Barristers' Wigs: the terrible truth.

The finest barristers’ wigs are made from the hair of Australian brumbies and Mongolian ponies. I’d like to tell you that wearing one improves performance, charging one’s submissions with the power and majesty of those wild beasts. But that would be a lie.

Here is a short history of wigs and the truth about wearing them. It is the second instalment in a series of three about court dress.

Robes and wigs have been required attire for English judges since the Judges’ Rules, a Royal Decree of 1635. Though not subject to the rule, barristers voluntarily subjected themselves to the code.

         While robes were at least warm in English winters, the wigs were as dangerous and demanding as rabid poodles. Originally made from human hair, the ‘periwigs’ required regular curling, perfuming and powdering. Untendered they would become greasy, smelly and dishevelled and were sometimes infested by nits.

Regular outings were considered important too. One neglected wig, owned by a struggling counsel who didn’t get out much, became a nest for rats.

         Worse still, because of the plague, wearers worried that wigs made from the hair of the dead might kill them. Fears and fumigation eased when master wig maker Humphrey Revenscroft invented a permanently curled horsehair number. That wig’s descendants have pricked the heads of lawyers ever since.

         Although slow to germinate in our colonial soils, wig-wearing was firmly rooted in Australia by the 1860s. By then judges and barristers were suffering heatstroke and law rash in every courthouse in the land.

         Dress-wise, little has changed in our courts since then. Australian barristers still wear their horsehair court mullets and man-gowns. We pay thousands of dollars for the privilege. Unfortunately the price tag doesn’t make them any easier to wear and doesn’t buy dignity.

         Though nits and rat nests are rare, wigs remain a pain to wear. The things are prone to slippage and the old ones come apart. Curls unspring and fringes dangle. Stray hairs irritate and tickle. Scratch your head and your rug can be left askew. Turn too quickly and the mullet tail can catch in your jabot’s Velcro so the whole bloody thing ends up riding side-saddle. This mishap turns the wearer from learned counsel to drunken Captain Jack Sparrow in an instant. Little wonder that bewigged barristers never pace and gesticulate like our American counterparts. Rather we stand behind our lecterns and move at the speed of a sloth. The fear of wigfall is real.

        Yes. The good old barristers’ wig. It’s hard to imagine a less practical headdress; unpredictable and unsafe.

To my mind they are at their best not on one’s head, but perched atop a beautiful wig stand hand-crafted from Huon Pine and Black Heart Sassafras.