Worthy

A hotel and wedding venue on the bluff above Lake Travis, built as one wedding day. Scrolling moves the real sun: the lake photo is relit live, from morning through golden hour to the lights coming on, and the whole page follows the light. Pick your date and the day, the timeline and the spaces rebuild around that evening's real sunset.

Chicago's record stores since 1989, built as a record you play. An LP spins beside the page, the menu is the tracklist, and scrolling moves the needle across the grooves. Halfway down it flips to side B, menu jumps are needle drops, and you can grab the record and scratch the page. Plus a crate to dig through and live store hours.

Austin's Tex-Mex institution since 1952, built around when the sign lights up. The building's lights come on under the neon, tied to their real hours. Scroll to build a real Bob Armstrong Dip and drag a chip through it, shake a Knockout Martini, and watch the patio's string lights switch on, with tonight's actual Austin weather for patio seating.

A hundred years of golden donuts. Scroll and one real donut goes from raw dough to fried to dipped and dripping. Then build your own dozen: tap donuts into an open kraft box, shingled the way the shop packs them, with the real prices adding up. Plus live hot-glazed hours for both drive-thrus.

Austin's century-old burger joint turns 100. Pick a burger and it stacks itself from real-looking photo layers, following the actual recipe. Tap a topping to flick it off, like ordering it your way. The site also rolls 1926 to 2026 on an odometer and lights up today's special.

A seven-room MICHELIN Key hotel that's a house from the street and a courtyard hotel behind. Scroll and the sun sets on the 1920s bungalow, the lanterns come on, and the house opens at its front door onto the courtyard behind it. Then every room is laid out on a plan you can tap.

Austin's last true Texas dance hall gets a neon sign that powers on, gig posters that update from a Google Calendar the owners already use, and a two-step lesson you scroll through.

His album Dr*gs R Bad is named after old anti-drug TV ads, so the whole site plays like a late-night public service announcement.

A made-up streetwear label, built to show online-store work. Drops land at every real half moon: the homepage shows tonight's actual moon, lit to its real phase, with a live countdown to the next drop. The next jacket waits in the moon's shadow, and the bag really works.

A made-up American heritage label from the Rhode Island coast, laid out like the season's catalogue. Type your initials and the monogram is embroidered stitch by stitch onto a real shirt cuff, then rides along in the bag with the shirt. Shop straight from the photographs; menu jumps turn the page.

A 1935 picture show turned honky-tonk in Bertram, Texas. The marquee on the front always spells the next real show. Tap any seat on the real layout, from the VIP tables on the dance floor to the mezzanine, and see the stage from there. Rentals put your names on the marquee, and menu jumps close the green velvet curtain.

A made-up Fort Worth bootmaker with boots, exotics, western clothing and hats. Scroll and one boot wears in over twenty years, crease by crease, until its first resole. A size finder fits you like a bootmaker would, and the bag really works.

A made-up client and production portal for agencies: clients and profiles, a drag-and-drop production board, a content calendar, requests on a live response clock, and dashboards. Drag the replay slider and the whole year rewinds; ship a project on the board and the dashboard changes with it. Command-K finds anything.

The brand package we hand a web team, for a made-up Marfa coffee roaster: a logo suite with clear space and misuse rules, a color system with live contrast checks, type, four patterns with a playground, icons, photo direction and mockups. In the theme lab a homepage re-themes with each approved palette, and the whole kit downloads as real files.