Every one of these was built for
a real person, by hand.

A full wedding invite with RSVP, a swipeable gallery, digital tickets, and a QR gate scanner the door staff used on the night to check guests in live.

The hard part of a wedding is not the invitation, it is the door. Who actually said yes, who turned up, and how the people on the door tell the difference without a queue forming. Every guest who RSVPs gets a unique code and a QR they keep on their phone, drawn on the device itself so it still works on weak venue wifi. The door staff open a scanner page, no app and no accounts needed, and the couple watch the count climb as people arrive. Guests who lose the ticket can be found by name at the gate.

This opens an exact copy rather than the couple's own invitation. Their guest list is live and being built right now, so it is not somewhere strangers should be able to write.

A one-of-a-kind birthday experience: an envelope that blooms open, a candle you blow out through your phone's microphone, a rotating soundtrack, and easter eggs hidden for repeat visits.

Built to be opened once on the day and then opened again. The envelope blooms rather than cutting to the message, the candle goes out when you actually blow at the phone, and the soundtrack rotates between four songs so the second visit is not the first visit repeated. Things are hidden for whoever comes back.

A copy, not the gift itself. The real one was written for one person and is still hers. This version carries an invented name and none of the music, because the songs were written around her own.

The first one, and the reason the studio exists. A “no” button that runs away from your thumb, a candle blown out through the microphone, a stack of photos that fans open when you tap it, a letter that types itself alongside a voice note, and a shell game hiding the real present.

The first one ever built, and the piece the studio came out of. It was made for one person before there was a business, which is why it does things no template does: the “no” button runs from your thumb, the photo stack fans open when tapped, the letter types itself beside a voice note, and the real present is hidden under a shell game you have to play.

A copy, with an invented name and abstract images in place of the photographs. The original belongs to the person it was made for and is not published here.