HAVE SOME SELF-RESPECT!

In April 2020, my firm went fully remote in an effort to minimize the spread of COVID-19. Obviously, things were stressful and scary during the lockdown, but in many ways, those were a glorious six weeks. With the apocalypse on the horizon, I had a license to eat my feelings, and I happily met the call. Between my poor diet and the daily happy hours with my wife, which commenced at 4:00 p.m. and meandered sometimes until bedtime, I, like many, put on the “COVID 19” during lockdown.

At first, it didn’t matter. I wore gym shorts and t-shirts all day, and it wasn’t like I was going to be in-person with anyone any time soon. After six weeks, though, our firm management decided that it was time to begin our slow return to the office, which initially included (among other things) staggering schedules to minimize the number of people in the office, strict masking, and various social distancing requirements.

To entice a quicker and more orderly return, the managing partner of the Knoxville office relaxed the dress code, which had historically been “business casual.” That is, with few exceptions, dress slacks, sportscoats, and dress shirts were the norm. We had always enjoyed casual Fridays (i.e., jeans) and occasionally had themed days where t-shirts were allowed (usually around the start of football season, a holiday, or the commencement of March Madness ). Very few attorneys wore ties unless they had client meetings or court appearances. (I’m convinced that Marshall Stair sleeps in a tie.)

Under the pandemic dress code, we were told that jeans were no longer limited to Fridays and that we were otherwise permitted to wear polos and less formal clothing if we so desired. These changes were well received, but as with any change, people were somewhat cautious about the rules at first. While most felt comfortable wearing jeans, they also held on to dress shirts, and some even adorned themselves with flashy (read “clash-y”) sportscoats.

Over time, however, our collective comfort grew stronger, and people (including myself) began to test the boundaries of our newfound freedom. Fast forward to today, I would now describe my normal work attire as somewhere between beginner fly fisher and portly craftsman.

If we were to poll a group of fifty strangers and ask them my occupation, lawyer would certainly be toward the bottom of the list, likely before bodybuilder but no doubt after maintenance supervisor. Indeed, I often appear more likely to know what aisle the air filters are one than which volume of the Code addresses subject matter jurisdiction.

I’ll be honest: I’m not proud of how far I’ve fallen. Rather than do the sensible thing and lose weight so that I can fit back into my old clothes, I’ve charted a new, less exhausting course. Specifically, I’ve slowly but severely refreshed my wardrobe so that all of my pants now have expandable waist bands and many of my shirts are vented in places I never knew needed venting.

Without disclosing the exact purveyor of these fine garments, I will say that the store I’ve primarily flocked to is known for its generous sizing, cartoon depictions of their clothing, and ridiculous names for specific items or fits.1 Most of their clothes are made with canvas, and nothing about their branding or their products screams office appropriate. If society devolves into the world that’s depicted in the Pixar masterpiece Wall-E, this store will be the new J-Crew.

One of my most tragic purchases during my post-pandemic refresh is a quilted navy vest that’s presumably designed for real men who kill things and work with their hands. I do neither of those things, yet I saw this vest and immediately thought: “I can pull that off.” I’m here to tell you, I cannot.

I’ve also invested in multiple pairs of khaki pants from this same store, which has become a subject of great debate with my wife. She maintains (without evidence) that these khakis are, in fact, cargo pants. I think I’ve mentioned this in a prior column, but when my wife despises cargo pants (justifiably). When she and I first moved in together, all of my cargo pants and cargo shorts were promptly disposed of along with the matching, deep red, oversized recliners I inherited from my grandparents.

While I do not dispute that my wife was correct in disposing of my cargo pants at the commencement of our cohabitation, I do vehemently dispute that my preferred khakis are even remotely close to cargo pants. The central feature that gives to our dispute is this: each pair has a side pocket on one leg, which is wide enough for a smartphone. The pocket has no tab or button and rests completely within the lining of the pants themselves. By definition, at least in my opinion, that means these pants are not cargo pants.

I have consulted several members of my firm on the topic. The trustworthy ones, including the ever-stylish Bill Mynatt, agree that they aren’t cargo pants, per se, but none were willing to describe them as “stylish” or even office appropriate. The ultimate wardrobe test in our profession—particularly for litigators—is pretty simple: Can you wear it to court without unwanted attention? Even I’ll admit that my preferred “khakis” would look pretty out of place with a sportscoat and tie.

At the end of the day, however, I’ve gone too far to go back now. So, if any of you have an inroads with HR at Ace Hardware, feel free to share my contact information.

By: Joy Radice Director of Clinical Programs & Associate Professor of Law University of Tennessee College of Law