— A wedding-day survival game
Pick a role. Swipe red flags.
Get them to the getaway car.
Wed Flags is a premium iPhone game for wedding photographers, planners, bridesmaids, guests, and anyone with one wedding story they still tell at brunch. The current private build follows Maggie and Nico through one Savannah wedding day: Wisteria House, the Garden Courtyard, family portraits, speeches, cake, sparklers, Fit Check story cards, Submit, and a sealed Trophy Shelf. Some choices crack open a detour you did not see coming. The exit is a white getaway car at the carriage gate. Good luck.
The loop is clean on purpose. You make fast, ugly choices, your meters react, and the day either gets to the driveway or wanders into a short stupid detour first.
Planner, Photographer, Bridesmaid, or Guest. Same wedding. Different access to the mess.
Each card drops you into a real wedding-day moment and asks which way you will make it worse.
Love, Family, Budget, Crew, Vibe. Drop one to zero and the day starts limping. Drop two and brunch is awkward.
A wedding day's worth of bad ideas stands between you and the driveway. The car leaves on time. You may not.
Every ending prints a shareable receipt — your role, your score, your biggest red flag, your brunch forecast.
Schedule, vendors, money, weather, rooms, shuttles, speeches, and twelve tiny disasters wearing formalwear. You see them before anyone else does, usually a few minutes before Miss Opal does.
"The schedule is a suggestion the schedule does not know about yet."
You are missing a gear bag, chasing a bird photo nobody may ever see, and trying to keep Drea from becoming part of the wedding story.
"Classy now, apology later. Bring the spare card and trust nothing labeled misc."
Getting-ready chaos, cursed matching Crocs, heirloom champagne politics, too-warm nails, and a group chat that should not be live-blogging the courtyard.
"The family text thread has entered brunch-trial mode."
You can accidentally save the day, become the story, or make brunch much worse. You might also spend the whole wedding trying to relocate one extremely memorable toaster.
"Table seven is mostly exes. The toaster is somehow a landmark now."
Old plaster. Narrow stairs. Preservation rules. A courtyard with a public square on the other side of a wrought-iron gate. A rain plan nobody fully trusts. Tourists at every window. And a getaway car waiting to leave before the day fully unravels.
Wisteria House is beautiful, expensive, and capable of turning small choices into public problems. The staff has rules. The square has tourists. The family has opinions. The plan has gaps you can drive a sedan through — which is convenient, because that's the goal.
Your job is to keep Love, Family, Budget, Crew, and Vibe alive long enough to get Maggie and Nico into the back seat. Every choice prints a receipt. Brunch will be reading it tomorrow.
Each choice nudges them. The fun part is which one you decide to sacrifice on purpose.
The couple's emotional stability. The thing this is all supposedly about. Easy to forget, easy to bruise.
"They are fine. They are fine. They are fine."
Whether relatives are helping or staging a soft coup. The seating chart is the battlefield. The mother is the weather.
"Alternate timeline detected at table 3."
Whether money and vendor limits are still survivable. Every fix prints a receipt. Pick the one you can live with.
"The florist's invoice has a poem on it now."
Whether the professionals and the wedding party still have capacity. The DJ has opinions. The photographer has a granola bar.
"Coordinator has gone full general. Salute her."
Whether the room still feels like a party instead of a hostage situation. Lighting, music, drink supply, and one suspicious uncle.
"Dance floor: empty. Bar: aggressive."
Tap any meter in-app for the breakdown — what's dragging it, what could save it, and what would absolutely make it worse.
Every run prints a wedding story card — your role, your score, your biggest red flag, your brunch forecast. Built for screenshots and the brunch table.
"I got the shot. I lost the granola bar. The mother of the bride and I are now blood-bound by a shared lie about the lighting."
"The text thread reorganized itself around grievances. Three sisters formed a coalition. The cake forgave nobody."
"Budget surrendered with dignity. The DJ still thinks he was executive producer. The car left on time. We did not."
Could you save this wedding?
Every photographer, planner, bridesmaid, and bartender has one wedding story they still tell. Drop yours here. The best ones become cards.
By submitting you confirm the story is yours to share, no real names are used, and you're cool with us editing for length, taste, and Wed Flags voice.
The shot list lied. The light is leaving. The MOH is crying near the cake. Open the app. We made this for you.
Twelve people will ask you what time it is. Eight will be wrong about the answer. The car still has to leave at 22:30.
Maids of honor, bridesmaids, best men, groomsmen. You've seen the emotional supply chain. You know exactly where it starts leaking.
DJs, HMUA, caterers, bartenders, videographers, florists, guests at table 7. Wed Flags is the inside joke you've been waiting to play.
Vol. 01 is being hardened around Wisteria House now. After launch, the plan is four wedding worlds with very loose continuity and fresh mess every time. New roles stay in the binder until those worlds earn them.
Resort rules, beach weather, boat timing, family travel math, and one relative treating all-inclusive like a legal argument.
Villa logistics, translators, tiny elevators, paperwork, buses, scenic disasters, and a mother who packed opinions as carry-on.
Rooftop heat, glam hotel energy, late-night fallout, after-party gravity, and a guest list with sunglasses indoors.
New role lenses stay in the binder until the wedding worlds are strong enough to make them worth opening.
It is not a wedding planning app. It is not a vendor portfolio. It is a premium iPhone card game about the social comedy of weddings, made for the people who actually work them.
Press kit, screenshots, fact sheet, and media contact live on the press page. Boilerplate below, full kit one click away.
