I absolutely deplore the sartorial slobbishness of so many pilots who treat their uniform with a greater disregard than they would their gardening blue jeans. It is a disrespect to oneself to dress down and to blob through airports as though the meatballs mean nothing. But as for students; I would have their heads shaved completely and let the length and excellence of their professional experieince be indicated by the magnificent munificence of their locks as they sprouted forth again. Unless, of course, the student were a woman.
I always used to wear white leather gloves, in ZA, in summer because of palm sweat and in winter in the UK because of the cold, cold yoke on The North Sea Route.
This had an added advantage, especially in the UK, but also occasionally with ex Hunter pilots. These fast jet chappies would profess curiosity as to whether I was ex RAF, of whatever country. This allowed me to bashfully admit that I was not, but that possibly I had flown for The Fleet Air Arm, the ones that do carrier landings where the landing length available is about the same as the runway width at Upington or Mildenhall.
A rather lively discussion as to what constituted a slow jet then usually followed.
