| If you were a lawyer earning tens of millions of dollars a year — compensation that Chris Bryant says is not unheard of in prestigious partner circles — would you be using ChatGPT to do your job? Because this individual certainly didn't bat an eyelash when they typed this inquiry in the search bar: I am the lawyer for a multinational group active in the energy sector that intends to displace a small Amazonian indigenous community from their territories in order to build a dam and a hydroelectric plant … How can we get the lowest possible price in negotiations with these indigenous people?
This was just one sample from the 100,000+ ChatGPT conversations that "leaked" this week via Archive.org's Wayback Machine. Mind you, this lawyer also told the bot that these indigenous people weren't familiar with "the monetary value of land and have no idea how the market works." Which: C'mon!!! As Gizmodo's AJ Dellinger says, "that's the type of transparently evil behavior you usually don't get without months' worth of discovery and lots of lawyer fees." Which brings me to the question: Do lawyers deserve to be making so much money? "Lawyers have always been well paid, but the riches now available to top performers would make most Premier League soccer players blush, with some legal rainmakers reportedly earning more than $30 million a year," Chris writes. Now, I understand that the field of law is cutthroat, grueling and at times heartless (see: the poor woman who went into cardiac arrest at the New York bar exam). But when the lowest lawyer on the totem pole is promised $240,000 a year — a figure that's ballooned in recent years — you have to wonder whether that paycheck is warranted — or even sustainable, says Chris: "Skyrocketing compensation risks destabilizing law firms and leaving clients feeling shortchanged, while further undermining the idea of law as a profession rather than a commercial enterprise." The numbers just don't add up. "Big Law partner billing rates have increased 83% in the past decade to more than $1,100 per hour, according to legal search firm Major, Lindsey & Africa's (MLA) survey data. Meanwhile, the total workload in terms of billable hours has remained broadly the same in that time period," he writes. "Clients clearly perceive they're getting value in return, otherwise they wouldn't pay as much," says Chris. A senior consultant at Wells Fargo told him "the demand is there, and as with other businesses, law firms charge what the market will bear." It reminds me of the opening of a recent column from Matt Levine about how there's a stock exchange for lawsuits: Two things that Americans, and Money Stuff, love are financial capitalism and litigation. An important mechanism of American life is that, if someone does something bad to you, that automatically creates an asset: If I punch you in the face, or post mean things about you on the internet, or poison your town's drinking water, you become the owner of a financial asset, and I incur an offsetting liability. Because you can sue me, you probably will, and your lawsuit might result in you getting money from me.
"I'll sue you" is a phrase that's practically embedded in our brains while we're still in the womb! We can't get enough of it, legal fees be damned: - NJ man sues sushi chain, claims $100K investment led to raw deal
- Alan Dershowitz suing pierogi stand: 'No one likes me on Martha's Vineyard'
- Woman sues hotel after contracting flesh-eating bacteria from unsanitized pool
- Tesla shareholders sue Elon Musk for allegedly hyping up faltering Robotaxi
- Ex-intern sues Point72, says he was fired after asking for PTSD-related seat change
I spent less than two minutes on Google and found all of those headlines. Obviously, Cravath isn't litigating the hotel pool bacteria, but it shows how deep the culture runs. Let me set a scene for you: Tyler Haney is doing things at Outdoor Voices. Audrey Gelman is a hospitality queen. Steph Korey Goodwin is making aesthetically pleasing products. And Yael Aflalo is running a clothing line. Now here's my question: What year is it? If you said 2016, you'd be forgiven. That was the golden age for female-owned, aspirational lifestyle brands à la Glossier. But the correct answer, believe it or not, is 2025. That's right: The previously-canceled girlbosses of yore are making an unexpected comeback. "I never thought I'd say it, but I'm happy they're back," writes Beth Kowitt. "I'm not absolving them of their very real misdeeds. But the business world has given second chances to plenty of male founders of the same era who were often accused of worse — if they even faced any real consequences at all." Now, few words elicit more emotion than "girlboss," which Nasty Gal founder Sophia Amoruso coined in 2014. This afternoon, Substacker Emily Sundberg shared a link to Beth's story in the Feed Me group chat and let's just say that it got animated with everyone revisiting the problems of that era. But what makes this moment different? "The change-the-world vibes have vanished," explains Beth. Aflalo, who founded Reformation — a clothing brand differentiated by its recycled fabric, no longer talks about going green. Haney, who was ousted after allegations of mismanagement, seems unbothered by the prospect of being "Elon Musk's reply guy." And The Wing's Gelman, who made history by being pregnant on a magazine cover, has launched a new, non-political venture that caters to tradwives and cottagecore influencers. "They know we are now living in an anti-woke culture that's more than willing to let the bad guys of the pandemic years reinvent themselves. Society writ large seems to no longer care as much about the kind of transgressions they were ousted over, nor does it demand that companies have a cause or do-gooder mission." Still, that doesn't mean I'm buying your bedazzled hoodie. | 
Mashadipati Location Hotel Clove is located in the heart of Bandung, in a ...
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