Run your shop
on the machine.
Built inside a working NYC tattoo shop, not a conference room. One system for the door, the book, the chairs, and the money — on your screens, your tablets, your wall.
Count us in ⚡
Walk in.
It's already working.
This is the first thing your customers meet — the whole room, live, on glass. Portfolios under their fingers, the Lineup counting, the door saying yes.
STEVE
KIMBERLY.
Touch the live machine.
The Demo Floor is a real Studio OS stack running a fake busy night — real wall, real check-in, real flash rack. Tap around. Claim something. Nobody real gets tattooed.
Walk onto the demo floor ⚡The desk hears everything.
The lineup fills itself and rings the bell. And when an artist needs the front — gloves on, needle down — one press turns this screen into an air raid until a human answers.
The ticket follows them out the door.
They scan the QR and their spot lives on their phone — position updating itself, the neighborhood's best food two taps away, and a walk-me-back map when the shop calls them home. Nobody hovers at the desk. Everybody comes back.
Every chair gets a brain.
A tablet per station: the artist's day, their money, their line — and the whisper: the moment someone at the kiosk is looking at their work, the tablet knows.
YOUR DAY,
BIG STEVE.
The desk sets the room.
Chairs are furniture; artists move. Every morning the desk drags faces onto stations and every tablet re-homes itself — greeting its new artist by name.
Flash becomes commerce.
Pre-drawn, pre-priced, pre-timed. The rack sells itself on the kiosk — tap a piece and the art takes the whole glass, claim it and you're in the chair.
And above it all — the admin.
Mission control. Every shop on the machine phones home every five minutes; every screen in every room, watchable from one page. A shop goes quiet, the dot goes red, somebody cares before the shop ever notices.
·
LIVE
·
LIVE
·
LIVE
The walk-in economy
Wall QR check-in, phone tickets, the Lineup — the number no booking app ever counted, counted.
- Live phone tickets — position updates itself while they wander
- Two friends, one phone? Two tickets. The desk bell rings either way
- Walk-in vs booked revenue, finally split on every board
Marcus.
Your own appointment book
The OS is the calendar: the desk books real slots, clients get confirmations and reminders, and your Acuity or Square keeps mirroring alongside until you cancel it for good.
- Slot chips that know the gaps — clashes die before they're born
- Confirmations on booking, a nudge the night before
- Your Acuity mirrors alongside for months — switch when you're sure
Built where
the needles run.
Leads, downhill
Website forms and artist-page traffic land as cards with a clock. Nobody waits three days for a text again.
- See where every inquiry came from — your website, Google, or which artist's Instagram bio they tapped
- Price a piece in two taps: slide the hours, the quote does the math at that artist's rate
- Text them from the board — their reply lands on the same card, glowing
Chair choreography
Artist tablets greet the client by name, fog up before they arrive, and shoot the fresh piece at the end.
- GET READY fog twenty minutes out — loudest on the first of the day
- The artist's phone becomes the camera; shots file themselves
- Wrap it up from the chair — the desk sees the green ✓
Proven nightly in a
working shop.
Money that reconciles
Drops, house tabs, weekly settle-up, sales tax — the artist-pays-the-house model, digitized.
- The nightly drop equals the sheet — commission, deposits, tax on cash
- A house tab per artist; weekly settle-up pays it down
- Checkout ends on their phone: the Google-review ask and their photo uploads, collected automatically
The room on glass
A touch kiosk wall with availability, artist portfolios, and self check-in. Sleeps at night, wakes on a tap.
- Portfolios in grayscale that bloom to color under a finger
- Everything preloaded — a tap reveals, it never fetches
- Sleeps after close: CLOSED · doors at noon. Wakes in one frame
The whole roster, honest
Every artist is a card the desk can read at a glance — booked, worth, pace. No spreadsheets, no vibes.
Week one, in your shop
Who's behind this
A working shop and a builder. No conference room in sight.
Runs Manhattan's oldest tattoo shop — and the first chair the machine ever worked. If it survives his Friday night, it ships.
Builds the machine — from inside the shop, most nights. The reason the software knows what a walk-in actually is.
It shows up
in a crate.
No app store, no IT guy, no per-seat math. The whole rig arrives pre-paired to your shop — plug the wall in, hand out the tablets, done by lunch.
YOUR TEXTING NUMBER PORTS OUT WITH YOU IF YOU EVER LEAVE — YOUR CLIENTS, YOUR NUMBER.
$395 LOCKED
On the bench, loading next.
The machine keeps growing. Founding shops get every one of these the day it ships, no price change.
Device kit on lease — kiosk screen key, artist tablet keys, desk setup — shipped pre-paired. 12-month term. Your data is yours, always.
The Solo Act
One chair, no desk, no front-of-house. The machine is your counter help — it greets the walk-in at the door, minds your book, texts your leads back, and counts your night while your hands stay gloved.
Kit: the wall, your one tablet, the desk key. Nobody needs this more than the artist working alone — you need us more than you need Katz's.
Founding price by chairs — locked forever. The slider up top is the menu.
Wall screen, chair tablets, desk key, QR cards — shipped pre-paired. Done by lunch.
The board counts what it brings in. Doesn't beat its bill? We credit the difference.