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Wedding planning, all of it

Plan the whole wedding in one place.

The schedule, the seating, the guest list, the budget — and one printed code on the day that turns every guest's camera roll into your gallery.

Start a wedding

About ten minutes to set up.

A wedding plan laid out on a table: printed stationery, a seating list, a pen and a sprig of hydrangea.

A wedding, end to end

  1. Plan itThe running order, the room, the money, the list.
  2. Invite themOne card per household — they answer for themselves.
  3. Everyone takes partGuests add to the day instead of only attending it.
  4. The dayOne printed code, and the wall fills up as it happens.
  5. What you keepEvery photograph anyone took, in one place, by morning.

Plan it

And the parts you'll actually plan with.

Everything a wedding usually spreads across a spreadsheet, a group chat, a registry site and a shoebox of receipts — in the same place as the photos, on the same login nobody has to make twice. Open any card for the parts that matter once you're actually using it.

A long table laid for dinner under strings of warm lights at dusk.

The schedule

Everyone has the same four o'clock.

One running order in the wedding's own timezone — and the entries you mark yours, like the florist at nine, stay yours.

  • 16:00Ceremony
  • 18:30Dinner is served
  • 22:00First dance
  • 09:00Florist arrivesyours only
What a guest sees, and when

Times are written and read in the wedding's timezone, so a guest flying in on the morning reads the hour you actually meant rather than the hour their phone is in. Change any entry as often as you like — there is one running order and everybody is looking at the current version of it, which is the point of not doing this in a group chat.

Supplier calls, the hairdresser, the two hours you blocked to get dressed: put them in the same list and mark them organizers-only. They sit in your schedule and never appear in anyone else's.

One long table set with candles and flowers in a field, every chair waiting.

Seating & the floor plan

Move people between tables until it works.

Drag guests onto tables and place the tables the way the room really is. Set a capacity and it warns you when a table is over — it never blocks you.

Why capacity only warns

Because on the day you will absolutely squeeze in a seventh chair, and software that refuses to let you record what is about to happen in the room is software you stop using at exactly the moment it matters. Table three being one over is information, not an error.

The list view and the room canvas are two views of the same arrangement, so a table you move on the floor plan is the table you just dragged someone onto.

Invitations & RSVP

Invitations go to households, not inboxes.

One card per party, with its own link and a QR that prints. Evermore sends nothing — delivery is yours.

The Bergmanns

paper
  • Annacoming
  • Tomascoming
  • Leacoming, no nuts
  • Mionot yet
How the invitation actually reaches them

No email, no SMS, no post. The link is yours to text, print on the card, or hand over at a birthday — which is how most people invite most of their guests anyway. You mark it sent yourself; nothing is guessed on your behalf, and nothing goes out that you did not send.

Everyone in the party answers for themselves: coming or not, and what they can't eat. One person can answer for the household if that is how the household works.

Dietary

What people can't eat, per table.

Declared with the RSVP and rolled up on the seating plan. Organizers only — no other guest ever sees it.

Table 3 · 8 seated

  • Allergy1
  • Preference3
  • Note1

“Mio reacts to sesame — please check the dressing.”

Why an allergy is never just a colour

Every dietary group carries a label, a glyph and a colour, all three, so the plan still reads for a colour-blind organizer and still reads printed in greyscale for a caterer standing in a kitchen. An allergy is ranked and weighted above a preference rather than merely tinted differently — vegan and nut-allergy are not the same kind of fact.

Free-text notes are shown exactly as they were typed, never parsed and never summarised, because the allergy that matters is often the one with no checkbox. A note on its own is enough to raise the table's marker.

The budget

What you expected, next to what you paid.

Photograph the receipt, note who paid, let it add itself up. Organizers only — numbers and receipt files both.

Venue6,800
Catering5,640
Flowers1,400 est.
Gifts, ceilings, and who can look

It will also estimate what the gifts bring back, from what guests in each country typically give — an estimate, said as an estimate, not a number pretending to be income.

Set no ceiling and it simply stops reporting one rather than pretending the ceiling is zero. A guest asking for any of this is refused it: the numbers and the receipt photographs are both behind the organizer gate, which is the correct place for a picture of your bank card.

The wishlist

Guests can see who claimed what. You can't.

Put down what you'd actually like; a guest claims one so nobody turns up with the second grinder.

What guests see

  • The heavy cast-iron panEllen
  • Two nights in Syltunclaimed
  • The good coffee grinderJonas & Ida

What you see

  • The heavy cast-iron pan
  • Two nights in Sylt
  • The good coffee grinder
Hidden how, exactly

Not hidden by leaving the column off your screen. The claim data is never sent to an organizer's browser in the first place, so there is nothing to reveal by opening the developer tools, and nothing for a future screen to accidentally render.

