The Everything Store: Jeff Bezos and the Age of Amazon

by Brad Stone

Groups within Amazon were told to use AWS while the services were still immature, a demand that led to another round of consternation among its engineers. As startups and even some big companies began to rely heavily on AWS, outages had widespread repercussions, and chronically secretive Amazon found it had to get better at explaining itself and speaking to the public.

Amazon also completely outflanked the great hardware makers of the time, like Sun Microsystems and Hewlett-Packard, and defined the next wave of corporate computing.

“I firmly believe that at some point the vast majority of books will be in electronic form,” he said in the late 1990s. “I also believe that is a long way in the future, many more than ten years in the future.”6 Bezos was underestimating the potential, perhaps intentionally. In 2004, seeking a digital strategy for Amazon amid the gathering power of a revived Apple Computer, he started a secretive Silicon Valley skunkworks with the mysterious name Lab126. The hardware hackers at Lab126 were given a difficult job: they were to disrupt Amazon’s own successful bookselling business with an e-book device while also meeting the impossibly high standards of Amazon’s designer in chief, Bezos himself.

Jobs would occasionally contact Piacentini when he needed something from Amazon, and in early 2003, Piacentini e-mailed his former boss with a request of his own. Amazon wanted to make Apple a proposal. Piacentini brought Neil Roseman and H. B. Siegel, the technologist who’d started the company’s fledgling digital-media group, to the meeting that spring on Apple’s campus in Cupertino. The Amazon executives did not expect to meet with Jobs himself and were surprised when Apple’s cofounder greeted them personally and spent several hours with them that day. At the time, Apple did not sell music; its iTunes software allowed users to organize and play their music collections on their PCs and transfer songs onto their iPods. Jobs wanted to get iTunes onto as many PCs as possible, and he floated the idea of Amazon distributing CDs to its customers that carried iTunes software. Piacentini and his colleagues had another plan: they suggested creating a joint music store that would allow iPod owners to buy digital-music files from the Amazon website. Neither proposal went anywhere. Jobs stood up to illustrate on the conference-room whiteboard his vision of how Apple itself would sell albums and single-tracks directly from iTunes. The Amazon executives countered that surely such a music store should exist on the Web, not inside a piece of clunky desktop software that needed to be regularly updated. But Jobs wanted a consistent, easy-to-use experience that stretched from the music stor...

Investor Bill Miller from Legg Mason often discussed the digital transition with Bezos when the two got together. “I think the thing that blindsided Jeff and helped with the Kindle was the iPod, which overturned the music business faster than he thought,” says Miller. “He had always understood this stuff was going digital, but he didn’t expect to have his CD business eviscerated like that.” Bezos ultimately concluded that if Amazon was to continue to thrive as a bookseller in a new digital age, it must own the e-book business in the same way that Apple controlled the music business. “It is far better to cannibalize yourself than have someone else do it,” said Diego Piacentini in a speech at Stanford’s Graduate School of Business a few years later. “We didn’t want to be Kodak.” The reference was to the century-old photography giant whose engineers had invented digital cameras in the 1970s but whose profit margins were so healthy that its executives couldn’t bear to risk it all on an unproven venture in a less profitable frontier. Bezos was apparently contemplating a dedicated electronic reader as early as 2003—around the time Gemstar pulled the Rocketbook from shelves. Andreas Weigend, Amazon’s short-lived chief scientist, remembers Bezos speaking to his technical team about such a device and saying, “It’s for one-handed reading.” Upon imagining what the other hand might be doing, Weigend started to laugh out loud, and then everyone else in the small conference room did as ...

