79 real websites, built by us.

A furniture showroom on a warm bone page: beige product tiles, circular category photographs, pill buttons and one quiet typeface. The product photograph magnifies under the cursor, and the basket is real.

A skincare shop on white paper with one deep sage green doing every piece of emphasis and four warm earth grounds carrying the photography. Controls are pills and every picture is a hard square. The hero is an inset photograph with a headline that ends in a full stop set in the brand colour, the reviews arrive as a tinted panel pulled over the edge of a portrait, and the page closes on a wordmark the width of the browser. Fifteen pages, a real basket, and a range written for a shop in Accra.

White page, one loud red, wavy seams and poster-size type. A snack store that shouts the way the product tastes, with a working cart on every page.

A quiet, gallery-white jewellery store: your pieces on clean tiles, one gold accent, a real cart, and a product page shoppers can lean into.

A loud red storefront for canned drinks, with flavour-tinted everything and a real cart.

An eyewear shop whose product tile — a pale grey square, one frame shot straight on, and the name and price on the page beneath it — is the whole design, repeated three across on the home page, four in the shop and two in a collection. Nothing is rounded, one signal red does every piece of emphasis, and the foot of every page is the brand's own name set enormous and cropped by the viewport.

An online electronics shop laid out like a catalogue: every phone, laptop and pair of headphones photographed alone on plain white, on pale grey tiles, on a white page. Nothing has a corner, every control is the same ink, and every heading is set at regular weight.

A coffee roaster's shop built out of exactly two colours. Forest green and warm cream alternate band by band, every control is a pill, the product tile is a rounded green square with the name and price on the page beneath it, and a butter ribbon crawls across the joins. Fifteen pages with a real basket, a subscription page and a journal.

A clothes and leather-goods shop drawn in exactly two hues, with no accent colour anywhere: a near-black ink on warm paper does the headings, the rules, the buttons and the dark bands alike, and the only other colour on the page is the clothes. Every corner is square, the tiles sit on a 4px gutter so a row reads as one sheet of photographs, and a single-weight Italiana sets the headlines over Geist. Fifteen pages, with a real basket, a product page and a journal.

Violet, hot pink and acid lime, with a wave melting between every band. Eight flavours on their own coloured tubs, a floating bar over the photography, and a name signed across the foot of the page.

A loud, dark storefront for drinks and snacks, with flavour-tinted everything and a real cart.

An online clothes shop whose product tile — a grey square, a diagonal offer ribbon, and the name and price on the page under it — is the whole design, repeated four across, in a rail and two across in a collection. Nothing is rounded, and the only colour on the site is the clothes.

An online supplement shop: a lime-and-white gradient hero, four best sellers on rounded tiles, and every heading finishing its last word in deep green. A real shop grid, a real basket and a real Add to basket, with delivery, returns and a pharmacist's phone number stated in plain words.

Warm and appetising, like a menu printed on peach card — the restaurant's name huge across the top, photographs of the food fanned out under it, and one tomato red on every button and price.

Dark, warm and full of food — candlelight, gold handwriting and photographs that fill the screen.

Dark, smoky and confident — deep green walls, one hot red, and your name across the top in letters big enough to see from the road. Built for a grill house, a chop bar or anywhere the fire is the point.

Pure black, one warm amber, and ten photographs tilted behind the name — then a stack of white-ruled panels all the way down.

Bold and warm, like a hand-painted sign outside a busy grill — big stacked lettering, red and green panels with torn paper edges, and photographs of the food front and centre.

Oat paper and forest green, a single-weight serif, and the restaurant's name written across a whole band by hand.

White, charcoal and a soft cream, with big green lettering and one sand-coloured name laid across a dark plate. A short menu you can read down its right edge, and a booking panel at the bottom of every page.

Loud and graphic, like a menu board painted on a wall — huge black lettering, a hard black grid around every block, and red, green, purple and blue strips announcing each part of the menu.

Navy and warm paper with one bright blue: huge elegant lettering, a chessboard of dishes and photographs, and plates scattered around a booking button at the bottom of every page.

Late-night and appetising: a near-black page, food shot from above and cropped into perfect circles, and one soft blush carrying every button and the middle line of every headline.

A builder's site whose offer is a numbered list rather than a grid of cards, with an honours table set as a real table and a before-and-after of the same room. One orange does every control, tile and tick, and nothing on the page is a pill.

A wedding planner's site that says everything in one red: a photograph with nothing written on it, then the studio's name set enormous on clean white, and a small red star above every heading after that. Square corners the whole way down, apart from the arch over the founder's portrait.

A trades contractor's site where the signature is outline lettering — colossal hash-tagged words stroked in orange between the bands, and counted figures drawn the same way. Nothing has a rounded corner, blue does every control, and the page alternates white and near-black all the way down.

A wellness retreat's site with one shape and one pairing: every photograph sits in an arched window, every heading is a tall high-contrast serif set colossal, and everything else on the page is typewriter lettering. A field of forest green carries the name at poster size, a single horizontal ellipse sits between two enormous words, and every change of ground is three shallow scallops rather than a line.

