We built this because we
lost half our own.

We got married, and like everyone else we hired a photographer, and like everyone else we were delighted with what they produced. The ceremony, the confetti, the speeches, the first dance. All of it beautiful, all of it exactly what we'd paid for.

And then, over the following weeks, photos started reaching us in dribs and drabs from guests — and they were the ones that floored us. Grandad crying before we'd said a word, caught from somewhere near the back. The ushers laughing at something during the vows. The dance floor at half past midnight from inside the middle of it. None of these were in the professional set, because no single person can be in four places at once.

The problem was that getting them was miserable. We spent months chasing photos across group chats, texts and three different shared albums, and we're certain we never saw half of them. The ones that did arrive came through compressed to a fraction of their original size.

That's the specific loss this exists to prevent. Not a better photo album — a way of asking eighty people for their photos once, at the moment they're holding their phone, with nothing to install and nothing to remember later.

So we built the thing we wish we'd had that day, and put it live in 2026. It's still just the two of us: we write the code, we answer the emails, and we run every part of it ourselves.