AideMemo keeps what you record, write and do on your iPhone, and turns it into a journal of your days and a chat you can ask. The AI runs on the device by default, and there is no account to make.
AideMemo keeps the day you actually lived — what you said, where you went, what you planned — on your iPhone, not on a server of ours, and turns it into a journal of your days and answers you can check.
Record a thought, write a note, keep the photos that matter. Once you allow it, AideMemo also notes the places you visit — and it keeps all of it on your iPhone.
Voice · Thoughts on the move
“The flat on Hill Street gets the morning sun, but the one by the park is quieter.”
Note
Moving checklist
Saturday · 6 photos
Lunch by the harbour. The handwritten menu, read on your iPhone.
Places · Tuesday
Open any day to see where you went, what you planned and what you captured: the day's map, then a card for each record, in the order it happened. AideMemo doesn't retell your day. Every card opens the thing itself.
Tuesday
Morning
Afternoon
Evening
Ask in your own words, or hold to ask out loud. Answers come with the recordings, notes and events they're drawn from, so you can check them.
What did I tell Sam about the lease?
The Journal opens on today. What's on now, or starting soon, comes with directions, a message or the meeting link a tap away. What you record joins the day as it happens.
In 10 min 10:30
Coffee with Sam
Voice · 0:48
Reminder for Mia
“Send the photos from Saturday before Friday.”
Note · 21:30
Moving checklist
Send Sam the lease by Friday. Ask about the parking space.
The AI, the transcription, the search and your whole library live on the device. Anything beyond it is a switch you turn on yourself — and can turn off again.
On iPhones with Apple Intelligence, AideMemo answers in Chat and summarises your recordings with Apple's on-device model, and it never falls back to the cloud on its own.
Prefer another one? Download an open model, such as Qwen, that also runs entirely on your iPhone.
Apple's speech recognition turns your recordings into text on the device, and the models you can download run there too.
Off until you turn it on. Then your library syncs across your devices through your own iCloud account.
Photos, places, your calendar and reminders, workouts, mail. Each one is off until you allow it, and each can be turned off again.
Let Claude answer questions about the memories you choose to share. Your iPhone answers every request itself, and each access shows a notification.
How it works
Zima blue · #1B9AEE#FCC81C on #1A1A1AAide-mémoire. The note you make so that you will not have to trust your memory. That is the whole of the name, and most of the idea. Human memory is not a recording — it is a reconstruction, performed fresh each time and quietly edited by whoever you have since become. Most of what happened to you last Tuesday is simply gone, and the part that stayed did not stay because it mattered.
It started with a blue. In a short story by Alastair Reynolds — the one that reached most people through Love, Death & Robots — a celebrated artist called Zima makes murals on a cosmic scale, and every one of them carries a particular shade of blue. Critics read it as a signature, or a manifesto. It is neither. Long before the upgrades that turned him into an artist, Zima had been a small machine that cleaned a swimming pool, and the blue is the colour of that pool's tiles. His entire body of work turns out to be one machine trying to reach its own first memory. Having found it, he takes himself apart until he is that machine again, and swims.
What we took from it is not the ending. It is the premise: that a life is held together by small, true, recorded things, and that the grand reconstruction is worth nothing once it has lost them. This is exactly the failure mode of a system that summarises your life for you. It will produce something fluent, confident and unfalsifiable, and you will have no way to check it.
So AideMemo cites. What it answers about your day points back to what it came from — the recording, the note, the photograph — and where that is a recording, you can play it. The archive is meant to be argued with.
Hence a bird, inside an A. A bird, because memory is the thing that leaves if you do not write it down; an A, for the aide-mémoire it lives in. The blue is where it started. And because those small, true things are the most personal a life has, AideMemo keeps them where they belong — with you.
Zima Blue is a short story by Alastair Reynolds, first published in 2005 and adapted for Love, Death & Robots in 2019. AideMemo began in homage to it and is not affiliated with, endorsed by or connected to its author, publishers or adapters.
A record of your life is the most personal thing on your phone. So AideMemo stores it on your iPhone, runs its AI there, and keeps nothing of yours on our side.
Your library lives in AideMemo's own storage on your iPhone. iCloud sync is off until you turn it on.
If you turn sync on, it goes through your own iCloud account, never through us.
Chat answers and recording summaries run on your iPhone, with no silent fallback to the cloud.
Adding your own key for an online model is up to you, and AideMemo shows you what that means before you switch.
There's no AideMemo cloud with your library in it, and no account to make.
Two small relays we run pass sign-ins and assistant requests through, and keep nothing once they are done; a pending assistant connection is forgotten within minutes.
No analytics, no tracking, no ads, and nothing sold. We don't collect your data.
No model is trained on it, and this website sets no cookies either.
Choose what Claude may read. Your iPhone answers every request itself.
Every access shows a notification, and you can pause or remove a connection at any time.
Every source, account and sharing option starts off, and each can be turned off again.
The privacy policy says exactly what each switch does, and what happens to what's already on your iPhone.
Questions until then? Write to us. It reaches the people who build the app rather than a queue.