The short answers.

With your email and a one-time code. There are no passwords to make or forget.

Photograph it. Volley lifts the piece from its background and suggests its tags — category, colour, season and so on — so you're correcting a guess rather than filling in a form.

You always get the last word. Your corrections stick, and your closet fills with your judgment rather than a machine's.

Yes — send Volley the link, or forward the order email to your own private forwarding address and the garments are read out of the receipt. The email itself isn't kept.

No. A name is there if you want one. Nothing waits on it.

Only you — and, for any piece you've shared, the friend you shared it with. Nothing is public, nothing is browsable, and your photos never leave your account's lock. The long version is the privacy page; the short version is the sentence it opens with: your closet stays yours.

Yes, on any piece, at any time. The suggestion is a starting point and your correction is the answer.

A look put together from pieces you already own, for the day you're actually having. It uses a rough sense of the weather where you are — used in the moment, never stored, never sent to analytics.

By invite only. You send someone your invite link — or show her the code on your screen for her to scan — and she accepts. She can send you one the same way.

There is no directory to search, no way to look someone up by email, and no way to be found by a stranger.

Your first name, once you've added one, and how many pieces are in your closet — a number, not the pieces. Nothing else crosses between two connected accounts until you share something.

A court is where your friends sit — a small ring of seats rather than a list. It fills as you connect with people, and a second one opens once the first is half full.

A seat doesn't hand you a name. You see who someone is once the two of you have connected with each other; until then her name stays hers. That's deliberate: sitting on the same court as someone is not the same as knowing her.

You each stop seeing the other's name and count, every share between you is revoked, and any open borrow request is cancelled — all in the same stroke.

It isn't a door that locks behind you: you can always reconnect later with a new invite.

From her closet you can report something, or block her. A report is read by a person.

Blocking is stronger than disconnecting: it severs the connection and stops her reconnecting with you. She isn't told either way.

No, and they're kept far apart on purpose. Connecting with someone shows her your first name and a count — a number, not the pieces. Nothing of your closet crosses until you open a piece yourself.

That's one switch on the piece, off until you turn it on. You can leave it open to everyone you're connected with, or narrow it to certain friends.

Its clean cutout image and its basic tags — name, category, colour. Never the original photo you took, never what it cost, never when you've worn it.

Yes, and it takes effect the moment you flip the switch back.

A short list of the pieces you're taking somewhere. Pick them from your closet and Volley counts the outfits they make, so you can find out you've already packed enough rather than guessing.

Tell it how long you're gone and it lays the outfits out, one per day. Only from the pieces you actually picked — never from the whole closet.

Yes, if she's someone you've already connected with on Volley. Whoever made the trip can add her from the small circles at the top of it.

Everyone in a trip can see what the others have packed into it, and that's the point of packing together — it's how you find out you're both bringing a dress. It's worth knowing before you pick anything, so the trip says so on the screen too.

What they see is the pieces in that trip and nothing else. Not the rest of your closet, not what anything cost, not when you've worn it.

Packing a piece is not offering it. Nothing in a trip becomes borrowable, and there's no way to ask for it from there. Lending stays where it has always been — a switch on the piece, yours to turn on.

Open it, tap the circles at the top, and leave. Your pieces come out of the bag with you and nothing in your closet changes.

A trip belongs to whoever made it, so she's the one who can finish it or delete it — and if she does, it goes for everyone. Leaving only ever takes out your own.

One switch, on the piece. Turning borrowing on opens that piece to the friends you're connected with, in the same tap — they can see it and ask for it. Turning it off closes it completely.

It used to take two separate answers and the second one was easy to miss, which left pieces sitting marked lendable where nobody could actually see them. If you'd rather a piece went to certain friends only, you can narrow it on the piece itself.

No. Nothing in Volley is borrowable by default, nothing becomes borrowable because you added it, or photographed it well, or connected with someone — and we will never turn it on for you. Every piece a friend can ask for is one you turned on yourself.

Before a piece appears borrowable, an automatic check looks at whether its photo shows just that piece. A whole-outfit shot would show your friend more than the thing she's borrowing.

If a piece is held back, the app tells you why. No person looks at your photos for this.

Yes. “Lend it as-is” puts your word above the check's. A friend asks; you say yes or no; you always get the last word.

Only the two of you, from the request to the return. Another friend browsing may see that a piece is out — never with whom.

No, and we don't intend to. There is no fee, no deposit and no late charge on a piece moving between friends. Volley isn't a marketplace and your friends aren't customers.

A borrow on Volley ends the way it started: between the two of you. When your friend hands the piece back — or it's on its way — she can tap send it home from her side, and you confirm once it's back in your hands. That's the whole ceremony. The card the two of you shared at the net quietly closes, and the piece is simply yours again.

There's no date, no countdown, no “still out” list, and Volley will never ask anyone for a piece back. Nothing goes overdue here, because nothing is due. The only note a borrower ever gets is the good one — your friend said yes, it's yours — and it carries no date and asks nothing of you.

There's no date, because there is no due date in Volley at all — not hidden, not optional, not anywhere. A deadline is a nudge with a clock on it, and that isn't the relationship this is for.

Never. At each real step — the ask, the yes or no, the return — the person waiting gets a short email so nothing is silently lost. That's the whole of it. No reminders, no chasing.

They're stored locked to your account at the database level. Two services touch them as they arrive: one lifts your piece from its background, and Claude reads the photo to suggest tags. Nobody browses your closet.

No, and no. There's no public feed, no advertising, and nothing about your closet is for sale. The full list of services and what each one does is on the privacy page.

In the app: settings → delete my account. Your photos and closet records are erased, and your analytics identity is deleted with them.

Anonymous-style product events — things like “an item was confirmed” — tied to a random account id. Never your name, your email or your photos, and never a recording of your screen.

This website is counted separately and more simply: which of our links you arrived on, the page that sent you, the time, and how far you got — scrolled, opened the form, sent it. No cookie, no advertising pixel, nothing that says which visitor is you, and none of it joined to your email if you join the waitlist. It only exists so we can tell “nobody came” apart from “plenty came and the page didn’t land”. The privacy page says it in full.