Your people,
right now.

The whole idea

Nobody posts anything.

Every other way of keeping up asks you to perform. Write the caption, pick the photo, decide it's worth sharing. Most days it isn't, so you don't — and the people who'd have liked to know how you are simply don't find out.

rn takes that job away. Your card keeps itself current: where you are in words, the weather where you are, whether you're moving, a photo you already hearted. You open it to see other people, not to feed it.

Who it's for

The people you'd actually call.

• Your mom, two time zones away. You see it's snowing there and she's home, and you don't have to do the arithmetic on whether it's a reasonable hour to call.
• The brother who never texts back. He still doesn't text back. But you can see he got home, and it turns out that was most of what you wanted.
• The friend you keep meaning to text. Two years of good intentions and a thread that ends in “we should catch up.” Now you just see each other most days, and getting in touch stops needing an occasion.
• Someone you live with. Leaving work, on the way, nearly back — the small logistics of a shared life, without a single "where are you?" text.

What it isn't

No feed. No followers. Nothing to win.

There is nothing to scroll, nothing to like, and no score beside anyone's name. You cannot go viral on rn and you cannot fall behind on it. Nobody is building an audience here, and there's no feed for an ad to sit in.

Your step count is the only number rn ever shares about you, and it reads against your own ordinary day — never a goal, never anyone else's.

It stops at your closest few, on purpose. A circle that can't grow is a circle worth opening — the moment it holds everyone you've ever met, the people who matter are buried in it.

Where you are

A neighborhood, not a dot.

Your card says “home in the Mission”, or “out in Lisbon”. That is the whole of what anyone sees. Your exact spot stays on your phone — there's no map of you, no trail, and nothing anyone can watch move — and it happens by itself, so a true card costs you nothing but the permission.

You name your own places once — this is home, this is work — and those names live on your device. There is exactly one exception to the rule above, and it only ever happens because you tapped it: when you want to meet someone, or when they ask where you are and you decide to tell them, you can send your spot to that one person. It lasts an hour.

Why it feels different

Your actual day. Not your best one.

There's no version of your card you have to be proud of. It says you're home, or out, or that you walked somewhere this morning — the ordinary shape of a day, which is the part the people who love you actually want. Nothing on it is curated, because nothing on it was composed.

And it's only ever now. Your card is what's true today; there's no back catalog of you to scroll and nothing from last week still sitting somewhere. It's a window that's open while you're living, not a record of how you lived.

Your call, always

As much as you want. Only who you want.

A photo, whether you're moving, what you're reading, what you're listening to, busy or free — every one is a separate yes, every one can go back off, and your card shows what you've switched on and nothing else. Nobody outside your circle sees any of it, ever.

Location is the one rn genuinely runs on: it's what lets a card stay true while you're getting on with your day, instead of only in the seconds the app is open. Even that is a neighborhood in words.

A shared photo lasts a day and then it's deleted, from your card and from our servers. You can pause for a day, until you're home, or until you say otherwise — and your people see “paused”, which is honest, rather than a you that quietly stopped updating.

Getting in

By invitation, from someone who knows you.

There's no sign-up here, and no way to be found. Someone gives you a link made for your number, and it opens for that number only — forward it to a group thread and it simply won't let anyone else in. If you have one, open it on your iPhone.

That constraint is the product. rn never touches your address book, and a circle holds a handful of people rather than an audience, so adding someone means choosing them. It's closer to giving away a seat at the table than to sending a follow request.

You can install it without one. It just won't be worth much yet — the circle is samples until somebody real adds you, and rn only means anything when it's the few people you'd actually text.

Get the app

It's a beta, so you'll install Apple's TestFlight first. iPhone only, for now — and if you'd rather just say hello first, do.