Digital Invitation for Your Wedding Live Stream

It's 18:00 in Madrid and 13:00 in Buenos Aires, and your aunt has asked the same question twice in the family group chat: which link, and what time is that for me. She isn't being difficult. She has nothing to open. A digital invitation fixes it: one page from the catalogue with the ceremony time on the first screen, a photo she'll recognise, and one place to answer. If you're planning a wedding live stream, that page is the part your guests actually see — and you can build it and send it today.

Streaming doesn't make the wedding smaller. It's how the people who can't get on a plane still watch you say it. What spoils it is a bare URL pasted between two messages about parking, because it reads like admin. An invitation reads like a door.

A digital invitation is the door to a wedding live stream

A link dropped in the group chat sits next to a photo of someone's dog and gets the same attention. An invitation opens like a scene: the banner, your names, the date, and one line before the ceremony begins. The guest who can't travel doesn't need "photos later". They need to know when it starts, where to look, and that being there counts the same. Nobody installs anything: the link opens in the browser on a phone, a tablet or a laptop.

• The start time with its time zone on the first screen: "Live ceremony, 18:00 (Madrid time)".
• A banner that separates "Live ceremony" from "Reception in person", so nobody assumes the wrong thing.
• A cover photo your guests recognise the moment the page opens: the two of you, not a stock bouquet.
• One short sentence saying why you're streaming it, instead of a technical note about the link.

An hour with no time zone loses guests

"18:00" on its own means nothing to a guest a few hours behind. Write "Live ceremony, 18:00 (Madrid time)" in the text field and stop answering one by one who connects when. The character counter in the editor is there for that: it keeps the time and place line short enough to fit a phone screen without breaking in half.

Repeat the time twice — cover and ceremony scene — instead of sending five corrected messages. Photos and music carry the rest. You can use up to six of your own photos, with one marked as the cover, and each scene takes its own text and images: the patio photo from the night you met in one scene, the long dinner told in one line in another. Background music turns the ten minutes before the stream into a waiting room, so the guest is already inside even if you start late. If a photo stops convincing you, swap it afterwards: the link stays the same.

Why a web page beats a PDF when plans change

If the ceremony is delayed or the streaming point moves, you edit the invitation and the link stays the same. Guests see the updated version when they open it. Changing the time, the place, the map, the dress code or one sentence doesn't mean resending anything or reprinting envelopes, and nobody has to download a new file to see it. If someone genuinely wants paper, combine: send the link to everyone and print a few copies for whoever will keep them.

A guest who can't travel doesn't need photos later. They need the time on the first screen and a reason to feel in the room.

The RSVP works for the guests watching the live stream

Confirmations arrive inside the invitation, in one ordered list, so the "are you coming or watching the link?" round of messages never happens. The questions on the confirmation form are configurable, which means you can ask whether the guest will be in the room or following the ceremony online. They answer from a phone in two taps, with no sign-up and no downloads, and you see who has replied without chasing anyone.

Start with the invitation, not with the video link. Set the date, the time zone and one photo, try the cover for free, and publish with one button: 29,99 EUR per invitation, one payment and no subscription. The same link serves the people in the room and the ones watching from a kitchen table.