Your Homepage Isn’t a Billboard. It’s a Handshake.
(Reluctantly written) By Claire (because Steve grunts and Paul graphs)
I really shouldn’t be the one writing this. Steve should. Or Paul. But Steve communicates in monosyllables and a diet of semicolons, and Paul thinks a blog post is best written as a flowchart with conditional formatting.
Also, Steve only starts work around 3 pm and hits peak productivity somewhere around 12:37 am, sustained only by cold brew and a dry cereal he eats straight out of the box while mumbling things like “deployment pipeline.” Paul, meanwhile, is deep into his latest 1,800-calorie-a-day meal plan (lentil salad for lunch again, anyone?) and types with such fervour that you can hear the starch crackling in his collar like a motivational speaker pacing across a stage.
So here I am. Claire.
Elbows-deep in UX thoughts, one hand clutching a lukewarm cup of coffee, sitting cross-legged to avoid Zoe—the Airedale Terrier who insists on sleeping directly under my chair at the depot. I once tried to jump over her while carrying a crate of books. I slipped a disc. I needed four weeks of physio. She was fine. Thanks for asking. She remains obliviously wonderful and still blocks doorways like a unionised paperweight.
Let me be clear from the start: I didn’t dream of becoming the person giving homepage advice. I didn’t even dream of owning a bookshop. (My wildest fantasy involved a chaise lounge, an almond croissant, and uninterrupted reading time, which—as it turns out—is fiction.) Yet here I am, elbows deep in UX strategy, learning that your homepage isn’t about what you sell. It’s about who you are.
Because people don’t just land on your homepage ready to buy. They land there clutching their digital wallets and asking, “Can I trust you?” And if the answer isn’t obvious within seconds, they’re off faster than Mbusi—the courier from Internet Express—who has, for some reason, started arriving progressively earlier each day. At this rate, we may need to offer him the guest bedroom. He could load the van by 6 am, do a few yoga stretches with Zoe, and be halfway to the Pomona depot before sunrise.
Let’s call a spade a spade: the internet is full of scammers. And your homepage needs to scream: “Not me. I’m not one of them.” It doesn’t need to shout “BUY NOW!” in blinking red. It needs to whisper, calmly and confidently, “We’ve got you.”
It’s the digital equivalent of good lighting and eye contact. Your homepage isn’t here to flirt. It’s here to make a promise.
And funny thing is—Paul’s been saying this for years. Before we were drowning in bubble wrap and author-sorted book crates, Steve and Paul teamed up to build websites. Real ones. Big ones. The kind with onboarding flows and server architecture and fancy client briefs written in Comic Sans. It's actually how they met—although that’s a story for another time. Steve can code just about anything in any of 8 or so programming languages (as long as you didn’t try to reach him before noon). Paul handled the clients—he was the business analyst, the solution architect, the man with the marker pens and diagrams and an unhealthy attachment to the phrase “customer journey.”
They mentored entrepreneurs, too—watched people go from garage startups to proper businesses with actual staff and Saturday delivery slots. But no matter the client or the product or the size of the cart, Paul always said the same thing:
“Your homepage is not here to sell products. Your homepage is here to build trust.”
Build the trust and the products will sell themselves.
Honestly, the man should’ve had it tattooed on his lentil-stuffed bicep.
Step One: The Above-the-Fold Introduction
Let’s talk about what people see when they land on your site—before they scroll, before they click, before they even know what you sell. This is what the tech crowd calls the “above the fold” section. And if that phrase makes you think of ironing or hospital corners, don’t worry. It just means: the bit of your website people see first.
Think of it like the cover of a book, or that crucial moment when someone peeks through the front window of your shop. If it’s cluttered, confusing, or vaguely sketchy? They’re gone.
On our homepage, you’ll see our penguin logo (because yes, we sponsor penguins—but more on that later) and an award that says:
Radio 702 Gauteng’s Greatest – Best Bookshop Finalist 2024.
Now, we didn’t plaster that there just to brag. (Okay. Maybe a little.)
But here’s why it matters: we didn’t pay for that nomination. We didn’t schmooze a judge. We were nominated by actual customers. People who’ve bought from us. People who trusted us. People who made us one of the top three bookshops in Gauteng—up against national chains and shopfronts with coffee bars and aircon.
We didn’t win. (Hi, Love Books! You guys rock.) But we came second. Not bad for a secondhand bookshop run from a converted garage with a thermal printer that jams every third label.
We put that badge front and centre because it does the thing your homepage must do: it proves we’re real.
Step Two: Trust Anchors You Can’t Fake
Just underneath the badge, you’ll find our Google rating (an unblemished 5 stars, from 260 reviews, thank you very much) and our Bobshop rating (100%, with over 1,140 reviews). That’s 1,400 people across South Africa who’ve said, “These folks deliver.”
And no, we didn’t bribe anyone with free bookmarks or puppies.
We just did our jobs. Sent books. Answered emails. Apologised when the couriers didn’t pitch. (Looking at you, Mbusi. But also… see you tomorrow at 5:43 am, I assume?)
Here’s the thing:
📉 35% of people abandon their carts if your site doesn’t have visible trust indicators.
That’s 1 in 3 potential customers. Gone. Because you didn’t show your receipts.
