Bizarrap's web
Bizarrap's web, built against a launch date that came from outside and would not move. The date was the brief, and everything after it got decided by what could survive it — pulled the other way by a second pressure that is easy to leave out of this kind of account: wanting to ship something the team could stand behind, and something there would still be a story to tell about afterwards.
- Role
- Product engineer
- Team
- Designer + sales
- Stack
- Next.js 16, React 19, Tailwind, TypeScript. Sessions from a static JSON file, two capture forms to Supabase through edge routes, on Vercel.
- Year
- 2025
The polaroid, and the hand
Every session became a polaroid: cream card, a paper clip, a photograph that stays grey until you touch it. The number is written in by hand and it is the only thing on the card — no title, no artist, no date. It does not need them. People say 52 and mean Quevedo. One handwritten number on a black wall is the difference between somebody's archive and a catalogue. The wall above is eight of the sixty-seven, and every card in it is the shipped one.
The ones you have to find
Five of the sixty-seven have no photograph in them — a hand-drawn padlock, and nothing else. They are not placeholders waiting on a photo. Each one hides something for whoever presses it on the off chance: a record turning behind #42, a question asking who you want to see next, a form that takes your phone number. Nothing on the page points at them. A launch page that keeps something back gives people a reason to keep touching it.
That is #42, with the record and without the track — the few seconds behind it are Bizarrap's, and republishing them from a portfolio is not the same thing as rebuilding a page. The label is the whole joke: the one session you could actually hear was the one nobody could name.