I regularly receive emails from students asking about my “soft Intellectual Property (IP)” work. They want to know what it’s like to handle copyright and trademark matters that promote social justice. Students in the Georgetown Intellectual Property and Information Policy Clinic, which I founded in 2019, have advised clients, in part, on using copyright and trademark law to promote accessible and equitable library practices,
permit repair and modification of personal devices,
and appropriate art to critique power.
My scholarship uses copyright and trademark law to shape better technologies, from challenging nonconsensual intimate imagery
and countering invasive face surveillance
to uncovering secret surveillance technologies.
Both areas of law create space for creative, complex practices that students are eager to pursue.
By flagging an interest in “soft IP,” these students use a shorthand that distinguishes their interests in copyright and trademark from another form of intellectual property: patent.
But, unbeknownst to them, doing so reflects an implicit bias against copyright and trademark practice and practitioners. If those practices are soft, it follows that patents are hard. “Hard” can mean physically solid. It can also mean mentally taxing. So what’s so hard about patents?
“Hard” can’t mean that patents protect only tangible inventions because they also protect intangible processes.
“Hard” can’t mean that patents only cover inventions connected to the “hard” sciences—like biology, chemistry, and engineering—because two types of patents protect even designs with no connection to those fields: utility and design patents.
Utility patents may protect inventions detached from the hard sciences, such as a pool filled with sprinkles.
Similarly, design patents can protect aesthetic features disconnected from hard sciences, like the curves of an iPhone.
“Hard” can, however, mean “hard for marginalized people to break into.”
No specialized training is required for most patent litigation or counseling, but the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office (USPTO) only permits people with select technical educational backgrounds to qualify for the Patent Bar.
Admission to the Patent Bar is required for drafting and acquiring patents, a practice called “patent prosecution,” as well as litigating as lead counsel before the Patent Trial and Appeal Board.
There is no comparable barrier to copyright and trademark practice. Because of these requirements, however, many students mistakenly believe a technical background is necessary for all patent, or even all IP, work. Many IP clinics’ work, including Georgetown’s, challenge that misconception—yet it persists.
Scholars have critiqued the USPTO’s gatekeeping and its effects on equity, and the USPTO is responding.
While the USPTO revisits its Patent Bar requirements, those rules continue driving perception and practice in ways that have measurable, exclusionary effects on women.
According to recent empirical work by patent attorneys Elaine Spector and LaTia Brand, women registrants with the Patent Bar were virtually nonexistent until the early 1980s.
Today, women comprise more than half of incoming law school classes yet only a disproportionately small fraction of registered patent attorneys.
For women of color, the statistics are even starker: There are more patent attorneys and agents named “Michael” than racially diverse women, who compose only 1.7% of registered patent attorneys and agents.
But no matter how hard it is for women to join the Patent Bar, “hard IP” is rarely, if ever, invoked to address the exclusionary aspects of patent law.
It’s not obvious how classifying patents as “hard IP” clarifies the field. So why draw the distinction? Perhaps the better question is: What’s so soft about “soft IP”?
The answer is not the application of copyright and trademark to intangibles, as copyright cannot cover ideas,
and both copyrighted works and trademarked goods are routinely embodied in physical forms.
Nor is the answer because copyright and trademark are doctrinally easier. When can an artist use another artist’s work?
When does a commercial product amount to a constitutionally protected parody?
Both questions were compelling, challenging, and considered before the Supreme Court last term.
Alternate approaches to grouping IP reveal that connecting copyrights to trademarks makes less sense than pairing patents with either field. One sensible way to group IP fields is by provenance. Only patent and copyright are rooted in the Constitution’s Progress Clause, which empowers Congress to “promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts, by securing for limited Times to Authors and Inventors the exclusive Right to their respective Writings and Discoveries.”
Another option is by governance. The USPTO exclusively handles U.S. patent and trademark registrations and appeals.
Another choice would be embracing the urban legend that “soft IP” alludes to copyright protection of software.
Except all three forms of IP can protect software in different ways.
A final explanation for “soft IP” is that the term promotes precision. But the primary unifying characteristic of copyright and trademark is neither provenance, governance, nor coverage—it is that they are not patents. And on that basis, some (but not all) people extend “soft IP” to include right of publicity and trade secrecy.
