RTO | Return to Outfits

On getting dressed, going places, and the enduring pleasure of showing up.

The photoshoot began, as all well-orchestrated productions do: with French fries and Sancerre at the hotel bar, and a radiant hair and makeup artist and a model hauling an armchair into the hotel gym. The latter, we should clarify, was not an avant-garde fitness routine. It was an improvised beauty station. Glamour, as it turns out, is largely a matter of resourcefulness.

Two weeks earlier, none of this had been on the calendar.

The idea was simple enough: four outfits, one wrap skirt, and New York City as our backdrop. The logistics were considerably less straightforward. But a few phone calls, some fortuitous timing, and a reunion of old friends from high school in Montana brought the whole thing together.

There is something wonderfully improbable about people who once knew each other in an entirely different chapter of life finding themselves years later, making fashion photographs on the streets of Manhattan. Different careers, different cities, different lives. The same easy familiarity.

What followed was the sort of creative alchemy that resists meticulous planning. Talented people working instinctively together. A city that refuses to stand still. Taxi doors, subway platforms, crowded crosswalks, and the occasional perfectly timed gust of wind. New York, ever the consummate supporting character, provided the rest.

The resulting photographs captured something we hadn't quite anticipated: not simply the clothes, but the pleasure of being out in the world wearing them. Which brings us to RTO.

RTO. Return to Office. Return to Outfits.

For the better part of this decade, getting dressed has undergone something of an identity crisis.

The pandemic ushered in a new sartorial vernacular: business on top, absolutely none of it below. A crisp blouse paired with sweatpants. A respectable neckline concealing slippers. The occasional blazer deployed for a particularly consequential Zoom call, only to be promptly retired to the back of the chair. Our wardrobes became increasingly utilitarian, our social calendars less spontaneous, and the distinction between dressing for work and dressing for the sofa grew rather academic.

There were, of course, considerable advantages to this arrangement. More time at home, fewer commutes, and a welcome reconsideration of the rigid conventions that once governed professional dress. We discovered that productivity was not necessarily contingent upon trousers with a waistband. But somewhere between the third video conference and the fifth consecutive day in leggings, something was lost.

Not productivity, necessarily. Something less quantifiable.

The pleasure of putting together an outfit. The anticipation of running into someone unexpectedly. The subtle theatre of a city sidewalk, where a hundred individual lives briefly intersect, each person dressed for a different destination. Clothes have always been a form of self-expression, but they are also inherently social. We dress for ourselves, certainly, but we also dress to participate in the world. And the world, it seems, is calling us back.

The New Dress Code

Across corporate America, return-to-office policies have become increasingly assertive. Amazon and JPMorgan Chase, among others, introduced five-day office requirements in 2025. Yet the broader picture is more nuanced: hybrid work remains the prevailing arrangement for Americans whose jobs can be performed remotely.

The debate over where we work is far from settled. Nor should it be. Flexibility has fundamentally changed the relationship between our professional and personal lives, often for the better.

But while executives debate attendance policies and badge-swipe data, we'd like to propose a slightly more interesting interpretation of RTO.

Return to Outfits.

Not a return to restrictive dress codes, uncomfortable shoes, or the antiquated notion that looking professional requires sacrificing personality. Quite the opposite: A return to dressing with intention. To clothes that make us feel like ourselves, only a little more considered. To the quiet confidence of walking into a room feeling appropriately, perhaps even exceptionally, dressed.

There is a particular satisfaction in a well-composed outfit. The proportions are right. The fabrics move as they should. Nothing requires constant adjustment. You can simply get on with your day. And what a day it might be.

One Skirt. Three Ways to Show Up.

For our latest campaign, we took our Forget-Me-Not wrap skirts to New York to make a case for the modern wardrobe essential. Not the kind that lives obediently in a capsule wardrobe checklist, but the kind you actually reach for again and again. Styled three ways, the skirt accompanied us through a distinctly New York itinerary: the morning commute, office hours, a power lunch, and the infinitely more interesting hours that follow. The premise was versatility, but not at the expense of individuality. A change of shoes, a different layer, a shift in attitude. The same skirt, an entirely different proposition.

We believe the best clothes accommodate the many versions of a woman rather than asking her to dress as though she leads only one life. Because real days are rarely divided into neat categories. School drop-off becomes a client meeting. A quick lunch turns into an afternoon of errands. A drink with a friend becomes dinner, and dinner becomes a story worth telling. The wardrobe should be able to keep up.

Our wrap skirt was designed with precisely this sort of life in mind: an adjustable silhouette, considered proportions, and the freedom to move comfortably between occasions without requiring a complete costume change; A little polish, without the performance.

The Art of Showing Up

Perhaps the most memorable part of our New York shoot had very little to do with fashion. It was the reunion itself: Old friends, brought together by a shared creative endeavor, making something beautiful in a city that has always rewarded a certain willingness to improvise. There were no months of elaborate production meetings, no grand logistical apparatus. Just two weeks of planning, a few surrmountable miscommunications, a group of talented people, and a collective inclination to make it happen.

In an era when so much of our interaction is mediated through screens, there was something particularly gratifying about the physicality of it all: Carrying furniture, ironing a seam, scouting for a taxi (and getting honked at by several others), and laughing between takes. It was a joy to work alongside people rather than appearing in adjacent rectangles on a screen. And, naturally, to get dressed for the occasion.

It reminded us why we began That's a Wrap in the first place. Not simply to make a beautiful skirt, but to create something women would want to wear while living interesting, full, occasionally unpredictable lives.

We have no particular interest in romanticizing the daily commute, nor in suggesting that every errand warrants an editorial ensemble. Some mornings call for sweatpants, and we wholeheartedly respect their authority. But we do believe there's something worth reclaiming in the ritual of getting dressed. In making plans and keeping them. In meeting friends in person, going somewhere new, and leaving the house feeling just a little more like the woman you intend to be.

So, whether you're returning to the office five days a week, two days a month, or simply returning to a social calendar that involves leaving the house, consider this your invitation.

Wear the skirt. Attend the event. Make the reservation. Catch the train.

We hope we've made our case for RTO (Return to Outfits).