Dressed the way they like.

A shared closet of photographed pieces, sorted into categories you name, with today’s outfit planned from it — by whoever that is up to.

The wardrobe is one of the few places the photo library is allowed instead of the camera. A piece of clothing is evidence of nothing, so cataloguing one from a picture taken last week is exactly right — where proof of a task, a cage check or a check-in is a photograph of how things are now, and a picker turns that into a photograph of any moment at all.

Nothing gets planned twice in a week without saying so. A piece already spoken for is marked as such on its own photograph while you are still deciding, rather than being refused after you have chosen it — and a random pick will not hand you the same shirt it gave you on Tuesday.

And a plan is not the end of it. Every other instruction in the app has an answer attached — a task carries its proof and a ruling, a protocol carries a completion, a rule carries a breach — and the outfit was the last one that ran in one direction only. A day that has a plan on it can be answered with a photograph, reviewed and signed off the same way proof of a task is.

The photograph is required here, which is the opposite of the call made for a lock-up confirmation next door — and for a reason worth stating. “I wore it” is a claim of exactly the kind the plan already was; the whole value of this is that the other person can see the shoes. One photograph per planned piece, capped by what the day actually holds, so it cannot drift into being a photo album filed under a date.

The wardrobe belongs to the person, not to the relationship. It is one of the few things that follows you into every dynamic you are in and survives a partner change intact, because your clothes were always yours — nobody should have to photograph the same shirt twice.