Dress Power

Written by Natasha Slater.

The suit has served as a symbol of power and status in its various forms for at least the last century – an unequivocal, uncompromising uniform signalling authority to passers-by. It is the dress-code of the professional world, and historically has been worn by men. When a suit walks into the law school, onlookers wonder where they have been – an internship, a moot, or the holy grail – real paid work.

But do women truly have access to this power of dress? For one, the female suit is often coined a ‘power suit’, perhaps suggesting that it is only through such a garment that authority can be truly harnessed. Importantly, there are trailblazing young politicians formulating their own styles of power dressing, accompanying authentic new takes on leadership styles. Nevertheless, it remains difficult for young professional women to source work attire, and when they do, their choices come under immediate scrutiny and and criticism - by the media, and most recently the South Australian Law Society’s Guidelines for Dress Standards in Court.

However, there is a mixed message proliferated to young women in the legal profession, as whilst during the day they must imitate the male outfit to meet dress standards, at graduate recruitment events such as ‘cocktail nights’ they are required to wear the opposite. At such events, the male prospective employees will wear essentially the same outfit that they donned for their interviews – albeit with a different tie and perhaps funky socks. The young female graduates, however, in adhering to the dress code of cocktail are required to put on an ensemble a world away from what would be expected in the workplace. At such times the internal monologue begins – how can I wear a cocktail dress whilst continuing to appear as professional as my male counterparts, and simultane-

ously try not to attract unwanted attention. This is the minefield that young professional women must carefully tread – the onus always placed squarely on their shoulders to act and dress ‘appropriately’, bearing full knowledge of the consequences of a misstep.

The fact that these issues are now being discussed in both the political and legal spheres is promising. However, it is important to keep analysing the societal standards and practices in the workplace to even the playing field for our future young professionals. Maybe soon ‘power dressing’ will become a term of the past, as women need not elevate themselves through extraordinary, thoroughly examined measures of dress to climb up the stairs of success.

The importance of self-compassion in a global pandemic

Words by Alexander Arthur.

‘Keep sharpening your knife and it will blunt’ – Lao Tzu

This may be an abstract quote from an ancient Chinese philosopher, something that you see and then forget about, much the same as the cringey ‘you know my name, not my story’ quote against a starry sky that you posted on your old Tumblr account back in 2011.

However, if there is one thing that being in lockdown last semester taught me, it’s that no matter the things that happen to me, I can choose how I react to them – self-compassion is one of the choices available to me.

Self-compassion is treating yourself with the same kindness, empathy and respect as you would another person. Kristin Neff, PhD, the leading researcher who developed a test to measure self-compassion, words it like this ‘Instead of mercilessly judging and criticizing yourself for various inadequacies or shortcomings, self-compassion means you are kind and understanding when confronted with personal failings – after all, who ever said you were supposed to be perfect?

To give yourself some idea of what this is like, imagine sitting across from your best friend at brunch. However, something isn’t quite right today. You may notice that they aren’t quite themselves, zoning out in the middle of routine questions and conversation, checking their phone more often than usual. You sense tension but you’re too polite to ask. ‘I’m sorry mate’, your friend says, ‘It’s been a hell of a week!’. After some prompting, they tell you that they were in a small car accident last night, driving home from uni. They didn’t see the red light, they were distracted, unfocused. They tell you how they slammed on the brakes, desperate to avoid the sickening metal-on-metal crunch that no one wants to experience. They don’t know how their parents will react, especially as it’s the third time this year. The question is…what would you say? You’d hardly tell them it’s their fault – they know that already. You certainly wouldn’t tell them they’re an unsafe driver whose licence would’ve had less value than had it come out of a cereal box.

So, when you experience a setback, why would you talk to yourself this way? It’s because we have low levels of self-compassion. As law students, we’re a weird bunch. Our LLB’s carry a certain prestige and we take pride in this, yet no matter our external achievements we’re often hard on ourselves. Some of us show of their oratory skills in the moot court, work part-time, join committees, play sports, win prizes.

This year, the world has changed with coronavirus and its secondary impacts. Yet the narrative remains the same. We’re a failure because we’ve failed. We judge ourselves based on our past achievements and wonder whether we’ve peaked while wearing school uniform. That if we just got an HD, won a moot, or had a glittering BigLaw offer that we would be worthy. We would be happy. However, that doesn’t solve the deeper issue – by connecting our internal sense of self-worth to our external achievements, that rises and falls as they do. It’s an unhealthy mental model that leaves us victim to our emotions and status dependent. To be clear, this does not mean that self-compassion is self-indulgence. It is not self-pity. It is simply taking into account all of the circumstances rather than drawing relationships between one cause and one outcome without looking at all the circumstances. Self-compassion inverts this mindset by changing the narrative we tell ourselves. For example, I failed my contracts exam back in 2018. I told myself it was because I didn’t study hard enough or understand legal writing. What I didn’t fully understand was how my anxiety hit when the reading time began. My brain scrambled and so did my faith in myself. I beat myself up relentlessly when my results did not meet up with my expectations. However, by looking at this with self-compassion, I came to the following conclusions.

1) The fact that I could resit the contracts exam did not mean that was a failure but it was one more chance to prove myself

2) My knowledge of an area of law didn’t have to end when the semester did. Using moots, taking electives and further study could give me a chance to develop my skills and traits, characteristics that have just as much value as what’s on a transcript when practicing.

3) Even if I did fail, what was the worst that could’ve happened? Twelve more weeks of contract law is a drop in the ocean. As per the first point, it’s a chance to focus on the process over the result.

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