Bezos and his executives had devoured and raptly discussed another book that would significantly affect the company’s strategy: The Innovator’s Dilemma, by Harvard professor Clayton Christensen. Christensen wrote that great companies fail not because they want to avoid disruptive change but because they are reluctant to embrace promising new markets that might undermine their traditional businesses and that do not appear to satisfy their short-term growth requirements. Sears, for example, failed to move from department stores to discount retailing; IBM couldn’t shift from mainframe to minicomputers. The companies that solved the innovator’s dilemma, Christensen wrote, succeeded when they “set up autonomous organizations charged with building new and independent businesses around the disruptive technology.”9

The next few months were tense. Amazon’s inducements to publishers were followed by threats. Publishers that didn’t digitize enough of their catalogs, or didn’t do it fast enough, were told they faced losing their prominence in Amazon’s search results and in its recommendations to customers. Years earlier, the music labels had scampered into the arms of Apple despite their reservations, since they were facing the even more ominous threat of rampant music piracy. But books were not as easily pirated and shared online, and book publishers feared no similar bogeyman. So Bezos finally had to turn Amazon into one. What had started out as Amazon’s soliciting publishers for help had evolved into the equivalent of a parent threatening a child.

Bezos decided that the digital versions of the most popular books and new releases would have a flat price of $9.99. There was no research behind that number—it was Bezos’s gut call, fashioned after Apple’s successful ninety-nine-cent price tag for a digital single in iTunes and based on the assumption that consumers would expect to pay less for an e-book than they did for a traditional book, as an e-book had none of the costs associated with printing and storage. Since Amazon bought e-books from publishers at the same wholesale price as it bought physical books, typically paying around fifteen dollars for a book that would retail at thirty, that meant it would lose money on many of its sales. Bezos was fine with that—he believed publishers would eventually be forced to lower their wholesale prices on e-books to reflect the lower costs of publication. In the meantime, it was just the kind of investment in Amazon’s future that he loved. “Customers are smart, and we felt like they would expect and deserve digital books to be lower priced than physical books,” says Steve Kessel. Amazon knew quite well that publishers would absolutely hate the $9.99 price. The $9.99 e-books were considerably more appealing to some customers than the more expensive hardcovers, the industry’s most profitable format, and the pricing pulled the rug out from under traditional retailers, particularly independent booksellers, who would suddenly find their shelves stocked with what some book buyers mi...

Finally the grim reality sank in, and publishing executives kicked themselves for their own gullibility. “It left an incredibly bad taste in our mouths, that they would slip that one by us after hammering us for months and months with their goddamn lists,” says one executive of a major publishing house. “I don’t think they were doing the wrong thing, but I think the way they handled it was wrong. It was just one more nail in the coffin that no one realized was being closed over [us], even while we were engaged every single day in a conversation about it.”

“People were ripping apart every component of my investment thesis. At that point, they thought Amazon was some kind of nonprofit scam.” Inside Amazon, the pain endured over the previous seven years was paying off. Prime, the two-day shipping service, was an engine spinning the company’s flywheel ever faster. Amazon customers who joined Prime doubled, on average, their spending on the site, according to a person familiar with the company’s internal finances at the time. A Prime member was like a shopper who walked into a Costco warehouse for a case of beer and walked out with the beer plus an armful of DVDs, a nine-pound smoked ham, and a flatscreen television. Prime members bought more products across more categories, which in turn convinced sellers to let Amazon stock their merchandise and ship their orders from its fulfillment centers, since that meant their products qualified for Prime two-day shipping. Amazon was enjoying what analysts call operating leverage—it was getting more out of its assets, and its famously microscopic profit margins started to expand. (Although that was temporary—they would shrink again a few years later when Bezos started investing in new areas like tablets and streaming video.)

“Jeff does a couple of things better than anyone I’ve ever worked for,” Dalzell says. “He embraces the truth. A lot of people talk about the truth, but they don’t engage their decision-making around the best truth at the time. “The second thing is that he is not tethered by conventional thinking. What is amazing to me is that he is bound only by the laws of physics. He can’t change those. Everything else he views as open to discussion.”

