✏️ Legal Pad
Dress Code: Common Sense
We live in an increasingly casual society, at least when it comes to clothing. I don’t particularly care for it. There is something to be said for dressing like the occasion matters. Court used to be one of the last places where that still felt true.
But even in a world where ties are optional and “business casual” has been stretched beyond recognition, there are still some wardrobe choices that transcend mere informality and enter the realm of outright stupidity.
The dumbest expression of personal fashion I have ever seen came from a defendant who appeared for his DUI hearing wearing a t-shirt that read: “Swervin’ and Curvin’ F**k the Police.”
There are bad decisions, and then there are decisions so perfectly misaligned with your circumstances that they almost deserve to be preserved for the historical record.
Courtrooms are one of the last places where appearance still matters, not because judges and juries are shallow, but because presentation signals respect. Respect for the process. Respect for the court. Respect for the seriousness of what is happening. You do not need a three-piece suit. But you should at least avoid dressing like the prosecution’s closing argument.
Before anyone says I am just lamenting the decline of western civilization because someone wore sneakers with a blazer, let me be clear: I am not against casual clothes. I am against self-sabotage.
And if your criminal defense strategy begins with a shirt that all but concedes reckless driving and contempt for law enforcement, you may want to revisit the game plan.
💡 Sidebar
Cones, Chaos, and Constitutional Scholars
The NCAA Tournament is back in Greenville, which means two things are guaranteed: traffic cones everywhere and people losing their minds behind the wheel.
Everywhere you look, there are detours, blocked lanes, temporary signs, and police officers trying to keep things moving. It is not complicated. Follow directions, go where you are told, and you will get where you need to go.
And yet, every single year, someone decides this is the moment to become a roadside constitutional scholar.
A driver rolls up, gets told they cannot go a certain way, and instead of adjusting course like a normal person, they decide to litigate the issue right there at the intersection. Suddenly they are waving their arms, citing rights they do not understand, and acting as though a temporary traffic pattern set up for a major sporting event is a personal affront to liberty itself.
Let me save everyone some time: the side of the road is not the place to argue your constitutional rights.
We have spent millions of dollars building courthouses, funding judges, and creating a legal system specifically so those disputes can be resolved somewhere other than beside a traffic cone while an exhausted police officer tries to direct tournament traffic.
The irony, of course, is that the people most eager to argue about their rights in that moment are almost always exercising the worst judgment available to them.
So as Greenville fills up, the cones multiply, and the tournament crowd rolls in, here is a simple rule to live by: drive where you are told, keep it moving, and save the constitutional arguments for a building literally designed for them.
⚖️ Closing Arguments
An Ode to a Fine Dog
We had to put our dog down this week.
When I met Lyla, I thought she was trying to kill me. “It’s fine, just ignore her,” my date said, while pulling on the dog’s collar with a veracity that made the veins in her D1 wrists stand out.
Lyla had the type of personality you hope for in a mafia underling- fiercely loyal and kind of stupid. Or at least that’s how she played it, until she really wanted something.
She was my wife’s dog without a doubt. I had the foresight to “adopt” her when I proposed, but there was never a question about who she loved the most, or who loved her the most.
What neither of them know is how cool it was to be a party to that train of progression. From a couple of ‘gals’ living the coastal life: pooping on the streets of Charleston (Lyla, not Ashley), to deciding (correctly) to transfer to USC Law. Fast forward to Ashley becoming a partner in one of Greenville’s premier firms, and welcoming our first child.
The constant was always unrepentant loyalty, love, and an absurd amount of hairballs that bounced about our house like tumbleweeds.
A dog is a contract. One of the hardest you’ll ever make. Because, if made correctly, the dog will always die before you. The contract, though, is a living document: I will feed you; I will care for you; I will use an entire box of Kleenex when you poop in the car on the way to the beach.
Dogs are the embodiment of the virtues we’re supposed to aspire to- unrelenting kindness, love, and excitement. And, when they die, we say thank you. Because what else can you say to something that’s given it all and asked for zero in return.
Thanks, Lyla, we love you.
Court is in recess- see you next Friday.
