I am one of the remaining few among us who believes that feminism is alive, if not terribly well, in modern America. I will be the first to tell you that I identify myself as a feminist, given the opportunity. So, with that established, let’s talk about underwear — metaphorical underwear … well, mostly metaphorical.
For us women lawyers, what we wear is unavoidably a Big Deal, for better or worse. In my practice community, the wardrobe norms follow a bell curve, with a very rare, vaguely or not-so-vaguely inappropriate appearance on one end, to designer suits and name-brand accessories on the other, with the vast majority of us somewhere in the middle in machine-washable suits, hose and court-appropriate shoes.
On the days I have to be a real lawyer, as in appearing in court for more than a summary matter, that’s my uniform. The quality of my suit is a tell-tale sign of my level of anxiety or confidence — the less machine-washable and higher-quality the suit, the more nervous I am about my day. In between these “real lawyer” days are a great many spent in corduroy (which I was told by one employer is officially not a court-appropriate fabric) and comfortable shoes.
Coming from a software background in my first career, I was astonished to learn that lady lawyers still wear hose, although the subject of hose vs. no hose has been under heated debate in my practice community. I’m surprised that our local women’s bar association has not yet scheduled a wine tasting and discussion group on the whole hose question. The newer attorneys on my calendars manage to make their arguments with aplomb and decorum sans hose. Someday, I may take that plunge — hose is, after all, expensive and largely disposable in the real world — but I have not yet had the occasion.
Hose or no hose, I posit to you — I’ll bet dollars to donuts that each lady lawyer in that courtroom has some scintillating secret in that wardrobe arsenal of hers. It is not antifeminist of us to pick a special pair of — since we’re in mixed company here, I’ll just say — socks to help us feel more empowered walking into that courtroom or particularly difficult face-off with opposing counsel. Strip down a courtroom full of lady lawyers and I think we’d learn a lot about what makes each of us feel powerful. Of course, there are sure to be the power-in-femininity lacy ... socks, but you might be surprised what else you might see.
This will come as a surprise to many readers acquainted with me, but aside from proclaiming my feminism (which will come as no surprise), my real secret is that I’m tattooed. I started out small and socially acceptable, with a beloved little 2-inch tattoo on my ankle in my late teens. At this point, in most parts of America, such a youthful indiscretion can be overlooked. But hold on to your hat, because I didn’t stop there.
My whole life has involved physical transformations to echo emotional and other life transformations. As a teenager, that meant wild haircuts; as an adult, that physical transformation means tattoos. You certainly wouldn’t guess by meeting me out in public or seeing me in court, but my beloved tattoos, which mark major life events, now exceed what is generally accepted in polite society.
Clients don’t usually know about my tattoos — only the little “socially acceptable” one on my ankle is visible when I’m in my professional attire. Of the clients, attorneys and judges who have noticed, or with whom the topic has come up, the response has ranged from polite discretion or approval to outright (and loud) astonishment. I’m not the only tattooed attorney I know, but I don’t know a lot of us. A bit of Google searching tends to support the position that we lawyers keep our ink relatively quiet.1
I love my tattoos and plan for more over time. My tattoos are a part of me — the original me from before law school and before becoming an attorney — and a reminder that if I don’t “fit the mold” of a traditional white-collar, corporate professional, that is okay. And I have better things to do with my time than to try to fit that mold, whatever the consequences.
Not to mention, if you poll a room full of attorneys who’ve been administered a truth serum, I’d guess that the vast majority of us don’t feel we “fit the mold.” How much happier might our practice communities be if we spent less time trying to hide our secrets and more time letting our quirks shine through?
When I walk into court, I think about my inky secret sources of power. On the very rare occasion that another attorney talks down to me or demeans me, I need only imagine that person fainting at the sight of a tattoo needle to be reminded of my own strength. On the rare occasions that communication breaks down with my own clients, my tattoos remind me that I’m human and fallible just like everybody else, and that perhaps I can try a more human, less “lawyerly” approach to communicating with my client. On the one occasion when a heavily tattooed client walked into my office, we traded ink stories and artist referrals and had a very pleasant consultation, during which I was able to help my client feel more at ease.
Whether it’s lacy socks, permanent ink or some other secret, we each have a source of power that we tap into as part of playing the role of lawyer every day. These secrets are a reminder that we are all different and that we each have our own strengths and experiences to bring to the table. They are points where we and our clients and colleagues may intersect, and they are opportunities to connect with each other as humans and individuals.
While you’re not going to see a half-naked tattoo display in a courtroom anytime soon, I resolve to allow myself to be myself even in my “day job” and to foster my relationships with clients and colleagues with the increased authenticity that comes as a positive side effect. What is your secret?
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Sara Lingafelter is a solo general practice attorney in Poulsbo. For more information about Lingafelter and her practice, visit http://www.firstascentlaw.com. In her free time, Lingafelter enjoys spending time with her dog, Hana, and her spouse, Chris. Chris and Sara can routinely be found hanging off of cliff faces up and down the West Coast. Lingafelter blogs about rock climbing at
http://www.rockclimbergirl.com
1 For more on tattooed lawyers, please see “Lawyers’ Ink” in the August 2005 issue of the Bar Bulletin.