Jeff Blackburn, Amazon’s chief of business development, said that Amazon’s bruises from the 1990s helped to create a “building culture” there. Every major company faces decisions over whether it should build or buy new capabilities. “Jeff almost always prefers to build it,” Blackburn says. Bezos had absorbed the lessons of the business bible Good to Great, whose author, Jim Collins, counseled companies to acquire other firms only when they had fully mastered their virtuous circles, and then “as an accelerator of flywheel momentum, not a creator of it.”3

Circuit City was once the largest electronics retailer in the country. At its peak, the Richmond, Virginia–based chain had more than seven hundred stores and reported $12 billion in sales. Then, in the 1990s, a wave of changes undermined its commission-centered sales model. Companies like Best Buy, Walmart, and Costco ushered in a new age of self-service shopping and big-box stores. Customers could grab a television off the shelf and haul it to the checkout counter, aided (maybe) by an associate being paid a low hourly wage. Circuit City waited too long to drop its commission-based sales force. PCs became a major draw in electronics stores, but Circuit City was reluctant to bring a low-margin product line into its high-margin mix. In addition, its executives were also heavily distracted in the 1990s, spinning off the retail chain CarMax and spending more than a hundred million dollars on a DVD-rental system called DIVX, which quickly failed.

Borders had a narrow operating philosophy and repeatedly missed the changing tastes of consumers. It was obsessively focused on opening new stores and increasing samestore sales while fighting Barnes & Noble on all fronts and dutifully guiding and meeting Wall Street’s quarterly expectations. The Internet didn’t fit into this traditional calculus and thus didn’t get the company’s capital or its most talented executives.

In the last decade of its life, Borders was battered by rising online book sales, then by the Kindle, and then by the pullback in consumer spending after the financial crisis. Borders, like Circuit City, couldn’t cut costs fast enough because it was locked into fifteen-or twenty-year leases on its stores. At the time of its bankruptcy filing, half its stores were still highly profitable, according to its CEO, but the company couldn’t raise money to buy out the leases on its bad locations.

There is a clandestine group inside Amazon with a name seemingly drawn from a James Bond film: Competitive Intelligence. The group, which since 2007 has operated within the finance department under longtime executives Tim Stone and Jason Warnick, buys large volumes of products from competitors and measures the quality and speed of their services. Its mandate is to investigate whether any rival is doing a better job than Amazon and then present the data to a committee that usually includes Bezos, Jeff Wilke, and Diego Piacentini, who ensure that the company addresses any emerging threat and catches up quickly.

Dragging screaming children to the store is a well-known parental hassle, but Amazon didn’t start selling diapers until a year after Diapers.com, and neither Walmart.com nor Target.com was investing significantly in the category. Back when the dark clouds of the dot-com bust still hung over the e-commerce industry, retailers felt that they wouldn’t make any money shipping big, bulky, lowmargin products like jumbo packs of Huggies Snug and Dry to people’s front doors. Lore and Bharara made it work by customizing their distribution system for baby gear. Quidsi’s fulfillment centers, designed by former Boeing operations manager Scott Hilton, used software to match every order with the smallest possible shipping box (there were twenty-three sizes available), minimizing excess weight and thus reducing the per-order shipping cost. (Amazon, which had to match box sizes to a much larger selection of products, was not as adept at this.) Quidsi selected warehouses outside major population centers to take advantage of inexpensive ground-shipping rates and was able to promise free overnight shipping in two-thirds of the country. The Quidsi founders studied Amazon closely and idolized Jeff Bezos, referring to him in private conversation as “sensei.”9

