65 designs. Point at one to watch it open, or scroll past it.
Your first names enormous and tone on tone, the invitation crisp and small over them.
Your wedding as a magazine cover story: the cover, then the turn of the page.
A bold diagonal cut through a two-tone card, a name either side, a heavy slash between.
Your wedding laid out in rounded tiles of colour, the names, the date and the place each in its own.
A Swiss poster: your photograph, one circle and the date in big numerals, pressed in foil.
A split-flap departures board that clatters into your names. The paper is a boarding pass.
Crisp editorial type on warm white, a real highlighter swiped under your names, the date and the reply.
Two transit lines, one for each of you, meeting at the station where you marry.
Say it in one big sentence: your names, and that you are getting married.
Your names stacked tall in light capitals, a line of handwriting running across them.
Your photographs hung in gilt frames, the wedding as an exhibition opening.
A low sun behind your names, each letter turning pale where it crosses the disc.
One name along the top edge, the other along the foot, the words quiet in between.
Your names said over and over along rolling waves, like ripples on water, one calm line carrying them large.
The month and the day in great hairline numerals, cut off at the corners.
Both your names round one great circle, in heavy capitals, the words quiet in the middle.
The words of the invitation run round the edge of the card as its frame; your names fill the middle.
A Palm Springs pool. Scrolling dives in, and the whole site is underwater, caustic light playing across it.
A heart-shaped velvet ring box, open, your names on the satin inside its lid.
Two café chairs side by side, a name hung on each, a garland of roses between them.
Your two names signed large, one crossing the other, the details typed beneath.
A big flat martini glass with an olive on a pick, your names in the glass.
A handmade ceramic tile, glossy glaze pooled round its edge, your names on the matte clay.
Board-formed concrete and one shaft of daylight. The paper presses your names in thin gold foil.
Your names typed on a card in a desk card file, every part of the day on a card of its own.
Your photos as 35mm slides clicking through a projector, the last one your names.
A paint chip named after the two of you, and the whole day in tints of one colour.
One continuous line drawing two faces close, noses almost touching, your names small in tall capitals beneath it.
A huge looping script Save the Date falling into your photograph in black and white, on fog grey.
A giant red script Save the Date down the left of a blush page, a black and white photograph beside it.
An arched photograph in black and white, a gold script across its foot and everything else typed.
Your photograph in black and white inside a flat mat of powder blue, its window cut like a ticket.
Five photos laid round the card, SAVE The DATE in tall gold capitals.
A photographer’s contact sheet of your photos, the best one circled in red grease pencil.
Your photos as a magazine spread, one large and two small, your names as the headline.
Three of your photos side by side, one giant numeral of your date on each.
A strip of 35mm film across the page, three of your photos in its frames, your names as the title.
A checkerboard of your photos and tiles of colour, the tiles holding your initials and the date.
Half photograph, half flat colour, your names stacked big in a high-contrast serif.
Your photograph to every edge in black and white, your names in a big script across it.
A topographic map of land raised from your names, no two couples alike.
Soft pieced ramie, the Korean wrapping cloth, your names on its largest pale panel.
A crisp houndstooth border round a clean panel, your names in Bodoni.
Your news as a vintage telegram, STOP and all.
Hotel stationery with your names on it, and a typed letter.
A heavy black frame and high-contrast Didone names.
Your names up the edge like a book spine, the rest flush right.
Your own wedding logo: names round a ring, initials in the middle.
A film poster: your names as the title, the credits at the foot.
A Swiss poster: your date in giant numerals, one square of colour.
A newspaper nameplate: rules above and below, everything else quiet.
A spare geometric monogram with the date spelled out beneath.
Your names as the masthead of a magazine cover, your photo as the cover.
Big, bold and direct. Poster type, no ornament.
Honed terrazzo as the paper itself, flecked with stone, your names in a clean serif.
Your photograph torn from the page, its ragged white edge over coloured paper.
Your photograph as an instant print taped to a painted wall, a caption on its white lip.
Your photograph as a widescreen film still, the save the date running as its subtitle.
Your photograph printed full frame on fibre paper, the black film edge and sprocket holes round it.
The stars as they stood on the night of your wedding, drawn from your date.
Leaf shadows falling across a sunlit wall, your names in the bare corner.
Limewashed plaster in one bold colour, your names in cream Roman capitals.
Disposable-camera party: flash pops, film strips, a date stamp.
Frosted vellum lifts off your photo, then everything sits on glass.
An album on the table: the record slides out, spins up and the needle drops.
