FUGA: a website that sells three millimetres

Every studio writes “precision”. Nobody shows it.

Kitchen studio websites are interchangeable: showroom photos, “quality”, “made to measure”, “a personal approach” — and the price only after a meeting. Most of those studios merely resell and install somebody else’s carcasses. A studio that genuinely manufactures in its own hall cannot set itself apart with vocabulary: nobody reads those words any more. The only way to stand out is with what the competition cannot write — numbers that can be checked.

Precision is not a claim. It is the language of the whole site.

FUGA holds the joint between panels at three millimetres — so we turned that into the measure of everything. The catalogue lists four models at a fixed price including installation, not a “price on request”. The lead time is a number: 62 days from survey to a finished kitchen. The copy is short, free of superlatives, and the whole page contains exactly one dry joke. Over the catalogue the cursor turns into a crosshair that reads its position on the rule in millimetres — even a detail one visitor in a hundred will notice speaks the same language.

The second decision is the film. It does not show a finished kitchen — it shows one coming into being. In an empty room a technical drawing draws itself, and the finished parts jump into it exactly where they belong: the decision on paper first, then the matter. The visitor drives the whole shot with the scroll, frame by frame, and every part that lands is accompanied by a quiet click — synthesised in the browser itself, no audio file, off by default.

A drawing that draws itself — literally

The footage was generated and is scrubbed frame by frame on a canvas. The drawing phase, though, is not video: the generated hairlines shimmered between frames and no amount of post-production would settle them. So the drawing is a vector traced straight off the first frame of the assembly — 595 strokes that line up against the video with a median deviation of zero pixels — and it is drawn with a mask, so at the moment the video takes over it sits exactly on top of its counterpart. The viewer has no way of catching the swap.

The rest of the page keeps the same discipline: a comparison table of four models with fixed prices, materials given as parameters rather than adjectives, an enquiry form that works with JavaScript turned off, a full Czech and English version from a single source of copy, and accessibility from the skip link to announcing changes to a screen reader. The film has 227 unique frames for desktops and 179 for phones; frozen stretches map onto a single frame, so nothing is ever downloaded twice.

A purchase planned half a year ahead begins on the website

We do not measure a scroll-film by conversion — no credible study supports that link and we are not going to pretend otherwise. We measure it by what can actually be measured: the page renders within 1.5 seconds even on an average mobile connection, the scroll stays smooth under honest measurement with real input, the contrast of every piece of text clears the accessibility limits, and the whole site works without JavaScript and with a screen reader. A cinematic opening and technical discipline do not stand against each other: the film sells trust, the catalogue of fixed numbers closes it.