The First Impression Bias & How Female Court Reporters Are Judged on Appearance Before Skill

There is a quiet truth in the legal world that most people outside our profession never think about:
Women in court reporting are often seen before we are heard.

Not in the way that honors our skill.
In the way that diminishes it.

For as long as I’ve been a court reporter, I’ve worn tailored suits, structured jackets, and professional attire that mirrors the attorneys in the room. Many times in depositions or court hearings, someone has assumed I was counsel—only to recalibrate when I sat at the reporter’s station and unpacked my equipment.

But the moment an attorney is mistaken for the court reporter?
Suddenly, it’s offensive.

There is a hierarchy embedded in that reaction, an unspoken assumption that our role is somehow “less than.” And when you add gender—especially being a woman in a room historically dominated by men—that hierarchy becomes even sharper.

It’s the subtle comments.
The double takes.
The raised eyebrows.
The “Oh—I thought you were the attorney” followed by an awkward laugh, as if my appearance created an unrealistic expectation.

And none of that is about my skill.

The Weight of Being Seen Before Being Valued

Women in law, in general, are no strangers to being assessed through the lens of aesthetics. For court reporters, though, it takes on a different edge—because so much of our work happens in the background, invisibly, with a level of mastery people rarely understand until they need us.

I can’t count how many times someone has commented on how I look before asking about my experience, credentials, or real-time qualifications.

Not about the thousands of pages I’ve produced under pressure.
Not about the jury trials I’ve reported.
Not about the deep concentration it takes to maintain a verbatim record while parsing overlapping speech at 225 words per minute.

Just… how I look.

Whether the remark is intended as a compliment—or wrapped in patronizing familiarity—it does the same thing:

It reduces professional women to décor.

And it’s not just me.

Over the years, female colleagues have shared nearly identical stories:

• A reporter walked into a deposition and was asked if she was the receptionist.
• Another was told she looked “too glamorous to be a stenographer.”
• One was questioned—every single time she appeared at a new job—about whether she was “old enough” to handle the record.
• A colleague was once confused for a paralegal, a translator, an intern, and even “the girl taking notes.”

None of these moments is catastrophic.
But they accumulate.
They change you.

They make you over-prepare your appearance, not for confidence, but for credibility. They make you wonder if your professionalism is being undermined by the simple fact of being an attractive woman—or a young woman—or any woman at all.

They make you put on more armor than your male counterparts will ever understand.

The Double Standard No One Wants to Admit

What stings most is the flip side.

When I am mistaken for the attorney, it’s almost never a compliment.
It’s treated like a mismatch—as if I don’t look like I belong where I actually belong.

But when attorneys—especially female attorneys—are mistaken for court reporters, I’ve seen them get visibly offended.

Not offended because they think court reporters are beneath them (though some do carry that bias).
But offended because society trained them to believe that looking like us is being downgraded.

If that doesn’t make every court reporter’s stomach twist, I don’t know what will.

In a profession that requires:

• extreme precision
• mastery of complex technology
• neutrality under pressure
• legal expertise
• and unwavering focus

—why is “court reporter” still equated with “assistant,” “note-taker,” or “the person in the corner”?

Why is looking like us—women who literally safeguard the integrity of the record—seen as a step down?

This is the part no one wants to talk about.
But we need to.

When Appearance Overshadows Ability

The irony is that court reporters carry one of the most critical responsibilities in the justice system.
We are:

• the official record
• the only impartial person in the room
• the guardian of accuracy
• the last line of defense between truth and distortion

And the work we produce impacts appeals, verdicts, settlements, evidence, and justice itself.

Yet somehow, women in our role are still approached with comments like:

• “You’re too pretty to be a court reporter.”
• “Are you sure you can keep up with this witness?”
• “You look more like a paralegal.”
• “I thought you were the court reporter—oh wait, you are the court reporter?”
• “Is this your first job? You look so young.”

As if the skill required to maintain the record is less believable when wrapped in femininity.

As if our appearance—and not our training—is the defining factor in how well we’ll perform.

If men experienced even a fraction of these comments, there would be HR memos, trainings, policy updates, firm-wide discussions.

For women?
We’re told to laugh it off.
To take it as a compliment.
To brush it aside.
To “not be so sensitive.”

But minimizing the sting doesn’t erase it.
It embeds deeper.

How It Shapes Us

These moments—small and cumulative—teach women in this field how much or how little people expect from us based on how we look, how old we appear, or whether we fit someone’s stereotype of “what a stenographer should be.”

They shape:

• how we walk into rooms
• how formally we dress
• how much authority we project
• how cautious we are about first impressions
• how vigilant we become about asserting our role
• how fiercely we protect our professional identity

Every woman has a version of the story.
Every reporter carries a small archive of unnecessary remarks that had nothing to do with her skill.

Those comments don’t ruin careers.
But they do alter the emotional calculus of being a woman in the legal system.

The People Who Get It Right

Thankfully, there are bright spots.

The attorneys who treat you as a colleague from the moment you introduce yourself.
The judges who respect the record and the reporter behind it.
The legal teams who learn your name before they learn your appearance.
The partners who don’t confuse your role with anyone else’s simply because you’re a woman.

Those people make you stand taller.

Those interactions remind you how it should be—how professionalism flourishes when assumptions fall away and expertise takes center stage.

The Leader I Hope More People Become

If there’s one thing I try to model in every room I enter, it’s this:

Never make someone wonder whether you judged them on their appearance instead of their ability.

Not once.
Not ever.

We owe each other respect that is unburdened by gender, age, attractiveness, or assumptions about role or rank.

Skill is what earns trust.
Preparation is what anchors credibility.
Professionalism is what sustains the legal system.

Appearances?
They’re the least interesting part of what any of us do.

If the legal profession wants to elevate itself—and if officers of the court truly care about the integrity of the record—then the first step is simple:

See the woman.
But recognize the professional.
And comment on the work, not the looks.