Text it. Forget it.
Mags remembers.
Mags is a magpie who lives in your texts. She collects your shiny thoughts, reminds you at the right moment, and never, ever, makes you feel bad about the ones that got away. Built for ADHD brains.
$29/mo after. No card to start. Cancel by text.
Mags
Text Message · +1 (555) MAGS
Example conversation. You text: remind me to call the pharmacy tomorrow morning. Mags replies: Snagged it. I’ll chirp at you at 9am. Go be free. The next morning at 9, Mags texts: Morning! Pharmacy call. Knock it out now, or should I circle back at 11? You reply: done. Mags replies: Shiny. That’s off your plate.
From the flock
“I've abandoned 11 productivity apps. I can't abandon Mags. She texts ME.”
Priya · diagnosed at 34 “She asked if I wanted to push it to tomorrow instead of telling me I’d failed. I was not emotionally prepared for that.”
Dev · combined type, six years in ““Gray box, top shelf.” Four words. I had been looking for twenty minutes.”
Marisol · two kids, also ADHD
Illustrative quotes from a prototype, not real customers, not yet.
The whole thesis
Why texting, and not another app
Because the app is the part that breaks.
Apps wait. Texts arrive.
An app sits there hoping you remember it exists. A text lands in your hand, in the thread you already check forty times a day.
No app to forget, no login to lose.
Nothing to download. No password reset at 11pm. No onboarding flow you abandon on step four and never reopen.
Your number is your account.
That is the entire signup. Save the contact, text her a thought, and you are already using it.
Every ADHD app dies the same way: in a folder on page three of your home screen, behind a badge you have learned to ignore. That is not a discipline problem. The tool needs you to remember it at the exact moment your brain is not doing remembering. Mags lives where your friends do, so she shows up whether or not you thought of her first.
This isn’t just our hunch. Here’s the research.
No signup, no phone number
Try Mags right now
Type anything, or tap one of the starters. She answers like she would in your actual thread.
Mags
Text Message · simulated
Hey, I'm Mags. Text me anything you don't want to hold in your head 🪶
This is a simulation. Real Mags is even better at this.
What she does
Four jobs, done quietly
All of it over text. None of it requires you to open anything.
Capture
Text anything. It’s caught.
Half a thought at a red light, a name you’ll need Thursday, the thing you just remembered in the shower. Send it and let go of it.
Closed loops
She follows up till it’s actually done.
One nudge is a notification. Mags checks back, offers a smaller version, or moves it, until the thing is genuinely off your plate.
Time keeping
She watches the clock so you don’t have to.
Leave-by alerts that know how long the trip really takes. Hyperfocus exits for when three hours vanished into one tab.
Object memory
Tell her where things are once. Ask forever.
Passport, spare key, the good scissors. She never sighs at the question, and she never forgets what you told her in March.
The deep cuts
Built for the hard parts
Executive function isn’t one switch; it’s a dozen small ones. Mags has a move for each.
When starting is the wall
Body doubling
Text her “starting my taxes” and she stays. A check-in every twenty minutes: company the whole way through the worst of it.
Focus sprints
Twenty on, five off. No timer app to install. Her text is the timer. Time you can actually feel.
Tasks that shrink
If something keeps bouncing, she never asks louder. She asks smaller: want the ten-minute version, or should we toss it? Both count.
When stopping is the wall
Hyperfocus check-ins
Hour six in the zone. She slips in quietly: water, snack, stretch, carry on. Your basics, watched while you’re gone.
Rabbit-hole parking
Mid-task tangent? Fling it at her. She parks it in the nest and hands it back when you’re done. The tangent survives. So does the task.
The cooling-off perch
Text her the thing before you buy the thing. She holds it a day, then asks: still shiny? Sometimes it is. Often it was yesterday-you talking.
When the plan falls apart
“My day blew up”
That’s a complete sentence to Mags. She keeps what’s truly today, quietly reshuffles the rest, and doesn’t make it a thing.