A handyman firm's site where a navy slab starts halfway down the photograph and runs on beneath it: once under the opening, once under the clients. Blue emphasises one phrase of every heading, yellow does every button, and everything on the page is cut to the same gently rounded corner.

One colossal line of condensed capitals across the whole page, then the disciplines as flat panels of safety yellow, black and stone, each in a thin frame with an asterisk on every corner. The bar is a row of chips, the promises crawl across a black band, and the firm's name runs right along the bottom of the page.

A roofing contractor's site where every heading starts dark and finishes grey, one electric blue floods three whole bands, and the firm's name closes the page at poster size. Prices published in cedis, plain answers to the common questions, and real contact routes rather than a form.

A cleaning company's site where every card is square and every control is a pill, one green does all the work on white, and a warm eggshell brackets the page from the hero to the footer.

White, one forest green and one near-black ink: a decorating contractor whose home page opens on a finished room, publishes its own paint collection with prices, and closes on the firm's name set colossal.

Warm, green and full of real photographs of finished work — built for gardeners, grounds keepers and anyone whose best advertisement is a picture of the last job.

A home-services site with no square corners anywhere: a navy opening panel and a brand-yellow figures bar beside a tall photograph, eight trade cards on a deep navy band, and a tilted ribbon crawling across the middle of the page. One yellow does every control, every figure and every small heading; the navy is structure and never an accent.

A removals company's site in cream, near-black and one chartreuse: an aerial road with the headline alone over it, five enormous numerals down a black slab, and three service rows in which a solid panel and a photograph swap sides down the page.

Bold and romantic: a soft pink page with everything — the words, the lines, the buttons — in one bright red, your name set enormous across the top, and a line of words drifting slowly across the middle. Made for a wedding or celebration business that wants to look like nobody else.

A contractor's site on near-black, where depth comes from a thin line rather than a shadow and one site-safety yellow does every control, every small heading dot and every numeral. Cranes at dusk behind the headline, six services as a mosaic of photo tiles, and a before-and-after halfway down the page.

A contractor's site in capitals: tight uppercase lettering, one safety orange doing every control and icon square against a deep teal-navy, and barely rounded corners on everything. Six services in a thin-ruled grid, four projects in alternating rows, and the firm's name across the bottom of the page.

A pest control firm's site in black, cream and one highlighter green — a photograph filling the whole first screen, a rail of service cards you drag sideways, and the section titles set so large they run off the edge of the page.

A monochrome solar contractor's site where every page opens and closes with a photograph filling the screen and carrying its lettering directly: no card, no panel, no box. One clean geometric face at two weights, thin rules instead of cards, square corners everywhere, and softly rounded buttons. All the colour on the site arrives inside the photographs.

A photograph-led wedding and celebration site: full-width pictures carrying one large word, and quiet white pages of small centred type in between. Nothing shouts, everything is centred, and the whole thing reads like an invitation rather than a brochure.

Bright and approachable — cream, amber and plenty of room for detail.

Classic and steady, with traditional lettering on soft paper. Reassuring at a glance.

Warm and considered, with a script flourish in every heading and softly rounded controls. Serious without being severe.

Warm and grounded: soft paper tones, deep green, and your name set large.

Dark and dramatic, with full-width photography and big, quiet lettering.

Formal navy and brass, with room to show off your record and your people.

Calm and considered, built to make a small firm look established.

Sharp and corporate — clean lines and a deep navy, for a firm that sells clear thinking.

Clinical and calm: a cream page, one pale blue used only as a block, and consultants set as ruled rows of enormous names. The only round thing on it is the button that books you in.

A white page and one red: a collage hero of white cards over a pale cellular ground, headings set very large at medium weight, and a statement head that changes colour halfway through the sentence.

A clean white clinic site that keeps turning deep navy, with one red doing every button and the practice's own name set across the foot of the hero at poster size.

Calm and clinical without being cold: a white page, a pale blue band, deep navy headings, and one red doing every button, every number and the word DEPARTMENTS across the full width of the screen.

A hospital made of rounded coloured blocks on a white page: a glass panel over a sunlit corridor, four pastel quick links, a mosaic of departments and photographs, and one blue doing every button on the site.

A ladder of three blues over a white page where nothing has a corner: sky, azure and royal side by side under a photographic hero, and not one heading set bolder than light.

Warm cream, deep olive and one terracotta: a senior-care centre whose hero opens on a headline rather than a photograph, with the booking panel laid into the pictures beneath it.

Botany answering dentistry: a sage-cream page, leaves hanging into the hero, forest-green service tiles that turn over under the cursor, and one lime doing every button on the site.

One violet doing every button, every link and one phrase in every heading, over deep indigo type on white — with a contact panel riding up over the clinic photographs.

Nothing on it has a corner. A near-white sky, every heading in one deep cornflower blue, and four crayon-bright buttons that take turns a band at a time — with the photographs arriving in unequal rounded clusters rather than in a grid.

