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Rejection is the quiet, ever-present companion to anyone navigating the road to the Bar. It lurks in the sterile ‘we regret to inform you’ emails, the endlessly refreshed application portals, and that awkward silence after you’ve excitedly told your friends you’ve applied to the chambers, only to hear nothing back. If you’re reading this while nursing a fresh setback, welcome. You’re in excellent company.
Let’s not sugarcoat it. Rejection is a bit rubbish. It stings, it bruises the ego, and sometimes it makes you question whether you were utterly deluded to apply in the first place. But here’s the inconvenient truth: rejection is also completely, infuriatingly normal. In fact, it’s the default setting.
Rejection hurts because, as humans, we’re wired to seek belonging and approval. A scholarship, a pupillage, even an unpaid internship – when denied, it feels like the entire legal profession is holding up a placard that says, ‘Not you, mate’.
And when so much of your self-worth is tied up in your ambition to be a barrister, a rejection feels deeply personal. But it isn’t. You weren’t rejected because you’re inherently unworthy. You were rejected because, on that occasion, someone else happened to fit the brief better or knew how to sell themselves more convincingly. Timing, fit, and opportunity all play roles that are often invisible to the applicant.
This is an incredibly competitive profession. At some chambers, hundreds of applications chase just one or two pupillage places. The odds can feel impossibly bleak. That doesn’t mean you don’t belong here; it means you’re in the thick of it with everyone else who is equally determined. Even the most successful barristers you follow on social media, admire from afar, or meet at events, have faced rejection. They simply didn’t let it define them.
Let’s talk about the elephant in the chambers: overusing ChatGPT in applications. Yes, it’s a nifty tool. Yes, it can write with impeccable grammar. But here’s the issue: it’s painfully obvious when your application reads like it was churned out by a robot who recently read ‘100 Ways to Sound Generic in Legal Writing’. Firms and chambers want you: your voice, your story, your quirks. Not an AI-generated ode to professionalism.
Your personality, values and unique journey into law should shine through. So by all means, use it to structure your thoughts or help with tone. But please, don’t submit its work verbatim. Your application should sound like a well-prepared version of you, not Mr/Ms/Mx AI. Real people can spot inauthenticity from a mile off. Think of it this way: if you can’t be bothered to put in the effort, why should the reader? They’re not getting paid for it.
A powerful application speaks from the heart. It doesn’t hide behind clever synonyms or grandiose phrasing. Let your passion and personality breathe through the page. If it sounds too smooth, too sterile or too generic, it will be forgotten.
First and foremost: remember, law firms and chambers are businesses. They don’t just want bright minds; they want people who can contribute something tangible. And what do businesses crave? A unique selling point (USP).
So, ask yourself: what’s your USP? Is it your background? Your side hustle, an interest in advocacy for a niche cause? Highlight that. Own it. If you’re passionate about a niche area of law – equine disputes, intellectual property in video games, the legal status of space junk – talk about it. Obscure interests are memorable, provided you explain why they matter. Often when we mark applications, we do not get to see your name or university, so we name you something memorable from your application when we discuss it with the panel. It’s the easiest way to remember applicants.
You don’t need to pretend to be someone else. You don’t need to erase your individuality. If you’ve had to work three jobs through university, say so. If you’ve overcome barriers financial, cultural, personal, don’t hide that. These are not things to be ashamed of; they are evidence of resilience, grit, and life experience.
Be specific. Don’t just say you’re passionate about access to justice. Tell me how you volunteered at a legal clinic where you translated for clients who couldn’t speak English, and what that taught you.
Sell your skills, not your CV. Your CV lists what you’ve done. Your application should explain why it matters. What did each experience teach you about being a barrister?
Avoid clichés. ‘I have always had a passion for justice’ is the legal equivalent of saying your greatest weakness is ‘perfectionism’. We’ve all seen it. Give us something more personal.
Don’t write like you’re penning a eulogy. Yes, be professional. But a little dry British humour never hurt anyone. If it’s authentic, it’ll stand out.
