Faking It At Law Ball

So, by a stroke of good fortune, you’ve scored yourself a coveted golden ticket to the most popular shindig on ANU’s social calendar: the illustrious and booze-alicious Law Ball.  But alas, you’re not a law student. Fear not fellow scholars, for Woroni has compiled a quick chameleon’s guide to law school stereotypes so that you may blend, cavort, hobnob and pickup without the faintest whiff of suspicion as to your inferior academic persuasions. So quiff your hair and rouge those cheeks, for as inevitable as the six figure salary that awaits these legal debutantes is the promise of debauchery at this year’s Law Ball.

The aspiring aristocrats

Typically unaccustomed to franternising with the common student populous, only the marbled grandeur of the Great Hall can tempt these well-resourced nobility from their pedestals of pomposity. As regular debating competitions have failed to exhaust their love for the sound of their own faux-British accents, you will find this coutured clique engaged in a dignified articulation of their collective approval of the law.

How to spot them: Look for noses upturned in indignation as the cheap champagne assaults their Moet-Chandon accustomed palates.

The save-the-world activist 

Ditching the placards for the evening but never the cause, these constant campaigners will spend the night interspersing conversation lulls with any number of pre-prepared sermons on a veritable wealth of social injustices.

Despite having not a skerrick of claim to an ethnic minority from which to conceal their privileged white middleclass upbringing, their perfected sense of pseudo-persecution will remind you why your mother always said it was rude to talk politics at the dinner table. Pack your floaties – serious buoyancy is required to survive the tsunami of social guilt flowing from their bleeding hearts.
How to spot them: Look for noses upturned in indignation as the cheap champagne assaults their Moet-Chandon accustomed palates.

The ruthless pragmatists

Disinterested in dressing up their legal aspirations in virtuous and noble terms, these budding sharks have been drafting applications to top tier law firms since first semester of year 8.  Of course “justice” is a subjective concept, but there is no denying that a gross miscarriage will have occurred if a graduate is denied the salary package necessary to purchase a double-garage harbor-side condo….where else will they park their Mercedes-benz? Naturally, their conception of pro bono is the six minutes they just spent explaining this to you free of charge.
How to spot them: They’ll be the ones outside puffing on Cubans and drinking top shelf scotch.

 Law school lout

Mystified as to how they ended up in law school, these boozehounds have been lost since day one when the lecturer began by discussing the number of parties to a case. “Like, dude, isn’t it the other way round…?”  Already their law degree is proving useful though. Like, if your mate finds a snail in his beer at Mooseheads then he can sue his next door neighbour….or some shit.  After four years of intense dedication and honing of their talents, they’ll be the only ones to acquire some well-deserved consonants to the end of their name upon graduation – PCL. Piss Cutting Legend.

Look for table skulls and vomit.