The phone is in the bedroom because it's the alarm.
That's the whole reason it's allowed in there. And it's the same excuse in every room of the house.
Bed at 1 a.m., dead to the world at seven. Take the phone and you get the sentence back: but I need it for my alarm.
Charging it across the room lasted four nights — because the alarm was on the other side of that room. So it came back.
One excuse. Two nightstands. Take the job away and it has no reason to be in either room.
Nobody in this house decided to still be awake.
The phone came in for one honest reason. It stayed for a different one. Just one more scroll is not a decision anyone makes — it's the thing that happens when the machine is already in your hand and it's late and you're out of the willpower you spent all day on.
Which is why every fix aimed at the person fails. Screen Time gets dismissed. Charging it across the room lasts four nights, because the alarm is on the other side of that room. Confiscating it starts a fight and ends with the same sentence.
It was never about willpower. It was the alarm.
A bell you can't swipe.
There's no clever technology in here, and that's the entire point. It's a hammer, two bells, and a dial on the back. Nothing to set up, nothing to charge, nothing to check.
Mechanical, not a notification
A steel hammer between two metal bells until a hand reaches over and stops it. It doesn't fade in politely and a half-asleep thumb can't dismiss it and forget it happened.
Metal, four inches, zero pixels
Case and face in metal, easy-set dial on the back. Nostalgic enough that a teenager leaves it out instead of burying it in a drawer.
Backlight on demand
One button lights the face when you want the time at 3 a.m. Nothing glowing at you the rest of the night, and nothing to pick up.
One AA. That's the maintenance.
No cable, no charger, no firmware, no subscription, no feed. (Battery not included — take one out of the remote.)
Same argument. Pick the room you're standing in.
One clock either way — but the fight looks different from each side of the hallway, so we wrote it out twice.
They can't wake up, and the phone is the reason and the excuse
Bed at 1 a.m., dead to the world at seven, and every attempt to take the phone runs into the same sentence. The kid isn't the problem here. Read why the alarm is the knot — and what happens when you untie it.
Read this one first →
You've tried everything and it keeps ending up in your hand
Grayscale, Do Not Disturb, app limits, charging it across the room. None of it failed because you're weak. It failed because you were using willpower where you needed friction.
Read this one first →We're not a sleep company.
We sell an alarm clock. One clock, one colour, one job. We didn't invent it — twin-bell clocks have looked like this since your grandmother had one, and we're not going to stand here and pretend we engineered something.
What we did was notice the sentence. “I need it for my alarm.” It's the only reason the phone is allowed in the bedroom, and it's true — which is exactly why every argument about it goes nowhere. You can't out-argue a fact. You can take the job away, and the sentence goes with it.
That's the whole company. We don't make health claims. We won't promise you'll sleep better, or that your kid will. We won't tell you the movement is silent, because we've never tested it and we're not going to say a thing we haven't checked just because it would help us sell.
What we'll do is take the excuse away, ship it from inside the US, and give you 30 days to decide we were wrong.
The questions you were going to ask anyway
Is it loud enough for a heavy sleeper?
It's a mechanical bell. It doesn't fade in, it doesn't stop on its own, and it can't be snoozed by someone who isn't really awake yet. That's the honest description.
What we won't do is promise you it beats a specific person, because we've never met them. That's what the 30 days are for: if it doesn't get them up, send it back and we'll refund it.
Does it tick?
Probably. It's an analog clock with moving parts, and we haven't independently tested the movement in this one — so we're not going to call it quartz, or silent, or sweep, or any of the other words that get used to close this sale.
If you're the kind of sleeper who notices a faint sound in a completely silent room, know that going in. We'd rather tell you now than have you find out at 1 a.m.
What if it doesn't work?
Thirty days, any reason, including "the phone won." Email us and we'll refund the full price. We're not going to make you photograph anything or explain yourself.
The one thing we won't hide until step two: you cover the postage back to us. There's no prepaid label. The 30 days are unconditional, but the return trip is on you.
What happens on August 1?
The end of summer sale ends and it goes back to $54.99. That's the whole mechanism — no fake countdown that resets when you reload, no "only 3 left" that's been three for a month.
$39.99 is a summer price and summer ends. School starts, the reason to own this gets urgent, and we'd rather sell it cheaper now than to a panicking parent in three weeks.
Tomorrow night, the phone is out of reasons.
Nothing to argue with, nothing to negotiate, in either room. There's a clock on the nightstand and the phone can charge in the kitchen like everything else in this house.
Mint green. Ships from the US. One AA battery, not included.