BUM! Studio
A comic publisher that sells its own titles. The design had to sound like a comic before a single word gets read, and then get out of the way of the checkout.
Scroll the design.
The notes follow you down the page. Each one explains why that part of the screen is built the way it is, and what it is doing to the person looking at it.
Style speaks before words
Ink outlines, paper grain, speech bubbles. Visual style is processed faster than language, so a reader knows the genre in a fraction of a second and stays on feeling rather than on information. The comic of the week sits right under it, so the first decision is already made for them.
A short list, and always the same two moves
The favourites are chosen by the house instead of dumped on the reader, and every card offers the same pair: read now, or find out more. Repeating one pattern means nobody has to invent a decision, and a low commitment option next to a high one keeps the undecided from leaving.
Sorted by mood, not by taxonomy
Nobody browses comics the way a publisher files them. Naming the filters after how a reader wants to feel tonight matches the question already in their head, which makes a large catalogue feel small enough to touch.
Six doors, not sixty
The genre grid stops at six on purpose. Past roughly that number people stop choosing and start postponing, so the shelf is cut down to what somebody can hold in their head at a glance.
Faces before the ask
The team appears immediately before the newsletter box. A request coming from named people with faces is answered more often than the same request from a logo, and it is placed at the end because that is the part of a scroll memory keeps.
Nothing here is a default.
Every spacing value, type size and pause in this layout came out of testing rather than taste alone. The same system has been run through enough builds, rewrites and split tests that the guessing part is mostly gone: what stays is what kept working.
The copy is treated as part of the interface, not as filler poured in at the end. A heading is a promise, a button is an instruction, and a paragraph exists to remove one specific objection. Where the project sells something directly, the checkout path is designed first and the decoration second, because an extra step before payment costs more than any visual ever earns.
Want this kind of thinking on your website?
Two sentences are enough to start. What you sell, and who you sell it to.
You get an honest answer on whether a website solves your problem at all, what it would cost, and how long it would take. No pitch deck, no discovery call that turns into a sales call.