Let it be known that Michael J. Avenatti does not work with a stylist. The telegenic, fashion-forward lawyer representing adult-film actress Stormy Daniels (Stephanie Clifford), in her contract dispute with the president of the United States, has nevertheless turned quite a few heads over the past two months. In that period he has appeared on cable news more than 100 times, sporting a dazzling array of Tom Ford suits—he owns approximately 20 of them, a mix of made-to-measure and off the rack—and wide-striped Brioni ties with a thick Windsor knot.

“I’ve always believed that the way one looks, for good or bad, is seen as a reflection of their capabilities,” Avenatti said in a recent phone call. “Aesthetics are critically important.”

We are living in unusual times. Who could have ever predicted that an adult-film actress and her lawyer would turn out to be more buttoned-up than the army of attorneys handpicked by our self-proclaimed billionaire president?

The Trump v. Daniels saga has proven, more than anything, how looks can be deceiving. Our ongoing fascination with the case has as much to do with its subversion of outward appearances as it has to do with a presidential sex scandal. Daniels has turned out to be a credible witness with a wicked sense of humor, a successful businesswoman, and a mother with a passion for the equestrian arts. And her lawyer, who a couple of months ago might have been dismissed as a flash-in-the-pan ambulance chaser, turns out to be a guy who graduated from a top-tier law school at the top of his class. In his fight with Trump’s personal lawyer, Michael Cohen, who attended Thomas M. Cooley Law School—according to Above The Law, the worst law school in the country—Avenatti has emerged as the unlikely voice of the underdog while out-classing a bunch of establishment schlubs with his impeccable style and cool-as-a-cucumber demeanor. (He’s attracted enough attention that a Crossfire-esque reboot, starring Avenatti and Trump White House alum Anthony Scaramucci, is reportedly being shopped to networks.)

Ever since March 7, the day after he filed a lawsuit—which argued that an agreement his client had signed to keep quiet about an alleged affair with Donald Trump was null and void—Avenatti has been a constant presence in our lives, trolling the Trump administration with utter glee, all the while looking like a GQ model.

On May 8, MSNBC’s Rachel Maddow urged her viewers to stay tuned for yet another episode of the Avenatti Show, the ongoing reality series that has everything: drama, violence (threats of it, at least), romance, and international intrigue. As Maddow brandished what was at the time Avenatti’s latest bombshell, a seven-page document alleging that Mr. Cohen was receiving payments from a firm tied to a Russian oligarch, she leveled with her audience: “I know what you are thinking,” she said. “You are thinking, ‘I know that handsome lawyer. I have seen a lot of Michael Avenatti on TV. Every time I turn on the TV, there he is.’”

Yes, there he is, the race car-driving lawyer with the shaved head and well-defined cheekbones who launched a thousand heart-eye emojis. There is Avenatti on CNN, telling Anderson Cooper that Mr. Cohen “should not be selling access to the president of the United States,” styling in a navy Tom Ford suit paired with a pale blue shirt and striped tie. (“I’ve worn a lot of designers and never found a suit like Tom Ford,” Avenatti said. “The cut, the silhouette, is really extraordinary—his eye toward aesthetics is unsurpassed.”) There he is giving a press conference in front of a New York courthouse, on the occasion of a hearing about the treatment of materials gathered in the F.B.I. raid of Mr. Cohen’s office, in a dashing navy Brioni overcoat—“one of my favorite pieces,” he says—paired with a black Louis Vuitton briefcase, a gift from a former client. And again, in made-to-measure black tie by über-luxe Italian label Brunello Cucinelli, grinning while photobombing White House officials Sarah Huckabee Sanders and Kellyanne Conway on the red carpet at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner. The tux, he emphasized, was navy blue.