As a result of Bezos’s meeting with Lore and Bharara, Amazon now had an exclusive three-week period to study Quidsi’s financial results and come up with a proposal. At the end of that period, Krawiec offered Quidsi $540 million and said that this was a “stretch price.” Knowing that Walmart hovered on the sidelines, he gave Quidsi a window of forty-eight hours to respond and made it clear that if the founders didn’t take the offer, the heightened competition would continue. Walmart should have had a natural advantage in this fight. Jim Breyer, the managing partner at one of Quidsi’s venture-capital backers, Accel, was also on the Walmart board of directors. But Walmart was caught flat-footed. By the time Walmart upped its offer to $600 million, Quidsi had tentatively accepted the Amazon term sheet. Mike Duke called and left messages for several Quidsi board members, imploring them not to sell to Amazon. Those messages were then transcribed and sent to Seattle, since Amazon had stipulated in the preliminary term sheet that Quidsi was required to turn over information about any subsequent offers. When Amazon executives learned of Walmart’s counterbid, they ratcheted up the pressure even further, threatening the Quidsi founders that “sensei,” being such a furious competitor, would drive diaper prices to zero if they went with Walmart. The Quidsi board convened to discuss the Amazon proposal and the possibility of letting it expire and then resuming negotiations with Walmart. B...

Bezos had won again, neutralizing an incipient competitor and filling another set of shelves in his everything store. Like Zappos, Quidsi was permitted to operate independently within Amazon (from New Jersey), and soon it expanded into pet supplies with Wag.com and toys with Yoyo.com. Walmart had missed the chance to acquire a talented team of entrepreneurs who had gone toe to toe with Amazon in a key product category. And insiders were once again left with their mouths agape, marveling at how Bezos had ruthlessly engineered another acquisition by driving his target off a cliff. Says one observer who had a seat close to the battle, “They have an absolute willingness to torch the landscape around them to emerge the winner.”

“In a world where consumers had limited choice, you needed to compete for locations,” says Ross, who went on to cofound eCommera, a British e-commerce advisory firm. “But in a world where consumers have unlimited choice, you need to compete for attention.

The meeting, at Amazon’s offices in Seattle, was tense. Kevin Bates was joined by his boss Dan Joy, a director of hard-line categories like kitchen and dining. Bates and Joy seemed genuinely surprised to hear that Wüsthof was walking away and vowed to acquire Wüsthof knives through the gray market. They also threatened the company, as Arnold recalls, saying that every time a customer searched on Amazon for the Wüsthof brand, Amazon would show advertisements for competitors like J. A. Henckels, another knife company based in Solingen, and Victorinox, maker of Swiss army knives. Wüsthof and Arnold were shocked by the fierceness of Amazon’s stance and held firm on their decision to withdraw. “Anyone can sell more Wüsthof at half the price. It’s easy,” Arnold says. “But if you start selling at the lower price, maybe you have a heyday for a few years, but within two or three years you drive a two-hundred-year-old family business into a wall. We had to protect our brand. That was the main decision point. So we pulled out.”

with his personal assistants, he reviews all the messages sent to his widely known e-mail address, jeff@amazon.com. In fact, many of the more infamous episodes inside Amazon began with unsolicited e-mails from customers that Bezos forwarded to the relevant executives or employees, adding only a question mark at the top of the message. To the recipients of these e-mails, that notation has the effect of a ticking time bomb.

Despite the scars and occasional bouts of post-traumatic stress disorder, former Amazon employees often consider their time at the company the most productive of their careers. Their colleagues were smart, the work was challenging, and frequent lateral movement between departments offered constant opportunities for learning. “Everybody knows how hard it is and chooses to be there,” says Faisal Masud, who spent five years in the retail business. “You are learning constantly and the pace of innovation is thrilling. I filed patents; I innovated. There is a fierce competitiveness in everything you do.”

Once a week, usually on Tuesday, various departments at Amazon meet with their managers to review long spreadsheets of the data important to their business. Customer anecdotes have no place at these meetings. The numbers alone are a proxy for what is working and what is broken, how customers are behaving, and, ultimately, how well the company overall is performing. The meetings can be intense and intimidating. “This is what, for employees, is so absolutely scary and impressive about the executive team. They force you to look at the numbers and answer every single question about why specific things happened,” says Dave Cotter, who spent four years at Amazon as a general manager in various divisions. “Because Amazon has so much volume, it’s a way to make very quick decisions and not get into subjective debates. The data doesn’t lie.”