Guests see it, because guests are the ones who need to avoid buying the same thing twice.

Group areas

A room for the bachelor party you can't walk into.

Any guest can start a group and it gets its own albums and its own chat. Being an organizer grants nothing inside it.

Bachelor party

6 members

Everyone can see this group exists and who is in it — so you can ask to be added. Nobody outside it reads a word of what's inside.

Who gets in, and who decides

The people planning that evening usually aren't the couple, so they don't need the couple's permission. The group's own members manage its roster, and access is resolved live: removed from the group, and the albums and the conversation close behind you the same second.

The roster is public to the wedding and the content is not, which is the only arrangement in which a surprise stays a surprise without being a secret.

The conversation

One thread per group, and nothing else.

Plain text, live, oldest to newest — no attachments, threads, reactions or notifications.

  • IdaSuits sorted. Nobody tell him about the shoes.
  • PetePhotos of the shoes are in the group album.
Deliberately the smallest chat that works

It exists so the bridesmaids stop having half the plan in a side channel nobody can find in October. It does not exist to replace the messaging app on their phone, so it does not try: no read receipts to feel guilty about, no push notification at eleven at night, and no record of who has seen what stored anywhere another member could read it.

Messages can't be edited after they're sent. Their author can delete them, and so can whoever started the group; nobody else, organizers included.

Everyone takes part

A wedding isn't a broadcast.

Ninety people are already doing things for your wedding — answering, photographing, buying, arranging surprises. All this does is give them somewhere to put it.

Commitment

They answer for themselves.

Each household gets its own invitation and its own link. Everyone on it says whether they're coming and what they can't eat — in their own words, not relayed through whoever picked up the phone.

Their answers land in your guest list and on your seating plan as they arrive.

Participation

They add to it, not just attend it.

A guest can put up the photographs they took, claim something off the wishlist so nobody buys it twice, and start a group of their own for the evening they're planning without you.

The bachelor party organises itself in a room you can't see into. That's the feature.

Communication

One version of the day.

One running order everyone reads, in the wedding's own timezone. Move the ceremony an hour and it has moved for all of them — there is no second copy in a group chat going stale.

And each group carries its own conversation, so the plan lives beside the people making it.

If you're the one planning it

You set it up once.

An email and a password, the day filled in, and one code printed. That account is the only account anyone involved in your wedding will ever need — and you can do all of it from a phone, in the weeks you actually have.

If you were invited

They point a camera at a square.

It opens in the browser they're already holding, asks for a name so the photographs have someone attached to them, and that is the end of the asking: no account, no password, no sign-up step. Nothing to download at a party, and nothing to forget by September.

The photo wall

It starts with one code on the table.

Print it once. Anyone who scans it can add what they've got — the speech shot from the back of the room, the kids under the table, ten seconds of the first dance held sideways. It all arrives in the same gallery, with names on it, so you know whose is whose.

Every album decides its own audience. A private album never reaches the wall — not dimmed on it, not there at all — and anything that does reach it can be taken down from your phone while you're standing in the room.

Evermore

Scan this to share your photos

No app. No account. Just your name.

Ninety phones, one gallery. Press a frame.

Two wedding rings resting on a pale table beside a folded ribbon.
MajaThe rings, before anyone was ready

The live diashow

And it goes up on the wall while the party's still going.

Point a laptop at the projector and a photograph taken now is on the screen by the next slide. People spot themselves and start shooting for it. The screen has no controls to press, so it can be left running all night.

Only the albums marked for everyone ever reach it — the private ones never do — and any organizer can take something off the wall from their phone, mid-song, without going near the laptop.

Two wedding rings resting on a pale table beside a folded ribbon.

Shared by

Maja

Live in the room

The planning gets you to the day. The photographs are what's left of it.

Hydrangea blue — the colour this whole product is painted in.

What you keep

Yours by morning, and still there in ten years.

The best photographs of your wedding are on your guests' phones, and that is usually where they stay — in ninety camera rolls, behind ninety intentions to send them over. This is the one part of the day you cannot do again, and it is the part that usually gets lost.

By album
The ceremony, the dinner, the morning after — each one deciding for itself who can see it. The albums you kept private stay private, and they were never on the wall in the first place.
By whoever took it
Every photograph carries the name of the guest who added it, so the four angles on the first dance are four people, not four files.

All of it in the same place as the schedule, the seating and the budget — on the login nobody had to make twice.

Two people at the edge of a golden-hour coastline, small against the cliffs and the sea.
A guest holding up a phone to photograph a couple at their ceremony.

Shared by Ellen

When you're ready

Set yours up before the invitations go out.

An evening now, and the code you print is the only thing anyone else has to do. Everything they take that day comes back to you.

Start a wedding

Evermore

One place for the wedding — memories, moments, and everyone who's part of it.

© Evermore · A summer worth keeping