their strategies for entering foreign markets, Vardanyan replied half-joking, half-serious: “Every big company has Armenians inside and once you turn to them, they’re often willing to support.” The room first laughed, but everyone also understood that he had just named a strategy that’s simple, almost obvious, but surprisingly effective—tapping into the quiet power of diasporan networks.
Later, in a separate conversation, Vardanyan went deeper into how this actually works in practice and how much it has shaped Prelaunch’s ability to expand abroad, especially given the nature of their business. He reaffirmed that if you open the employee list of almost any Fortune 500 company, chances are you’ll find a handful of surnames ending in “-yan.” A simple, well-crafted message is usually enough to start a conversation. According to him, he has seen this play out hundreds of times, and he can’t recall a single case where the response was negative or dismissive.
Vardanyan also shared an example that puts this into perspective. In a typical cold-outreach scenario, trying to get in front of the right people at a company like Netflix for a possible collaboration could easily take months or even years. But in their case, it moved much faster. An Armenian employee, found through LinkedIn or a community group, noticed the message, helped identify the person responsible for the relevant function inside Netflix, and passed along an informal referral. That warm connection turned what would have been a long, uncertain chase into an actual conversation about collaboration. Today, Prelaunch has collaborations with P&G, Audi and Haier, and this approach has played a role in them.
But a founder reading this and thinking, “Great, I’ll just use this as my next strategy,” shouldn’t rush. It’s worth first understanding the anatomy behind it. These warm introductions aren’t random acts of kindness. They function through a mix of complicated motivations that diasporans carry with them. Without understanding that, the whole thing becomes superficial, because what makes it effective isn’t the tactic, but the people.
And of course, using diaspora networks for economic development isn’t new or uniquely Armenian. Plenty of countries have built entire growth phases on the strength of their diasporas, from Jewish and Chinese communities to Indian and Irish ones. Armenia, too, often speaks about the diaspora in the context of economic development, tech progress, talent sourcing and even attracting investors or mentors from abroad. Yet we all know that, in practice, this doesn’t always translate into the results we imagine. But interestingly, in this very niche corner of tech, where founders are trying to get in front of the right people inside global companies, it actually works. Quietly, informally and surprisingly well.
The first part of this whole mechanism is pretty straightforward: shared identity. A “-yan or -ian” surname can create that tiny emotional shift that makes someone more willing to respond. It creates a small bridge before you’ve even said hello. But as Vardanyan pointed out, that bridge alone isn’t enough. At some point, the person on the other end also needs to trust you and trust what you’re building. They need to genuinely see potential in your product, not just in your surname. And that depends a lot on when you reach out. Approaching someone at the right moment in your journey, when you actually have something solid to show and can respond to whatever comes next, makes all the difference. If you step in too early, you risk burning the opportunity. If you wait too long, the moment may pass you by. It’s a delicate balance that founders often learn the hard way.
This actually aligns neatly with the framework Aleksandr Gevorkyan wrote about in EVN Report, where he describes diaspora networks as having three interconnected layers: identity, trust and what he calls “engagement infrastructure.” Identity creates the opening, trust turns that opening into a real connection, and infrastructure, even if informal, is what channels that interaction into something meaningful. No single piece works on its own. And in the case of Armenian tech founders reaching out to diasporan employees inside big companies, this triangular mechanism comes together almost perfectly and possibly explains why it works. A shared surname that creates the opening, a small moment of trust that keeps the exchange going, and just enough “infrastructure” to turn the interaction into something real. In this context, that infrastructure isn’t anything formal or institutional. It’s the simple tools founders use every day: a LinkedIn message, a Telegram or WhatsApp community, a loose network of Armenians scattered across different tech hubs, all of which are informal but surprisingly effective in moving things forward.
All of this points to something worth saying openly: this niche case shouldn’t stay niche. It can be a learning example for other areas where diaspora networks could actually make a difference. What tech founders have discovered and now use almost naturally could be expanded into other areas as well. And it isn’t the act of messaging any Armenian they find online and hoping for a favor. It’s the understanding that this connection is an asset, and that you need to approach it deliberately and be prepared when the opportunity opens up.
And tech people, especially, should recognize that this isn’t a luxury every country gives its founders. Only a handful of nations have such dense, skilled diasporas inside global companies. For Armenian startups, this is a real competitive advantage, one rooted in people. And maybe, as the Gateway Europe panel suggested, it doesn’t have to be a one-way benefit. Armenia could eventually offer this “bridge access” not only to its own founders but to foreign startups too, becoming a connector between regions and the global centers where the major decisions are made.
