If, for Ryan Dichter, Week 1 of his coronavirus isolation was a time for dandling his infant daughter, Teddy, slouching around in sweatpants and waiting for the happy-hour start gun, it became clear to him, as the terms of our collective confinement wore on, that the time had come to shower up and tug on some hard pants.

“At first every night was Friday night,” said Mr. Dichter, 36, a real estate agent who sells luxury residential properties in New York. “I was watching too much TV and having a few too many cocktails because it was unclear where this was going. Fast forward, and it’s time to get properly dressed. School night’s still school night.”

Since the first coronavirus cases were reported in this country, the terrain of the average workday shifted with seismic force and suddenness. Workplaces were abruptly shut down, and, for those that still had jobs, the office became that chair in a corner by the closet. Business was transacted largely on Zoom. And, unless the phone slipped, no one knew that you were multitasking while half-naked below the waist.

Rituals once thought fundamental to organizing a presentable version of oneself for the public were now called into question. Who says a guy has to shave and shower in the morning? How come you need shoes when you can’t leave the house? Why not slap on a ball cap if you have a bad case of bed head?