Blindfolded, balancing her scales, Justice issues her subjects a
solemn promise: No peeking. Her real life representatives, however, are
not always quite so scrupulous. Psychologists have persuasively
demonstrated that attractive defendants are perceived as more credible,
are acquitted more often, and receive lighter sentences than their less
appealing counterparts. But judges and juries can be swayed by more than
just a pretty face: the clothing defendants wear, the jewelry they
display, the way they style their hair, can sometimes mean the difference
between doing time and dodging jail.
The influence of appearance in the courtroom is so great, in fact,
that an entire industry has emerged to advise lawyers, plaintiffs, and
defendants on their aesthetic choices. Jury consultants, often trained in
both psychology and law, counsel their clients on how to speak, when to
gesture—and not least, what to wear. "The jury is going to form
impressions of you based on subtle characteristics of personality and
attitude, and dress is one important element," says Robert Gordon,
a Dallas-based psychologist and jury consultant. "Whether you
dress casually or formally, wear a tie or a dress, choose bright or dark
colors, all make a difference in terms of how you are perceived."
Although consultants are called in only on high-profile, high-stakes
cases, their strategies also apply to more mundane matters—the
shoplifting charge, the bankruptcy claim, the speeding ticket.
Wear to court what you would wear to church, went the old advice,
but in a more secular age the word is: wear what you would wear to a
business meeting. The tailored suit, the crisp shirt or soft blouse, the
subdued tie for men and low heels for women, have become the courtroom
version of dress-for-success. There's a good reason for that: executive
attire is like a round Rorschach blot, replete with associations that are
at best positive and at worst blandly neutral. The brisk air of a
business suit suggests that the defendant is neither a rich layabout nor
a welfare cheat, but someone who works for a living. The corporate
uniform is a token of belonging, to a company and to a middle-class
community. And even if the defendant has just emerged from a
maximum-security prison, wearing a suit he looks as if he could stride
right out of the courthouse and join the innocent throng on the
sidewalk.
The suit also acts as a disguise, a cover for complicated
individuality. "You want the defendant to look as much like everybody
else as possible," says Gordon. "You don't want the clothes to make a
statement." Although consultants often try to "humanize" their clients,
making them appear more appealing and accessible, they also seek a
certain anonymity. The generic-looking defendant becomes a blank screen
upon which jurors can project their own fears: that could
be my neighbor, they may think, or that could be me. Anything
idiosyncratic suggests personal needs and desires that are better left
hidden. After all, it was those powerful and particular wants—to own a
gold bracelet, to vent anger at a girlfriend, to drink and drive
fast—that brought the accused to court in the first place.
But being aware of the courtroom's dress code, and obeying it, may
itself convey the crucial message to the jury. Those who wear what's
expected to court enact the drama of crime and punishment in miniature:
they are demonstrating in the most visible and literal way that they
recognize society's laws, and submit to them. When the gavel falls,
that's the message that Justice's deputies are looking to see.
