The guest tour
Guests never make an account, never pick a password and never lose their link. Everything below is what one person sees, in the order they see it.
Step 01
The invitation arrives by email, WhatsApp, or both. Inside is a short personal link. Tapping it signs them in — on that phone, and on the laptop they open it on three weeks later.
Sometimes before step 01
When the party exists before its date does, the first thing a guest gets isn't an invitation — it's three dates and three buttons against each. Yes, maybe, no. Saved on the tap, one date at a time, from the same page they'll RSVP on later.
Step 02
Three cards at the top — coming, not sure, not coming — and tapping one saves it, so the essential answer takes one tap and no Save button. Everything below it is optional, and everything below it is the stuff you'd otherwise be asking for individually in eleven separate WhatsApp threads.
Answering earns karma. Confessing earns more. It is a genuinely effective way to get people to fill in a form.
Step 03
A ticket with their name on it. A countdown. Their karma and how far off the next rank they are. A grid of tiles to everything the party has going on — only the tiles you turned on, in the wording you chose. And, under all of it, the wall: the first place guests write to each other rather than to you.
The wall is deliberately quiet. Nothing posted to it notifies anyone, so it's somewhere to look when they open the page rather than something that goes off in forty pockets — and a line can be taken down by whoever wrote it, or by you.
Step 04
Guests don't want the same page in June that they want at 1am in August. They don't get it.
Days, hours and minutes. Who's coming so far. Info pages that unlock on your schedule. A nudge if they still haven't RSVP'd.
A "Tonight" section appears above everything else with the DJ line-up and running order rendered inline, plus a one-tap voting panel. No hunting through menus at 2am.
The countdown becomes "days since". Results open. Photos appear. Badges land. The whole page turns into a souvenir.
Any time they wonder
A bubble in the corner of every page, answering in the party's own voice from the party's own data. What time, where, who's coming, what to bring, what they're down to help with, whether they said yes — instead of the fourth message this week to the person throwing it.
The same assistant answers in the thread guests already use — on WhatsApp,
on the host's own number or ours, and on Telegram — and /whoami tells a guest
who it has them down as and what it can do for them.
Every one of the thirteen worlds renames it in its own voice — The Barman behind the speakeasy bar, Race Radio at the Tour, Q Branch in the spy thriller. A bubble labelled "Party AI" floating over a world they'd just walked into would give the game away.
Step 05
Voting and polls. None of it is compulsory, all of it is the reason people open the page eleven times in a week.
Best dressed. Best dancefloor moment. Most likely to still be up at 6am. One vote per category, and a cheer message to go with it — which ends up on the TV wall beside the person they voted for.
What time should Saturday dinner be? Which stage gets the big rig? Single choice, multiple choice, or free text — anonymous if the question deserves it.
Step 06
A jobs board anyone can claim from — split into before, the night, and the morning after. Firewood run, build the bar, Sunday breakfast crew. Guests put themselves on a job, tick off its steps, leave notes for each other, and mark it done — for karma, and a badge. On party night, their own duties top their dashboard in running order.
Step 07
A statistics page guests can see: how the RSVPs split, which nights are busiest, the dietary spread, the drinks order, and everyone's answers to your questions.
If they have to travel
They know where the party is. What they don't know is that somebody they like lands at the same airport forty minutes after them, or that the friend driving down has three empty seats. Guests log the flights, hotels and transfers they're taking, and the app does the rest of that sentence.
If they're staying over
For anything with beds in it — a weekend away, a wedding at a barn, a house party where half of them can't drive home — guests get their own page: which room, which nights, and who else is in it. No group chat archaeology, no shared spreadsheet nobody dares edit.
If there's food
Every sitting of the weekend, what's on it, and whether the kitchen knows about the thing they can't eat. One page, and the answer to the question everybody texts the host on the morning of.
If there's more on
The clay shooting, the boat trip, the sauna hour, the club night — the things beside the party itself that have a set number of places and usually a price. One page: what's on, what it costs, how many places are left, and what they're down for.
Step 08
Badges are awarded. Karma settles. And every guest has a trophy cabinet and a Party Journey that carries across every party you've ever thrown — which is exactly what makes the next invitation land differently.
Optional extra
One tile on the dashboard hands the whole guest experience over to a theme. Every page they can visit gets rewritten — the RSVP wording, the countdown, the leaderboard, the badges. There are thirteen worlds to choose from, each with its own ambient sound and its own name for the party AI.
Which world a party lives in is the host's call — one button, per party. A world the host leaves stays an optional door guests may wander into, and leaving that one is one tap in its own navigation.
That's their side
Closed beta — new accounts are let in by hand.