thetheo
show.com
A multi-disciplinary artist rebuilding his digital world from scratch — and what three years of deliberate construction taught me about designing for Truth instead of palatability.
show.com
A site that
looked good
but felt wrong.
When I first built thetheoshow.com, I was attempting to share the array of works I had been a part of. I wanted to offer products and designs and release the occasional podcast. I didn't know who the audience was — I was vaguely aware that they were individuals who had followed my career from the start, but I was not ready to admit that.
I refrained. I put client work at the forefront assuming that would get me work. But I never earned a job by applying for one. It had always come from the work I created. The site was optimized for a user behavior that didn't reflect reality.
Out of key.
All systems
weren't a go.
The site looked good. My audience made purchases. But internally I was unsatisfied. I felt out of key — one element was there but a core element felt missing. I did it right, but it didn't need right. It needed something more.
The technical fragmentation made it worse. Cargo for the site. Shopify for the store. Substack for the blog. Three separate user experiences pretending to be one. Every redirect was a moment where a user could drop off, lose context, or simply feel the seam. My work has always been intent, urgent — but oddly, very effortless. The site didn't feel that way.
Amazon as
a reference.
Not an aesthetic.
I examined websites at random — how my experience as a user felt. I explored multiform companies that worked in multiple silos and large catalogs and studied how they built their UX. Often creative people make very complex websites. I took Amazon's robust website as a structural reference: how do you simply lay out the silos for what a person is looking to see?
The principle I extracted was simple: everything accessible with one click. You didn't have to know about Cereal & Such to click a link. You could simply click "Accessories" and stumble upon a cereal box. Your curiosity allowed for discovery. And that would fuel other possible discoveries.
The Index
as axis.
When I stripped the site to its bare essentials, I allowed the vast years of work and experience to flood in. This skeleton of select projects began to flourish with deep, rich history — not preferred collaborations and brand partnerships, but all the little details. The minute things that, when looking back, are pretty magical.
The menu reads: Shop / Index / Movies / Albums. The Index felt like the axis for all of it — film, music, design. It was where all works converged. Not announced and not neatly categorized into a portfolio. Just as it is.
It was during that process that something became clear: I could not deny my history or work, no matter the hire or not. The site, while bearing my name and face, is not about me — it is about the pursuit. What compels a person to follow a path of independence like this? What drives him? That is the real magic. And the Index is where that magic lives.
The final navigation structure — four entry points, everything one click away.
- Apparel
- Accessories
- Music
- Reading
- Design
- Film
- All works converge
- Film appearances
- Directed works
- Discography
- Collaborations
Designing for
truth, not
palatability.
I never called this a UX project while I constructed it. But every decision — consolidating three platforms into one, building it myself because of the knowledge I carried, organizing the navigation around curiosity rather than convention — reflects how I naturally approach problems.
The site that existed before wasn't wrong. It was just designed for an audience I imagined rather than the one that exists. When I designed with Truth at the forefront the architecture resolved itself. The Index became self-evident.
