Brandon Vaughn
Robins Kaplan LLP partner Brandon Vaughn is known for his skilled representation in high-profile, high-value personal injury and medical malpractice cases, along with his leadership and advocacy for fairness, access, and inclusion in the profession.
Mentoring advice initially tends to come by way of feedback to improve substantive legal skills—whether that’s how to handle something specific to your practice, revisions to a document you have drafted, or just general performance feedback. Over my years of practice, all of this feedback was sought after and appreciated. But while I have received a lot of great substantive feedback from mentors, that has not been the best mentoring advice I have received. The best advice I have received from a mentor was simple: Treat your name and practice in the legal community as if it is a quality fashion brand everyone can identify.
I had to pause briefly when I heard this advice, because it did not seem like a specific skill I could work on developing, or an explanation for redlines in a document. It was big-picture, long-term career advice. Turns out, this may have been the most valuable advice I received once it sank in.
At the end of the day, the legal profession is a service industry. I knew that all along. But what I didn’t appreciate is, you can be a great lawyer substantively, but if you aren’t building connections and relationships with peers and opposing counsel, you can miss out on opportunities. Focusing on ensuring your “brand” is associated with high quality work, it is dependable, and it is consistent—so that when people see it, they know it’s you—is important. Like anything in life, it takes time and effort to develop brand recognition. Now, with close to 20 years of experience practicing, I see the value in developing your brand. Your employer in the profession can change at any time, but you get to create your brand and what is associated with it no matter where you are employed.
I would encourage everyone to ask themselves, what is my personal brand in the legal industry? If you can’t clearly and concisely articulate what it is, maybe you should spend some time thinking about it. If you have an idea of what your brand is, ask others how they see you in the profession, and confirm that what they say is consistent with the qualities you think your brand represents. In the end, you are your brand. I’m thankful to have received this advice, because it pushed me to think not just about being a great lawyer, but about civility and dependability among peers. Indeed, there are people out there with brands that aren’t reputable too, but that’s a topic for another column.
Jenny Starr
Jenny Starr, JD, is the principal of Starr Legal Solutions (www.starrlegalsolutions.com), a mediation and dispute-resolution practice. She served as Minnesota’s chief administrative law judge from 2019 to 2025 and previously as assistant commissioner for business taxes at the Minnesota Department of Revenue.
As I started my first job practicing law, a mentor suggested that I find a “uniform.” Their guidance was simple and wise: First, understand the boundaries of what is acceptable in the place you are practicing law. Then choose a uniform that is comfortable for you—and will be remembered by others.
At the time, I was newly practicing family law in Dakota County. After a few visits to court, I landed on my uniform: Mary Jane flats, black pants, a neutral shell, a colored or patterned blazer, and a brooch.
For me, this uniform—noticeably excluding heels, pumps, skirts, or skirt suits—was a meaningful nod to my lesbian identity. The brooches, many inherited from my grandmother and others from my mom’s antique business, celebrated women, work, and the values carried through the women in my family.
And it worked.
My uniform fit comfortably within the expectations of professionalism where I practiced. It was easy to maintain because it also aligned with who I was. And, just as my mentor predicted, people remembered me: “You mean Jenny—the attorney with the brooch?” Perfect.
Michelle Obama, in her most recent book, The Look, captures a similar truth: “I wanted to look good [as first lady] for every occasion and photograph taken, for me. This wasn’t just about outward presentation, but about the inner strength that emanates from feeling strong, empowered, and healthy.”
My mentor would agree.
My mentor’s advice also echoes in the work of thought leaders Andrea Pérez-Maikkula and Jerad Green (www.psychologicalagency.com), who challenge the false promise that we can—or should—bring our whole selves to work. Instead, Pérez-Maikkula and Green promote “psychological agency”: the ability “to decide how much of ourselves we bring to work, when we do it, who gets to experience our whole selves, and to what degree.”
