Boobs in the courtroom to be precise. And tracksuit pants. And other couturial choices of the legal profession.
Can’t say I’ve ever personally lost sleep over the issue. And this is from a junior lawyer who spends a disconcerting proportion of her working life in those great sartorial hotspots of suburban Magistrates’ Courts.
With my tendency to come out in a full body rash when asked to quote legislative section numbers, I personally choose to conceal my Rudolphesque bosoms with jaunty pussy-bow blouses and a selection of faux Parisian scarves.
Sometimes I adopt a thematic palette: green for environmental cases, purple for discrimination, red to play up the gore, pink to bemuse rural solicitors who weren’t aware they were giving practising certificates to women these days.
Under a jacket of course. All the better to hide the sweat patches, my dear.
Most women I’ve appeared against take the same tack, albeit with more lashings of Melbourne black than Rainbow Bright attempts at cognitive programming.
And while there are certainly more attractive people in the world than the men I appear against, their clothing is extreme only in its dullness.
There ain’t no boobs to cry on after a lashing from a viper-tongued judge in a Melbourne court.
The same goes back in the office at the Firm. Just tasteful sobriety in suffocating quantities.
That said, when lawyers do try to shake it up a bit, it rarely floats my boat. Men in pink shirts?
Tan suits? “Edgy” coloured polo shirts with your chinos on Friday? Please … yes, you are all individuals.
Money can’t buy style.
What about a cheeky coloured kerchief? A debonair vest or a Mad Men style hat and coat to boot.
Or imagine an office filled with the colourful curves of Ms Holloway’s dresses (snap). Would make a nice change from being dazzled by high-beam tandoori tans in the depths of winter.
I had the great pleasure of hearing Justice Betty King speak at a women in the law function some years ago when she looked out over a sea of grey and willed the women in the room to be more spectacular.
From memory, she was wearing a dashing purple ensemble.
The poor taste of comparing anything in the last 50 years to Nazi Germany aside, it was as aesthetically shocking as the little red coat against the black-and-white shot Schindler’s List.
But why? It isn’t a spectrum from booby tracks to grey. Why do we have these ideas of what lawyers should look like? Why are purple suits, beards, mad curls, flamboyant scarves, afros, nose studs, diamante-studded glasses and technicolour dreamcoats a reflection on someone’s ability to analyse precedents?
Perhaps the legal profession would become less dull and predictable in its thinking if it elected to see the world through rose-coloured glasses (snap) once in a while?
Cin cin, sweetie darlings.