Lately I open five new websites in a row and get the feeling I'm seeing the same one five times. The same font. The same soft purple-to-blue gradient. The same headline that could sit on any product in any industry and says exactly nothing. The same little pulsing dot assuring me someone's "available for new projects".
That's not bad design. It's the absence of a decision.
A client sent me a Framer AI draft recently: "I like this, but make it mine." That's the point right there. The AI delivers the rough shape. The craft makes it yours.
Why everything looks the same right now
The tools most sites are built with are trained on what already exists — and what exists is mostly … themselves. The average reinforces itself. You ask for "modern and clean" and get the statistical average of every modern, clean site from the last three years. Rounded cards. A gradient in the hero. Three feature columns with an icon in a square.
It's pleasant. It's also invisible. And invisible does nothing — it just fills space.
The patterns I keep out of my own work
I'm not immune. These are the patterns I catch myself reaching for, and the ones I now question:
The default font
Most builders slap the same sans-serif everywhere and call it done. Inter, Geist, DM Sans — all solid typefaces, but when they're everywhere they stop saying anything. One typeface with character — something you deliberately chose because it fits the brand — does more for a site's identity than any animation I could add.
I now spend more time on font selection than on some layout decisions. Not because I'm a typography nerd, but because it's the highest-ROI lever. A page set in Bricolage Grotesque feels different from the same page in Inter. The reader might not consciously notice, but they register: someone made a choice here.
Headlines anyone could have
"Build the future of your work" means nothing. "I build websites I genuinely care about" at least tells you who I am and what I care about. Being specific is the whole trick.
I see hero headlines constantly that you could slap 1:1 on a bakery, a law firm, or a SaaS startup without anyone blinking. That's wasted real estate. Your headline is the one sentence everyone reads. If it's interchangeable, so are you.
Colour without meaning
Gradients that look pretty but carry nothing. Purple to blue, pink to orange, teal to green — the same soft transitions every time, the same implied meaning: we want to look modern. I'd rather use one warm accent for what matters and keep the rest quiet. Coral for calls to action, teal for confirmations, yellow for highlights. Every colour has a job. If it hasn't got one, it goes.
Motion that wants to impress
Custom cursors, magnetic buttons, everything fading in at the same speed. I've built all of it. I've also ripped it all out again. If an animation doesn't help you understand something or do something, it's noise.
The motion rule I work by now: before I add an animation, I ask: (a) Does it show a state change? (b) Does it direct attention? (c) Does it reinforce personality? If none apply: cut it. Restraint beats excess — every time.
Stock photos of everything
A photo of a laughing diverse team high-fiving over a laptop is basically a confession: nobody bothered to show the real thing. I get why agencies do it — it's fast, cheap, "safe". But it signals: nobody you know works here. There's no real face behind this.
I show instead: real screenshots from real projects. Photos of the desk, the code, the process. Imperfect, but real. A blurry photo of your actual workshop beats any perfect stock image.
The "we" instead of "I"
Nothing screams template louder than "We deliver holistic solutions". You're one person. Write like one. "I build websites" isn't less professional — it's more honest. And honesty builds trust faster than any "we".
Empty trust signals
Client logos you never worked for. "Trusted by 500+ companies" with no names. Certificates nobody verifies. These badges are the war paint of the template era. I use instead: one real quote with a name, a role, a photo. Or a link to the actual project. One proof beats a hundred badges.
What I do instead
Nothing wild. I pick a typeface with character and pair it with something readable. I use colour sparingly and on purpose. I write the way I actually talk — shorter sentences, the occasional opinion. I show real screenshots of real work. And I only add motion when it's earned its keep: a button that responds to a click, a panel that slides open, something that loads.
A concrete example: last month I built a site for a carpenter. The client came in with a Wix template — white background, blue buttons, stock photo of wood. I said: "Let's photograph your furniture. Your hands working. Your workshop." The site now uses a serif-weighted headline font (nods to craft), warm earth tones instead of blue, and copy written the way the carpenter talks on the phone. After launch he said: "That's me. That feels right."
Another: a tax advisor who wanted her site "modern and clean". Her first brief read like every other firm's site. We sat down and asked: what actually makes you different? She: "I reply within four hours. I explain tax German so my mum understands it. No surprise invoices." That became the site structure. No "holistic support" — just: "Reply in 4 hours. No jargon. Fixed price."
Where AI helps in the process — and where it doesn't
I use AI daily. For code snippets ("write me a regex for German phone numbers"), for first-draft copy I then completely rewrite, for ideation when I'm stuck. What I don't do: let AI make the decisions that create the difference. Structure, argument, prioritisation, reduction — that stays craft.
What I also don't do: AI-generated images as stand-ins for real photos. A Midjourney workshop looks perfect — and that's exactly why it feels wrong. The scratches on the workbench, the light through the window, the dust on the shelves: that's what makes this carpenter this carpenter.
How to tell if your own site looks AI-made
Open your site. Read the hero headline. Ask yourself: could this same line sit on my competitor's site? If yes: change it. That's where you start.
Check the buttons. Do they say "Free initial consultation" or "Let's talk"? The first is template-speak. The second is a human.
Look at the photos. Do you recognise yourself, your team, your work? Or does it look like "business meeting, diverse, laptop, high-five"?
Read the "About me" text. Are you using words you'd never say in real life? "Holistic", "synergies", "best-in-class"? Cut them. Write the way you'd explain what you do to a client on the phone.
The goal isn't to be clever or flashy. It's to build a site that feels like a specific person made it for a specific person. When someone lands on a site I've built, I want them to feel like they're dealing with a human, not a template.
Because that's what the average can't give you: it can't look like you. Only you can do that.