Plainspoke began with a small, irritating observation: the companies that built careful products often shipped their Spanish, Portuguese and Creole versions as an afterthought. A button clipped in half. A dosing instruction that read like a legal notice. A phrase that was correct in a dictionary and strange in a kitchen.
So we built a studio around the afterthought. Interface strings, help-center articles and patient-facing instructions are our whole catalogue. We keep it narrow on purpose, because a narrow practice lets us learn your product’s vocabulary once and hold it steady across every release.
Our method is old-fashioned. One translator drafts. A second native speaker, who has not seen the draft being made, reads it aloud and marks every line that makes them hesitate. Then we walk your actual build on a device, because a sentence that fits in a spreadsheet can still break a screen.
Haitian Creole is part of the work from the first day, not a line item added on request. It is routinely absent from vendor menus, and the people it leaves out are often the ones reading the instructions most closely.
The Plainspoke desk, Lefferts Place