Tailor every application. One-size-fits-all won’t cut it. If you’ve copied and pasted the same sentence into ten forms, rethink. Chambers and recruiters want to feel chosen, not like one of many.
Use plain English. Sounding intelligent doesn’t mean sounding like a thesaurus. Aim for clarity over complexity.
If you’ve reached interview stage, congratulations: you’re already doing something right. Now, you need to show you belong.
Be persuasive. This is your advocacy audition. Don’t recite your CV. Convince them why you are a valuable future tenant. Show them your ability to make a case about yourself.
Have opinions. ‘I think both sides have merit’ isn’t a position. It’s a way to vanish into the background. Take a stance. Back it up.
Know your audience. Research the set. Know their recent cases, their specialisms. Ask an intelligent question. It’s flattering.
Don’t panic if they’re a bit gruff. Barristers aren’t always the warmest in interview. It doesn’t mean you’ve failed. They might just be hangry.
Be human. If asked what you do for fun, don’t say, ‘Read law reports.’ It’s not charming, it’s alarming. Speak honestly. Your personality matters.
Think like a barrister. Can you analyse? Think on your feet? Handle pressure? Even if you’re nervous, show flashes of that mindset. That’s what they’ll remember.
Rejection isn’t a full stop. It’s a pause, a comma, a temporary speed bump. Most barristers you admire have been rejected more times than they’ve had hot dinners. The difference is they kept going.
One of the best bits of advice I’ve ever heard? Rejection doesn’t mean ‘no’. It means ‘not yet’.
So, cry if you need to. Eat your feelings. Binge-watch a courtroom drama and critique the advocacy. But then get back up. Rewrite. Reapply. Reboot. Reflect on what could be improved, and keep refining. Every application is practice. Every interview is training. And every setback is setting you up for a future success story.
Because if it were easy, everyone would be doing it. And if everyone were doing it, it wouldn’t be worth doing in the first place.
Baldip Singh is an award-winning family law barrister, a Deputy District Judge and one of the youngest ever appointed as a Master of the Bench at Inner Temple. Baldip is the founder and chair of Sikhs in Law.
Rejection is the quiet, ever-present companion to anyone navigating the road to the Bar. It lurks in the sterile ‘we regret to inform you’ emails, the endlessly refreshed application portals, and that awkward silence after you’ve excitedly told your friends you’ve applied to the chambers, only to hear nothing back. If you’re reading this while nursing a fresh setback, welcome. You’re in excellent company.
Let’s not sugarcoat it. Rejection is a bit rubbish. It stings, it bruises the ego, and sometimes it makes you question whether you were utterly deluded to apply in the first place. But here’s the inconvenient truth: rejection is also completely, infuriatingly normal. In fact, it’s the default setting.
Rejection hurts because, as humans, we’re wired to seek belonging and approval. A scholarship, a pupillage, even an unpaid internship – when denied, it feels like the entire legal profession is holding up a placard that says, ‘Not you, mate’.
And when so much of your self-worth is tied up in your ambition to be a barrister, a rejection feels deeply personal. But it isn’t. You weren’t rejected because you’re inherently unworthy. You were rejected because, on that occasion, someone else happened to fit the brief better or knew how to sell themselves more convincingly. Timing, fit, and opportunity all play roles that are often invisible to the applicant.
This is an incredibly competitive profession. At some chambers, hundreds of applications chase just one or two pupillage places. The odds can feel impossibly bleak. That doesn’t mean you don’t belong here; it means you’re in the thick of it with everyone else who is equally determined. Even the most successful barristers you follow on social media, admire from afar, or meet at events, have faced rejection. They simply didn’t let it define them.
Let’s talk about the elephant in the chambers: overusing ChatGPT in applications. Yes, it’s a nifty tool. Yes, it can write with impeccable grammar. But here’s the issue: it’s painfully obvious when your application reads like it was churned out by a robot who recently read ‘100 Ways to Sound Generic in Legal Writing’. Firms and chambers want you: your voice, your story, your quirks. Not an AI-generated ode to professionalism.