Bright, friendly and unmistakably a clinic: a big blue welcome panel, soft rounded cards, and room for your departments, your doctors and your opening hours.

Calm and clinical on a deep pine green, with one electric lime carrying every button and the second line of every headline, and a six-pointed asterisk closing each one.

Warm cream, deep green and one coral: a hospital site set in a single family of lettering, with a headline that runs corner to corner across the photograph.

A hospital site that opens on a mosaic of tiles rather than a banner, each with a round arrow disc in its corner. One hot red does the shouting, a deep teal steadies it, and a single line of enormous navy lettering crawls across the middle of the page.

An elegant, entirely serif wedding-photography site: a black-and-white photograph filling the opening screen with the studio's name and links centred over it, and a headline set roman on one line and italic on the next. Square corners everywhere, one tan button, and a portfolio in full colour underneath.

A festival site made of flat colour: a deep green opening with the promise in enormous condensed capitals on a pink block, an orange band carrying a real notched ticket stub, eight acts butted edge to edge with no gap, and the festival's name running huge along the foot of the page.

A festival site drawn like a gig poster. Nothing is rounded and nothing has a shadow: every control, card and photo frame carries the same ink outline, a big rounded face runs the headlines against typewriter lettering for everything else, photographs are pinned at an angle in white paper mounts, and a marquee of blush lettering crawls across the page three times. Four flat colours: blush paper, teal panels, ink type and one orange that shouts twice.

A festival site made by stacking six saturated grounds (coral, purple, amber, sky, coal, near-white), with every heading set italic and in capitals in one family. Five circular faces are pasted over a colossal crawling word at the top, every circle and card wears a hard offset shadow with no blur, and there is not a square corner anywhere.

An events and live-music house in cream, deep olive and deep wine: every photograph an arched doorway, four feature rows swapping sides down the page, and a whole page given to the band.

A wedding-planning studio's site with no rounded corner anywhere on it. A photograph filling the screen and carrying nothing but the studio's name, half-page pictures alternating against narrow centred columns of type, and a centred button with a thin line running out of each side of it. One classical serif does every word on the site, the page is a pale cool grey, and the photographs are the only colour.

Calm and black-and-white, so your photographs are the only colour on the page. A full-width picture opens it, three photo cards show what you do, and an elegant serif headline sets the tone. Made for weddings, live music and events.

An events and live-music house on two greens and one serif: a pale green page cut hard against deep forest bands, every display line in tight capitals at a single weight, and a journey section that scatters its cards across the page instead of lining them up. Square corners everywhere except the button, a thin ellipse with a second one ringed off true behind it, and one acid lime doing every piece of emphasis on the whole site.

A festival site built as a poster rather than a page: a near-black ground, one lime green doing every control, every counter and every date, and blurred colour auras bleeding in from behind the edges. The hero collage is pasted on at an angle over a date ticker that crawls sideways for ever, every card has its top-left corner notched out, and every control is two blocks with a real gap between them.

A summer camp for children where nothing is a rectangle: the promise laid straight over a full-width photograph in a fat rounded display face, three camps on a bright yellow panel, parents' words on blue cards, the questions on orange, and the camp's name signed off across the whole width of the page.

A music festival site with nothing rounded on it: the name at full width between two thick rules at the top and foot of the page, six artist cards in solid amber, and a two-line marquee crossing the middle in opposite directions. Every photograph is drained of colour until you touch it. The closing gallery is the only band that runs at full strength, which is the whole reason the rest of the page does not.

A warm cream page with one gold running through it, set entirely in two garamonds. The studio's name stands at the top at six rems, four enormous underlined links sit alone in a band of their own, and every fee, date and question further down is a ruled line rather than a box. Nothing is rounded and nothing is filled.

A live-event production site with no neutral colour anywhere: acid green, electric violet, hot coral and warm ink butting flush against each other, a colossal serif running clean off both edges of the screen, four marquees crawling sideways with photographs riding inside them, and every control a full pill laid across the lettering rather than beside it.

A live music and events site for one night at a time: a crowd photograph filling the screen and turning electric blue from the bottom up, headlines in a heavy condensed poster face set entirely in capitals, and every label, price and set time in spaced-out typewriter lettering. Four stages, a running order from gates to sunrise, two ticket tiers, and not one rounded corner on the whole site.

A wedding practice's site set entirely in serif and entirely on one centred axis: a wide framed opening photograph with a panel of the page colour pulled over its corner, then band after band of a single square photograph with a heading above it and an underlined link beneath. Two grounds only, white and one ice-blue wash, so your own colour re-tints every second band across twelve pages. No cards, no borders, no shadows and not one rounded corner; the only capitals on the site are the one ink button.

A musician's site on a true black page, where almost every band is a photograph filling the screen under a dark wash. The headline runs two lines with the second one in lime, three album sleeves lean at the corner of the opening, and releases, tour dates and the catalogue are ruled lists set in enormous capitals. One lime does every piece of emphasis and never fills a button; the controls are white keys and thin pills.