Transition ramps
Fifteen minutes out: time to land the plane. Switching tasks is a cliff jump. She builds you a runway.
A when for every someday
“I should call grandma sometime.” One tiny question (when-ish?) and sometime becomes Saturday.
Loops other people leave open
Waiting-on watch
“Waiting on the plumber to call back.” Three quiet days later, she asks if you want to chase. Their dropped ball, caught anyway.
People loops
You meant to text Sarah back. Mags remembers before it turns into the thing you avoid because it’s been too long.
Appointment prep
The night before: what to bring, where it is, and the question you wanted to ask, the one you told her about in March.
The bookends
The morning heads-up
One text: today’s three things and when to leave. Not a dashboard. A heads-up from a friend.
The evening brain-dump
“Anything rattling around?” The 11pm tab-explosion, caught and held overnight so you don’t sleep with it open.
The Friday shiny pile
Everything you closed this week, in one glittering text. Wins only. Misses aren’t a category she keeps.
“Today is too much” is a feature, not a failure
Send those four words and everything non-critical goes quiet: no questions, no penalty, nothing lost. The nest holds it all while you breathe. Tomorrow gets a fresh sky.
Design principles
Made for ADHD, not adapted for it
These are the rules we built her around. They are not features we might trim later.
- 01
No streaks or guilt, ever
There is no chain to break, no score to drop, no cartoon plant wilting because you had a hard month. Disappear for three weeks and Mags just says hi when you come back.
- 02
She adapts when you ignore her (and isn’t hurt about it)
Skip three nudges and she changes approach instead of repeating herself louder. Deciding not to do something is a real answer, and she will tell you so out loud.
- 03
One tiny question at a time
Never a form. Never a list of twelve. One question you can answer in three words while walking to the kitchen, and then she leaves you alone.
Pricing
One plan. No tiers to decode.
Fourteen days free, no card, and an exit that takes one word.
Mags
$29/mo
- Unlimited texting, day or night
- Reminders that follow up until the loop closes
- Body doubling, focus sprints, and rabbit-hole parking
- Leave-by alerts and hyperfocus exits
- Waiting-on watch for other people’s loops
- Object memory: tell her once, ask forever
- “Today is too much” mode: one text quiets everything
- Optional calendar connection
- Export or delete everything, any time
No card to start. Cancel any time: literally text her “cancel,” or click once in your dashboard.
Couples plan coming soon.
Questions
The things people actually ask
Is this a medical product?
No. Mags is not a medical device, not a treatment, and not a replacement for a clinician, a coach, or medication. She doesn’t diagnose anything and she has no opinions about your brain chemistry.
She’s a support tool, an external place to put things so you don’t have to hold them. If you’re working with a professional, Mags is happy to sit alongside that.
Do I need the app?
There is no app. That’s the point. You save one phone number as a contact and text it like you’d text a friend.
Nothing to download, nothing to open, nothing to sit unopened on page three of your home screen.
What about privacy?
Your texts are yours. They’re encrypted, never sold, and never used to train anything.
You can export everything Mags is holding for you, or delete all of it, any time: text her “export” or “delete everything” and it happens. No support ticket, no waiting.
What number do I text?
You get your own Mags number the moment you start your trial, and she texts you first, so it’s already sitting in your thread. Save it as a contact (most people call her “Mags 🪶”) and you’re set up. That was the setup.
Does it work with my calendar?
It can. Connect Google Calendar or iCloud once from your dashboard and Mags starts watching the clock for you: leave-by alerts that account for actual travel time, a nudge before the meeting you scheduled and immediately forgot.
You can also skip it entirely and just tell her things. She works fine either way.
How do I cancel?
Text her “cancel.” That’s it. She’ll confirm and it’s done.
No retention maze, no five screens asking if you’re sure, no guilt. You can also do it from your dashboard if you’d rather click a button. Your stuff is exportable on the way out.
Still wondering something? Read the Margret story. Most of it is answered in there.