“Soft IP” offers no conceptual, doctrinal, historical, operational, definitional, or practical clarity. So what, exactly, makes copyright and trademark law so soft?
Copyright and trademark attract high numbers of women practitioners, partners, and professors, particularly when compared with patent law, and fields that do so are routinely dismissed as “soft.”
In private practice, women report working with more women, both as peer practitioners and as partners, in copyright and trademark groups.
In academia, half of the twenty most-cited IP scholars are women.
More than half of those women scholars frequently focus on copyright and trademark law.
(For comparison, there are zero women in the top twenty most-cited scholars within legal academia generally.
) And in leadership roles, women rose to the highest levels of the Copyright Office well before the USPTO. Barbara Ringer was the first woman Register of Copyright, and she was appointed in 1973.
The first woman to direct the USPTO—Michelle K. Lee, who has a technical background—was appointed decades after Ringer in 2015.
Women practitioners, professors, and other leaders who share an interest in copyright and trademark law have something else in common: a stereotypical association with softness. Society has projected softness onto women for centuries. Softness can be powerful. It’s resilient. It’s flexible. It’s supportive. But I have never heard “soft IP” invoked to signify the strengths of softness, all of which happen to be indispensable to effective lawyering. Rather, fields and skills associated with women are routinely disregarded for being “soft” in ways that reflect a lack of respect for women and the rigor of their work.
“Soft IP” carries on this tradition by not-so-subtly suggesting that people who practice copyright and trademark law are, unlike patent practitioners, less up to a hard challenge. As a result, “soft IP” carries a gendered connotation that cannot be less true: Women have practiced law in the United States since 1869,
and they are still paid less, promoted less, and punished more for their parenting decisions and practice skills.
Women, especially women of color, encounter enough barriers to equity without being aligned with an imprecise term that—intentionally or not—undermines their competence and capabilities. This is perhaps the most insidious aspect of “soft IP”: By implying that copyright and trademark work is not hard, the term erases that being a woman in any practice of law can be very hard.
The term “soft IP” contributes to a vicious cycle in which some women pursue trademark and copyright law due to inaccurate stereotypes of patent practice only to have their work in those fields undermined and undervalued, often by the same people who perpetuated those stereotypes. Without an intervention, the corrosive connotations of “soft IP” cannot be avoided by people who do copyright or trademark work—including me.
As a law student, I wrote a blog focused on copyright, trademark, and privacy law. I said somewhere that I was interested in soft IP. Professor Eric Goldman, who has written his own terrific piece advocating a moratorium on the term “soft IP” due to its definitional, factual, and practical inaccuracies,
emailed me and encouraged me not to use the term. I considered why I’d adopted it in the first place. The answer was embarrassing: I’d internalized an ambient message from law firm partners and peers that I couldn’t simply express interest in IP because the “real” IP lawyers would think I was a silly woman who couldn’t acknowledge my own limitations. Without meaning to, I’d let my passion for copyright and trademark law feel like a compromise rather than a choice. I quickly dropped “soft IP” from my vocabulary.
I pay Professor Goldman’s kindness forward to the students who write asking about my “soft IP” work by responding with an abbreviated version of this Piece (and an invitation to chat more over coffee). But I’m still tripped up by the origins of the phrase. As Professor Goldman observed in his piece, the murky etymology of “soft IP” dates to at least 1998, and women’s prominence in copyright and trademark practices was well-documented by then.
We may never know whether its sexist overtones were purposeful, but “soft IP” has the power to denigrate multiple fields of law and degrade the people who practice them. We cannot continue using this term with our students and colleagues.
“Soft IP” must be retired and replaced. Creating an acronym for copyright and trademark law, like CAT law, risks overstating relationships between those practices while still recognizing patent law as singular. Professor Goldman has offered alternative suggestions: the antonym “non-patent IP” (which still affords patents an unearned place of privilege) or the specificity of naming specialties (which concretely clarifies one’s interests or expertise). The latter is often the correct move. I’ve often said that I do copyright and trademark work. But there’s a third way: Lately, I just say that I’m an IP lawyer and professor.
And I don’t think twice about it.