A few years ago, my friend Emma started an online store selling handmade candles. She poured her heart into each product, crafted with care and scented like memories—lavender fields, cinnamon kitchens, salty sea air. She had a loyal Instagram following, an engaging presence, and even return customers. But her website? Well, that was an afterthought.
It was plain, a little clunky, and hard to navigate. The photos loaded slowly. The checkout process was just… tedious. Despite all the effort she put into making the candles, the interface where customers bought them felt like an unmade bed—functional, but not inviting.
One evening over coffee, she confessed that sales were steady, but she couldn’t break past a certain point. Oddly, people seemed to buy just one item per visit—even when she ran offers. That’s when I asked her if she’d thought about how her website might be speaking to her customers. Not in words. In experience.
What followed was a journey neither of us expected, and what we uncovered could change the way you think about your own online shop.
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ToggleYou know that feeling when you walk into a beautifully arranged bookshop or café? Something happens before you’ve read a title or glanced at a menu. The space itself tells you something—about care, about intentionality, even about you as a guest. People want to linger in such places.
Websites are like that too. The colours, spacing, order, typography—these are not merely aesthetic choices. They are signals, whether softly whispered or loudly declared, about the kind of experience you’re offering.
When we redesigned Emma’s website, the first goal wasn’t to sell more candles. It was to make people want to stay a while. The kind of subtle invitation that encourages deeper browsing. We cleaned up the homepage, used professional photos that felt warm and personal, and made navigation intuitive.
Within a month, the average number of pages people looked at tripled. More importantly, they started discovering sets instead of just one candle—and buying them.
At its core, shopping is emotional. Sure, we compare prices and read reviews. But most purchases—especially from independent shops—are made with the heart. This is even more true online, where there’s no tactile element. We can’t smell the candles or touch the wax. All trust is built visually and emotionally.
When your store’s website looks outdated, cluttered, or hard to use, it subtly conveys doubt. Are these people serious? Will my order arrive? Is this worth the price?
Redesigns that focus on clarity, simplicity, and beauty quietly remove those barriers. A thought-through product page can make even a simple bar of soap look like the luxurious, restorative item it truly is. More trust means people are not only more likely to buy, they’re likely to buy more.
Another friend of mine sells secondhand books online. His original site had everything—functionally. You could find books, add to basket, pay. But it didn’t suggest anything else. No related titles. No bundles. No subtle nudges.
We added a single feature: when someone added a book to their basket, the site offered up two others in a similar genre, with a message that read simply: “People who loved this story, often enjoyed these.” Nothing pushy. Just thoughtful curation.
Within weeks, his average order value climbed—not aggressively, but steadily. Most people would click one or even both suggestions. The lesson was clear: People like to be helped, not sold to. A well-designed website doesn’t upsell. It curates.
Think about your last frustrating checkout experience. Maybe the form was too long. Or you had to create an account. Or the delivery estimate was vague. You got halfway and quit. Perhaps you didn’t even notice you were annoyed, but you clicked away and forgot about it.
That’s happening more than you realise on your site.
One of the most significant changes we made on Emma’s site was to simplify the checkout. We reduced the steps. Allowed guest checkout. Auto-filled as much as possible. Also, we clearly stated delivery times, included photos of the packaging, and added a progress bar.
People started completing purchases more easily, and interestingly—they started adding a little extra. A small tin candle to gift. A box of matches.
With so much of life already full of friction, a smooth checkout can act as a pleasant surprise. And pleasant surprises make us feel generous.
There’s an old saying in marketing that “people don’t buy products, they buy stories.” And stories, more often than not, are told visually. We’re wired to respond to narrative cues without realising it: the arc from curiosity to desire to satisfaction.
Good web design tells a story not just about the product, but about the person buying it. Who are they, and who do they want to be?
We restructured Emma’s product pages to reflect that. Instead of focusing on the candle’s weight and ingredients first (though all that was still there), we led with a little bit of story. “Warm linen drying by the fire.” “The scent of October mornings.” Names that evoked a feeling. It wasn’t false—it was an invitation. Her customers began writing in to share what the candles reminded them of. One woman said the Sea Salt & Sage blend reminded her of her late mother’s perfume. She’d bought three.
The average number of candles per order jumped.
You might be thinking: This all sounds nice, but isn’t design just… window dressing?
Not quite. A messy website is often the reflection of a messy understanding of your customer. When things are thrown around without purpose—a button here, a popup there—it’s not just ugly. It’s confusing.
Thoughtful design is problem-solving. It assumes that people are intelligent, but busy. Curious, but cautious. It respects their time and emotions. And it’s in that space between functionality and feeling that loyalty is born.
Because design isn’t just how your website looks. It’s how it works. Or, in the words of Steve Jobs, “Design is how it works.”
One of the challenges small shops face is creating that kind of thoughtful experience at scale. When you only have a handful of products, it’s easier to obsess over every detail. But as your store grows, it’s tempting to add more, faster, without stepping back.
That’s where systems help. Design means crafting templates that are consistent, yet flexible. Having a visual language. A tone of voice. Deciding in advance: What does a bundle look like? What does a sale look like?
And then revisiting your design every six months or so, as you would a shop window.
People change. Markets shift. Your design shouldn’t be static. But it should be anchored. That anchoring—rooted in clarity and emotion—makes your store feel like a real, breathing place.
When you care about something, it shows. We’re often told that love is in the details—and online, details are design.
When someone visits your website, they’re not just there to buy something. They’re there to feel something. Maybe peace. Maybe delight. Maybe nostalgia or self-assurance.
Design is your one chance to give them that feeling before they’ve even touched the product. And if you get that part right, they won’t just make a purchase. They’ll linger. They’ll remember. And they’ll come back.
As for Emma? Her average order value has more than doubled in the past year. But more than the numbers, she says the best part is reading the messages customers now send her. “Your candles make my home feel like me,” one wrote.
That’s the kind of result no spreadsheet can fully measure.
But often, it begins with one quiet question:
What story is your website telling—and who are you inviting into it?
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