Trial Magazine

As I approached the checkout line, I saw that there were no less than 25 people ahead of me. Generally speaking, I am much more of a compulsive planner than a procrastinator, but for whatever reason, this year I decided to postpone my Christmas shopping—which is how I ended up in this long line on Christmas Eve. “Serves you right,” I told myself, promising to never shop last minute again.

I was snapped out of my self-lecturing by a friendly but unsure, “Hi. Remember me?” I looked up to see a woman close to my age with auburn hair, bangs, and metal-rimmed glasses. She smiled patiently as I frantically scanned my mental Rolodex. I could not place her.

“Hi. I am so sorry. Remind me of your name?”

“I’m Emily. I was a juror for a trial this year where you were the attorney.”

Then I remembered: Front row of the jury box, third seat from the left, auburn bangs and glasses. The jury gave our client exactly what we asked for.

Emily and I chatted for a while about the case, and before we parted ways, I thanked her for serving and for sharing her insight on the case. When I arrived at my car, I immediately texted my trial partner, excited to share the story of bumping into a juror. His first response before asking any details about the substance of the conversation was, “Really? She remembered you?”

I did not even consider it odd that a juror recognized me months after trial while I was dressed in jeans and shopping at Barnes & Noble. If we are being honest, there are not many attorneys in Richmond who look like me. And if we are being really honest, there are not many attorneys anywhere who look like me.

Early on in my practice, I was painfully aware of this incongruency. You might say that I was obsessed with the fact that I did not “look like” an attorney. I used to quip that if you asked “Joe Schmo” to list the physical attributes of someone in my profession, he would talk for days and days before his description would even come close to portraying me. Now, I embrace my nontraditional, non-stereotypical look and consider breaking the mold as my superpower.

Despite all the good our profession has accomplished, many people dislike lawyers or think they do. Since I do not look like a stereotypical lawyer, I hope that I am immune to some of these biases, and I like to think that the jurors on my cases see me and reconsider their preconceptions. In my mind, the jury sees me as the nonlawyer lawyer, the underdog, the person who they want to succeed.

It is human nature to make up stories about the people around us. For example, if Juror Number Nine was the only person who did not laugh at my self-deprecating lawyer joke, it is all too easy to interpret his lack of laughter as dislike or as a bad sign for my client’s case. But perhaps he did not laugh at my joke because he loves lawyers, or because he is hoping that his daughter will go to law school one day, or even because he thinks that I am better than the lame joke. So instead of going down this mental spiral, I tell myself that jurors are relieved to see me and that they are excited and curious to learn what a lawyer who looks like me is all about.

If it sounds like I view the world through rose-colored glasses, that is because I do—and intentionally so. I could talk about walking into the courtroom and being mistaken for the interpreter, or the court reporter, or someone’s assistant. I could talk about being questioned by a judge in open court about my racial background. And do not get me started on the things that have come from the mouths of opposing counsel and adverse witnesses—but why glorify bad behavior? Shattering the attorney stereotype makes me more relatable and more approachable, and my clients are better off for it.

Courtney Leigh Winston is an attorney at Allen, Allen, Allen, & Allen in Richmond, Va., and can be reached at courtney.winston@allenandallen.com.