It’s your third day working from home under quarantine, and it’s going really well. Admittedly you haven’t made it out for that brisk constitutional walk yet, but you’ll get round to it at some stage. The advice you read about getting up at your normal time sounded sensible, but you’ve been tired lately so getting up at 11.30 is probably fine, right? And it’s actually good for your productivity, personally, to watch a couple of hours of rolling coronavirus news as a lunchtime break. Anyway, the point is that you’re nailing this, and feeling confident that your first office e-meeting this afternoon is going to be a similar success story. You’re actually looking forward to it, gleeful at the prospect of no commute and being able to play games on your phone just off camera. What could go wrong?

Plenty. As soon as the little green light goes on, you will have effectively invited your nosy colleagues to view a snapshot of your home, to have a snoop through the looking glass and draw whatever conclusions they like about your private life. It is time to learn an art that all layabout freelancers know in their bones: Skype set-dressing.

There’s a delicate balance to be struck here. You want your background to be neutral enough that it doesn’t reveal to your co-workers the squalid reality of your living circumstances, but not so neutral as to seem like you’re hiding something. Maybe your workplace will be using Zoom instead of Skype, and you’ve noticed there’s a handy feature that will replace your real background with a green screen, like you’re shooting stunts for a very boring, office-based action film, and so you think that none of this will be a problem. This is a trap. I know someone who regularly uses Zoom for meetings with her colleagues, and the one guy who uses the green screen is a pariah: troubling, suspect. Don’t let this be you.

The other people on the video call will spend at least half the time looking at the little feed of their own face wondering why they look like a toe in a wig, but the rest of the time will be spent looking at you, and the background you have provided for yourself. There are the obvious things: don’t let there be an overflowing bin, or pile of dirty clothing, or unmade bed peering out from behind you. Maybe have a pot plant visible, or a stack of erudite-but-not-obviously-staged books: whatever, as long as it says you do something with your leisure time other than eating cake slices from the Tesco discount shelf while watching Crufts on TV. But there are sneakier pitfalls to avoid, too. Don’t think you can sit in bed without people noticing. Even if your headboard is one of those soft ones that could conceivably be a sofa, jogging the laptop and revealing a shameful glimpse of pillow will immediately give you away as someone who is comfortable letting Colin from accounts see where you sleep.

Things might be yet more complicated. Let’s say you live with your parents, and perhaps that isn’t something you’ve shared with the people you work with yet, because it doesn’t scream “professional adult colleague”. Warn your parents you’re going to be on a video call: under no circumstances must they suddenly appear behind you. You won’t be catapulted to national treasure status like Professor Robert Kelly and his adorable children. No memes will be made if your dad bursts into the frame demanding to know where the big suitcase is and whether you can log him back into iCloud again. Nobody will laugh.

Now that you’ve laid the scene for your background, what about your own appearance? Even if you’re expecting to be taking part in a telephone conference call, assume nothing. Margaret said it would be a voice-only meeting, did she? Did she? Even if you’re sure, is she going to remember not to video-call you? Whatever you would be wearing for a meeting in person, put that on. A friend of mine recently sat down at his computer for what he thought was a very important voice call with a client, only to be beamed into a full boardroom while wearing a hair wrap and bathrobe.

I’ve heard of some cowboys out there in the lawless badlands of working from home who like to spice things up by only dressing for business on the top half of their bodies to participate in a video meeting. This is insanely risky and offers little discernible gain. It will be fun for about 30 seconds to know that while your colleagues think you’re wearing a full formal outfit, you actually aren’t, you bloody card, you! And then if you suddenly have to get up, the possibility of exposing your B-team pants to your assembled colleagues is simply too high and – if you got it really wrong – potentially litigious.

In the face of a possible global pandemic, these might seem like trivial considerations. But fail to prepare for your home’s on-screen debut, and prepare to be the butt of cursed office “banter” long after the virus has passed.

• Imogen West-Knights is a writer and journalist based in London