Beam Me Up, Scotty: Is My Lawyer Personality Stuck in the Past?

Susan Cohodes | Lately, I’ve begun to worry my points of reference may have grown stale, making me question if my storytelling skills can still resonate with juries.
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How do fading cultural references impact a lawyer’s jury relatability? In “A Life in the Law,” trial attorney Susan Cohodes shares pearls of wisdom from her long career and her transition to “less-than-full-time” practice. The update: So far, so good — except for currently wondering if her trial stories can still connect.

So far, so good as a part-time lawyer, especially having determined to only handle good cases for nice people. But lately, I’ve begun to worry my points of cultural reference may have grown stale, making me question if my storytelling skills can still resonate with juries.

A few examples:

And, in what I assume but don’t remember for sure, was the right context:

I could go on and on, like Gladys Knight (yea, another song). But I won’t.

Can I Still Tell a Relatable Story? 

These increasingly frequent episodes have me wondering whether the cool stuff or, more importantly, the relatable stuff, has left me behind. Is my frame of reference even relevant nowadays? I try to stay current, but maybe I don’t get it.

And what if I stepped in front of a jury today? Can I still paint a picture for them that doesn’t relate to my dusty references? Maybe I will misuse a current reference and come across as just an old lady trying to be hip. After all, my lady-lawyer-going-to-court uniform requires leaving the Doc Martens at home, taking out the nose ring, and covering up the tattoos before standing in front of a jury.  

Once I remove those items, what I have left is a mop of curly gray hair, age spots and the story I tell. I’m not certain whether a jury would get that story anymore, though I like to think so.

I have always urged young lawyers to be authentic, find their own voice and use it with opponents and clients. Being who you are is the only way to real success as a trial attorney. It is far less work and far less stressful than trying to fit the mold of any “ideal.”

But now, I wonder, might I have to find a second identity? And what might that be? Would she keep the nose ring in?

Can You Relate?

Outside of the office, I’ve seen the world try to pass me by for quite some time. It has been years since I’ve loved the Super Bowl ads. Of course, it’s also been years since the companies paying millions of dollars for those ads cared what I thought.

And while I am overjoyed when I recognize a few musicians in the weekly emails from ticket services, I’m rarely excited about the artists I’m told I should be excited about. Sorry, Ticketmaster, but I am not excited to learn Keshi is coming to town because I don’t know who he is. I am very excited to learn Buddy Guy is coming to town the day after Keshi, but I fear no one else in my office is excited, or can even tell me who he is. More importantly, I am afraid that no one on a jury would be excited either. Is the old, authentic me too out of touch?

For the record, I am trying, including but not limited to checking out Keshi online. (As it turns out, I’m kind of interested in seeing him live because the music is pretty good.) So, is it too much to ask that the young folks around me put in just a little effort to understand me as well? That might make me less concerned about having turned into a cultural dinosaur. 

The End Continues

As an (old, cranky) less-than-full-time lawyer, I suppose I’ll follow my own advice and be true to myself. I’ll continue to listen to classic rock and R&B (on the radio), watch reruns of “MASH” and “Cheers” (on the TV set), and do my best for my clients. Which means I’ll also work hard to relate and keep my cultural references up to date.

Because I doubt I could ask a potential juror how loud he likes to play his music today. What’s more, I doubt the judge would let me excuse him for cause if he gave any answer besides, “I like to turn it up to 11.”

Of course, my fear of being culturally left behind may not matter (to anyone but me). Since I’m now a less-than-full-time lawyer who only handles certain cases, I may not have the opportunity to address a jury again. Should I have that opportunity, though, I will stick to new familiar references and hope for the best. Or maybe I’ll fall back on telling a straightforward story in an honest, compelling way.

Either way, this is all one more sign that my decision to dial back my practice was a good one.

I also think there may be a glimmer of hope. My 29-year-old daughter yadda, yadda, yadda-ed me the other day. Maybe, just like “Spinal Tap II,” everything old is coming back around.

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