Strop it yourself
A black leather strop hangs on the page. Move the razor along it and a tag counts the laps to thirty, the number Hollis gives every razor before a shave.
Ives, Barber
One chair on Front Street in Marietta, five appointments a day.
A concept build. I invented the business and built its site.
An operating room, one flight up.
Ives, Barber is invented: one chair, one flight up on Front Street in Marietta, run by Hollis Ives after eleven years as a surgical technologist. Five 75-minute appointments a day, and no walk-ins.
He runs his chair like an operating room, so the site works like one too: instruments counted in and out, a card for every face, and the homepage told as one shave in clock time, from 9:58 to 11:12.
Ten o’clock is yours.
Everything is set in Geist, tight and large, with the barber’s own handwriting on the cards and slips. The colors are warm white paper, ink, steel and a pale surgical-drape blue, with one deep blue word on each screen.
Ten o’clock, on a phone.
This is the same homepage on a phone, top to bottom. I lay out the phone version on its own, so nothing is shrunk to fit.
One shave, in clock time.
The pass
A headline arrives covered in lather, and the 3D razor shaves it clean in two passes: with the grain, then across it.
The steam lifts
At the end of the homepage a silvered mirror plate starts fogged, and clears as you scroll to show the finished line.
