Hopkins is an agent — named for Claude Hopkins, who invented split-testing and reason-why copy in 1923. He interviews you, writes the page, scores his own work, and keeps immaculate files. Below: every open decision, rendered as real options. Pick one per section, or mix. Nothing here is a contract — it's a menu.
Same engine underneath — Hopkins the agent, template slot schemas, the score, the library. The question is what the product feels like when you open it.
A guided run: you set product, persona, pain point, angle, template — Hopkins produces the brief, the slot-mapped copy, and the design spec as one clean document. Every run is logged. You edit in the doc; regenerate any section. The agent works behind the curtain.
You open a conversation. Hopkins interviews you like a real copy chief — five sharp questions about the persona, the pain, the proof. Then he delivers artifacts into the thread as pinned cards: brief, copy, spec. You revise by talking. Pure agent energy.
One split screen. Conversation with Hopkins beside a live rendered preview of the actual template, filling in as he writes. Click any section of the page — edit it by hand or tell Hopkins to punch it up. The score updates live as the page improves. The library sits behind it as home.
Home is a desk: every landing page is a card moving through stages — Brief, Copy, Spec, Building, Live. Open a card and you get a lighter workspace. Built around team throughput: who owns what, what's stuck, what shipped this week.
All four live inside your inspo — dark, typographic, confident, zero decoration. Each specimen below is rendered in its actual type and color. These can also blend: pick a core and steal a detail from a neighbor.
The breathwork inspo, straight. Pure black, white Helvetica, monospace data with tabular numerals, hairline strokes, dotted circles for anything touchable, one phosphor-green signal for "live / passing." Quiet motion — things settle, never bounce.
Ink black and paper cream. Serif headlines with real italics, monospace small caps for data — old ad-agency letterpress rebuilt by a Swiss studio. The name IS the brand: every screen quietly says "this craft is a century old, we just made it fast." Keeps 2A's mono instrumentation for all numbers.
Black with a single warm signal red — the safelight of a photo darkroom, where images develop before they're printed. Huge bold uppercase grotesque, aggressive confidence. Pages "develop" in Hopkins before they ship.
Monospace everything. The copy is the hero — everything else recedes. Block cursor, underlines, draft numbers. Feels like watching the world's best copywriter type in real time.
Section 01 chose the soul; this chooses the skeleton — how a teammate moves from "I have an angle" to "spec shipped." These pair with 01 picks; natural couples are noted.
A strict linear flow with a library as home. Brief room, copy room, ship room. Back and forward, never lost. Pairs naturally with 1A.
One thread per landing page. You talk down the spine; the brief, the live preview, and the spec pin to a rail beside it and stay current as the conversation evolves. The ledger (library) lists every thread with its score and status. This is 1C's studio given a memory — the natural marriage.
No flow at all: one workspace where brief, preview, score, and spec are simultaneous panels. Hopkins is summoned anywhere with one key. Fastest for a power user on page #40.
Every landing page is one living document with structured sections. Hopkins proposes edits inline — like track changes from a genius. Familiar to anyone who writes; exports itself.
The skeleton is 03; this is posture — density, chrome, and where the controls live. Mini stage mockups below are abstract on purpose: judge the feel, not the pixels.
Full-bleed dark; the rendered landing page sits center-stage like a lightbox print. Hopkins's panel and the score float at the edges and slide away when unneeded. Cinematic, calm, demo-gorgeous.
Everything lives in a visible 1px grid — every panel a labeled cell, mono captions everywhere, high density, zero mystery. Nothing floats, nothing hides.
Generous space, one column of beautiful reading, controls appear only when you hover a section. The interface disappears into the writing. Pairs naturally with brand 2B.
Keyboard-first: one command bar summons everything — rewrite this, score that, export, new page. Minimal chrome, maximal speed.
Less a menu, more a manifest — the nine capabilities that make V1 real, then the score in full, then the ladder to V1.2 and V2. Veto anything; nothing hides.
Interviews you like a copy chief before writing a word. Drafts the whole page, defends his choices with reasons, takes direction like a pro. The personality is a feature — dry, confident, allergic to fluff.
Rise-2 and Listicle decomposed into named slots — every headline, list item, testimonial, CTA, and image becomes a slot with rules (length, job, tone). Copy is born mapped to the design.
The copy rendered inside a faithful likeness of the actual template — not a doc, the page. Shareable link for team review before anything gets built.
Click any section: edit by hand, or tell Hopkins to punch it up — "more visceral," "for a skeptical dad," "shorter." Every revision re-scores instantly.
Ten dimensions, 0–100 each, page total plus per-section flags. The rubric below. The score is the agent's conscience — and the team's shared language for "is this good."
A legal-approved claims library per product. Anything outside it gets flagged before a human ever sees the draft. Truthful and regulatory-safe by construction, not by review.
Every image slot gets a written creative brief — subject, mood, format, crop — ready to hand a designer. (Pushing briefs into Higgsfield / pulling approved assets from Air is the V1.2 upgrade.)
Every brief, copy draft, and spec logged forever with persona, angle, score, and status. The persona × angle grid shows what's been tried and where the gaps are. Institutional memory from page one.
One-click export: section-by-section copy plus image specs, ordered exactly like the Replo editor. A page that took three days takes twenty minutes to assemble.
You asked for a 5–10 dimension rubric on how the page speaks to the persona. Here are the ten, each with a sample reading. Cut any you don't buy.
Does every section speak to this exact person — or to "everyone"?
A named, felt pain point — not generic wellness fog.
One idea, held all the way down the page.
Every claim carried by evidence, testimonial, or number.
Everything inside the approved claims library. Hard gate, not a suggestion.
AI-tell phrases, empty superlatives, "elevate your ritual." Inverted — high is clean.
Sounds like MUD\WTR — irreverent, honest, never preachy.
The deal is unmistakable in three seconds. Zero CTA friction.
Cold traffic skims. Does the page still sell if you read only the headlines?
The too-good-to-be-true detector. Overclaiming kills conversion too.
Browse, feel, then reply in chat with your codes — one per section, mixing allowed, half-picks welcome ("2B but steal the green from 2A"). Hopkins's own ballot is tagged above: 1C · 2B · 3B · 4A · all nine features. Disagreement is encouraged; that's what the deck is for.