Those who know me today may recall spotting me at recent CLEs or affinity galas wearing a Rundholz Black Label dress and Fly London wedges. And as my eyesight aged, I swapped brooches for bold eyewear from designers like Caroline Abram. As I became known and trusted in my field, I relied less on a uniform to introduce me and revealed more of myself to the profession.
We won’t all show up in the sleek, futuristic silhouette of the Monse Criss Cross Jacket and cropped pants Michelle Obama wore at the 2024 Democratic National Convention. And each of us makes a choice every day about how much of ourselves we are willing to bring into the professional spaces where we practice law.
I echo my mentor’s original advice: Choose something repeatable. Something that fits the boundaries of professionalism where you practice, is comfortable for you, and connects to your cultural self. In doing so, you exercise psychological agency, supporting your personal health and well-being while meaningfully engaging in your chosen profession.
Kristi Paulson
Kristi Paulson is the owner of PowerHouse Mediation and the Professional Education Group.
I have been fortunate to have many exceptional mentors throughout my professional life. I have learned that mentorship is not a one-to-one proposition. You do not only need one mentor, and you are not meant to mentor just one person. For me, it truly took a village—people who entered my life at different moments, offering different lessons, perspectives, and bits of encouragement.
I have had many mentors along the way, all offering valuable insight—which makes it a bit dangerous to name names—but when I reflect on the question posed here, four people immediately come to mind. Each left a lasting imprint on how I practice law, lead, and live. The most valuable lesson I have learned comes not from any single interaction, but from the collective wisdom they shared over time.
Charlie Hvass, Jr. taught me the importance of mastering trial skills and never becoming complacent about them. He believed deeply in preparation, education, and continual growth. Long before podcasts and streaming webinars, he had me reading books, listening to cassette tapes (they were once a thing), joining bar associations, and attending conferences and trainings. Charlie fed my love of learning and instilled in me the belief that excellence in advocacy is not a destination; it is a lifelong pursuit.
Judge Cara Lee Neville,* then a district court judge, taught me something equally powerful but very different: Never forget who you are. She encouraged me to allow my own personality, approach, and style to come through in my work. Her leadership and quiet confidence were inspirational. When PowerHouse Mediation was nothing more than an idea, she listened, believed, and encouraged. She loved the purple powerhouse I envisioned (and told me not to listen to the naysayers urging me to play it safe and stick with navy). That kind of mentorship—seeing potential before it fully forms—changes everything.
Chief Justice Douglas K. Amdahl taught me perhaps the most enduring lesson of all: We all need mentors, and we all need to be mentors. He brought me into his Inn of Court, and for a time, when he had stopped driving, I would pick him up and we would ride to meetings together. My silver Volkswagen Beetle—with purple decals—became a rolling classroom. While he inspired me to be the best lawyer I could be, honing skills and perfecting my craft, the most valuable lesson he gave me had nothing to do with law. It was about family. He spoke often of his children and told me that they were his greatest success. He warned me not to let one legacy eclipse another. I still remember his smile when he met my son—and another, three years later, when my daughter was born. His lesson stays with me: Success is not just what we build professionally, but what we protect and cherish personally.
Dan O’Leary entered my life at my second meeting of the Amdahl Inn of Court and taught me to believe—in the clients, the cases, and the causes. He taught me to hold on for the right outcome. Though he always seemed fearless, he showed me how to confront my own fears, commit to the long haul, and prepare for the end (the trial) from the very beginning. His lesson was one of courage, perseverance, and purpose.
Taken together, the most valuable lesson I have learned from my mentors is to strive for excellence without losing yourself or the people you love along the way. Perfect your craft. Remain endlessly curious. Lead with authenticity. Believe deeply in your clients and your causes. Success is hollow if it costs you your humanity, or those you love.
*Judge Neville passed away shortly after this tribute was written.
Antonio Tejeda Guzman
Antonio Tejeda Guzman is a workers’ compensation attorney and the founder, in 2008, of the Law Office of Tejeda Guzman, PLLC.
“Less is more.” If I have to explain it, then it takes its power away.