Reviews aren’t decoration. They’re currency.
And if you’re not flaunting them proudly, you’re leaving money (and trust) on the table.
Let’s Talk About the Cart
The single most misunderstood, most maligned, most misdiagnosed part of the online shopping experience—the cart.
The poor thing gets blamed for everything.
People treat the cart like it’s some kind of digital Bermuda Triangle.
“They were here, they added things, and then… poof. Gone.”
Cue the finger pointing, the design audits, the urgent meetings about changing the colour of the ‘Checkout’ button.
But let me let you in on a little secret:
It’s not the cart. It’s never the cart.
People abandon their purchase in the checkout stage because they have questions or concerns that they hoped would be answered by the time they got to checkout. And they haven’t been.
How much is shipping? When will it arrive? Do you actually exist? Why hasn’t anyone answered the phone?
They were hoping the answers would magically appear by checkout.
But instead, they get the digital equivalent of an awkward silence.
Take this example: someone is buying a book on a Wednesday. It’s a gift. The party is Saturday. All they want to know is—Will I get my book in time?
They scour your homepage. Nothing.
Product page? Nothing.
FAQ? Missing.
Delivery tab? Doesn’t exist.
They get to checkout, clinging to hope like it’s a plot twist in a Colleen Hoover novel, and still… nothing.
So they abandon the cart—not because they changed their mind, not because they suddenly don’t like reading books anymore and have taken up crocheting instead, but because:
You didn’t change their mind for them.
You didn’t reassure.
You didn’t inform.
You didn’t build trust.
Let’s Throw in Some Deliciously Depressing Data
-
🛒 Nearly 70% of online shopping carts are abandoned.
-
💸 48% of shoppers bail when unexpected costs show up at checkout.
-
🧾 17% leave because the checkout is too long or complicated.
-
📱 Mobile users flee at rates as high as 85.65% if your site isn’t buttery smooth on a phone.
Quick disclaimer: these aren’t our stats.
At ReadMatter, our abandonment rates are blissfully low (not to brag, but… okay, yes, to brag a little).
These stats come from a January 2025 study conducted across a wide sample of South African e-commerce websites.
Which is why I will die on this hill:
Solving cart abandonment starts before the cart.
On the homepage. On the product page. In the way you write.
In the way you speak to your customers like actual people who want to be reassured, not sold to.
✅ Add a delivery estimate.
✅ Link your return policy.
✅ Show off your reviews.
✅ Name your dog.
If you do that well enough, your cart won’t need to beg. It won’t need to shout or flash or spin.
It’ll just sit there, calm and confident, like Paul with his 47-page spreadsheet of courier tracking numbers and his lentil lunch in a glass container labelled Wednesday.
It’ll be a welcome last stop on a journey that already felt trustworthy—like the warm glow of a bedside lamp and a dog that might be snoring but is somehow still blocking the door.
Proof, Penguins & Paperwork
Just beneath the trust badges and review numbers on our homepage, you’ll find a scrolling banner.
It doesn’t spin. It doesn’t sing.
It just shows you what matters.
Slide One: Couriers & Payment Providers
The first slide says:
“We partner with the best.”
And underneath that are the logos of:
Fastway. The Courier Guy. Aramex. Pargo. Internet Express. BobBox. Payflex. Yoco. BobPay.
These aren’t vanity stickers. These are vetting badges.
Here’s a little industry secret:
You can’t just slap these names on your site and hope for the best. No no.
To become a Payflex or Yoco or courier account holder, we had to submit:
-
FICA documents
-
CIPC registration
-
Proof of address and bank details
-
SARS clearance
-
Director ID copies
-
Our blood type (almost)
The point? You don’t get through those gates unless you’re legit.
So when a customer sees those names on our checkout page, it tells them:
We’ve done the admin and verified this vendor so you don’t have to worry.
Slide Two: Penguins, Obviously
Yes, we sponsor five African penguins at the East London Aquarium:
Blikkies, Bos, GC, Geraldina, and Gemini.
You can meet them on our social media.
They’re glorious. And no, they don’t help pack orders—though I have seen Paul grumble less gracefully.
Why do we put this on our homepage?
Because it shows who we are.
We believe in doing good things. Not just good business.
We believe in leaving things better than we found them—even if sometimes that just means giving a little fish to a big bird.
Also: if you’re ever at the aquarium, go look at the board.
Our name’s right there.
Or call Shona—she’ll tell you it’s true.
In Summary: Trust Isn’t a Feature. It’s a Feeling.
And it has to be earned.
Not with fireworks. Not with flash. But with:
-
✅ A real address
-
✅ A working phone number
-
✅ Recognisable, regulated payment options
-
✅ Transparent checkout
-
✅ Clear shipping details
-
✅ Thousands of honest reviews
That’s what you’ll find at ReadMatter.
So the next time someone says your homepage needs more urgency, more salesy tricks, or heaven help us, a flashing “LAST CHANCE” banner… ask them instead:
Does it feel like a handshake?
Because that’s what customers are really looking for.
And now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go stop Steve from pushing live updates at 2 am again and explain to Paul why “lentil energy bites” are not dessert.
Thank you for reading. Why not browse our latest arrivals
