EDITORIAL | What does it mean to be fashionable in the dock?

There’s something striking ― almost surreal ― about the sight of an accused person stepping into a courtroom dressed as if they’re arriving at a VIP lounge rather than facing the possibility of prison. It forces us to confront an uncomfortable question: why does fashion matter so much in a place meant for truth, accountability and consequence?

Clothing has always been more than fabric. It’s a language, one that speaks even when the person wearing it stays silent. In the dock, that language becomes amplified. Designer labels can whisper confidence, shout defiance, or beg for dignity. Even the simplest outfit carries subtext: I take this seriously. I am not who you think I am. I still have control over something.

But courtrooms expose the tension in these choices. They are spaces built to strip away illusion, where the facts, not the fashion, are meant to define you. Dressing up in luxury or making bold stylistic statements is a way of fighting that disillusionment. It’s a refusal to appear powerless, a last grip on identity in a process designed to flatten people into “accused”, “witness” or “offender”.

The more attention we give to outfits, the easier it becomes to drift from the real stories in the room: the pain of victims, the weight of evidence, the human cost beyond the clothes.

It’s also a reminder of how deeply we believe that appearance shapes perception. And it does. Even if judges remain unfazed, the public rarely does.

A flashy outfit in court can trigger irritation, fascination, even outrage, because we can’t help but measure it against the seriousness of the situation. When someone accused of harming others appears swathed in status symbols, it can feel like a provocation, a visual contradiction between wealth displayed and harm alleged.

Yet fashion in court isn’t always bravado. Sometimes it’s fear. Sometimes it’s an attempt at respectability. Sometimes it’s a way of clinging to normality when life is unravelling. People dress up for job interviews, funerals, weddings, why not for the most consequential moments of their lives?

Still, we must recognise what’s at stake. The more attention we give to outfits, the easier it becomes to drift from the real stories in the room: the pain of victims, the weight of evidence, the human cost beyond the clothes. Fashion can humanise the accused, but it can also overshadow the harm that brought them there.

Ultimately, being “fashionable in the dock” reveals a very human contradiction. We want justice to be blind, but we also know it isn’t. We crave dignity even when we’re in disgrace. We fear being misread, so we reach for clothing to rewrite the narrative. And sometimes, knowingly or not, we choose garments that speak louder than we intend.

In the dock, fashion doesn’t change the verdict.
But it does reveal the stories people tell about themselves, and the stories they hope the world will believe.