Your personality, values and unique journey into law should shine through. So by all means, use it to structure your thoughts or help with tone. But please, don’t submit its work verbatim. Your application should sound like a well-prepared version of you, not Mr/Ms/Mx AI. Real people can spot inauthenticity from a mile off. Think of it this way: if you can’t be bothered to put in the effort, why should the reader? They’re not getting paid for it.
A powerful application speaks from the heart. It doesn’t hide behind clever synonyms or grandiose phrasing. Let your passion and personality breathe through the page. If it sounds too smooth, too sterile or too generic, it will be forgotten.
First and foremost: remember, law firms and chambers are businesses. They don’t just want bright minds; they want people who can contribute something tangible. And what do businesses crave? A unique selling point (USP).
So, ask yourself: what’s your USP? Is it your background? Your side hustle, an interest in advocacy for a niche cause? Highlight that. Own it. If you’re passionate about a niche area of law – equine disputes, intellectual property in video games, the legal status of space junk – talk about it. Obscure interests are memorable, provided you explain why they matter. Often when we mark applications, we do not get to see your name or university, so we name you something memorable from your application when we discuss it with the panel. It’s the easiest way to remember applicants.
You don’t need to pretend to be someone else. You don’t need to erase your individuality. If you’ve had to work three jobs through university, say so. If you’ve overcome barriers financial, cultural, personal, don’t hide that. These are not things to be ashamed of; they are evidence of resilience, grit, and life experience.
Be specific. Don’t just say you’re passionate about access to justice. Tell me how you volunteered at a legal clinic where you translated for clients who couldn’t speak English, and what that taught you.
Sell your skills, not your CV. Your CV lists what you’ve done. Your application should explain why it matters. What did each experience teach you about being a barrister?
Avoid clichés. ‘I have always had a passion for justice’ is the legal equivalent of saying your greatest weakness is ‘perfectionism’. We’ve all seen it. Give us something more personal.
Don’t write like you’re penning a eulogy. Yes, be professional. But a little dry British humour never hurt anyone. If it’s authentic, it’ll stand out.
Tailor every application. One-size-fits-all won’t cut it. If you’ve copied and pasted the same sentence into ten forms, rethink. Chambers and recruiters want to feel chosen, not like one of many.
Use plain English. Sounding intelligent doesn’t mean sounding like a thesaurus. Aim for clarity over complexity.
If you’ve reached interview stage, congratulations: you’re already doing something right. Now, you need to show you belong.
Be persuasive. This is your advocacy audition. Don’t recite your CV. Convince them why you are a valuable future tenant. Show them your ability to make a case about yourself.
Have opinions. ‘I think both sides have merit’ isn’t a position. It’s a way to vanish into the background. Take a stance. Back it up.
Know your audience. Research the set. Know their recent cases, their specialisms. Ask an intelligent question. It’s flattering.
Don’t panic if they’re a bit gruff. Barristers aren’t always the warmest in interview. It doesn’t mean you’ve failed. They might just be hangry.
Be human. If asked what you do for fun, don’t say, ‘Read law reports.’ It’s not charming, it’s alarming. Speak honestly. Your personality matters.
Think like a barrister. Can you analyse? Think on your feet? Handle pressure? Even if you’re nervous, show flashes of that mindset. That’s what they’ll remember.
Rejection isn’t a full stop. It’s a pause, a comma, a temporary speed bump. Most barristers you admire have been rejected more times than they’ve had hot dinners. The difference is they kept going.
One of the best bits of advice I’ve ever heard? Rejection doesn’t mean ‘no’. It means ‘not yet’.
So, cry if you need to. Eat your feelings. Binge-watch a courtroom drama and critique the advocacy. But then get back up. Rewrite. Reapply. Reboot. Reflect on what could be improved, and keep refining. Every application is practice. Every interview is training. And every setback is setting you up for a future success story.
Because if it were easy, everyone would be doing it. And if everyone were doing it, it wouldn’t be worth doing in the first place.
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