Brooks Brothers

I was reminded while reading the delightfully satirical (or is it?!?!) Anonymous Lawyer blog today of the role of Brooks Brothers in my legal career. I was a second year lawyer about to participate in my first mediation, meaning a meeting attended by both parties, their lawyers and a third party who tries to negotiate a settlement between them. I would be making a presentation at the beginning of mediation to tell the other side why they should pay my German clients some money, then would be spending the rest of the day in a room with my clients as we tried to reach a satisfactory resolution.

I wanted to look nice for the day, which would represent one of my first real responsibilities as a young lawyer. I thought, "What better place to purchase heavy-hitter clothes than Brooks Brothers?" and purchased a red wool coat dress with buttons down its front, which they tailored for me because it was too long. Picture this, only in red wool, with no belt:



On the big day, my partner (an unfailingly well-dressed Southern Woman) and I waited patiently in the lobby with our clients to be invited into the main meeting room. We stood up after being called into the room, and at that time, the bottom button on my dress fell off. I didn't mind, as it really was too close to the hem anyway post-tailoring, so I picked it up and joined the others in the conference room.

I arose when it was my turn to deliver the opening statement for my clients, and as I did so, the next button on my dress fell off, letting the front swing open almost all the way to my, well, my place where my legs meet each other. I spoke for about 10 minutes, all the time standing just so in the hopes that my dress would not swing open. I managed to procure a safety pin from a secretary on the way to the room where we would spend the rest of our day, just the German clients and I, and was satisfied that I would not expose anyone to anything unseemly after that.

So we spent several hours, the Germans and I, huddled in a room, occasionally meeting with the mediator, and trying to get their case settled. Later in the afternoon, the folks in the office had cleared out and only my clients and I remained, along with the other party and their lawyer in a room across the office, with the mediator shuttling in between. It was at this time that a third button dropped to the floor, something I realized only when I looked down and saw an expanse of my silk slip showing in the region of my chest. Mortified, I excused myself and searched the law office for another pin, but could not locate one and basically rigged the thing together with baling wire and tape and hoped desperately that my clients, two older and very serious men, had not noticed.

I quietly returned to my clients just before the mediator paid us another visit. He asked, "How much longer do you think you guys are willing to stay?" And then the client who was the short Hardy to his business partner's Laurel said in a thick German accent, "If ze buttons on Leesa's dress keep falling, vee vill stay here all night!"

I was not much comforted when, riding the elevator up to my building later that night to return my papers to the office, I was telling the story to a good friend/colleague, only to realize that he wasn't really listening because he was too busy oggling my chest, where my rigged solution had given way and my slip was once again in full view.