Back to the Fundamentals: Appearance Commands Respect

"Look good, feel good, do good."Those words were drilled into me on day one of the police academy—actually, even before that, as a 15-year-old police explorer cadet. It was a simple yet profound mantra that stuck with me, shaping how I approached the job from the very beginning. Back then, it wasn’t just about the uniform but about what it represented. Crisp lines, polished boots, and a squared-away demeanor signaled discipline, pride, and respect for ourselves and the communities we served. Appearance was the first step in commanding respect, a silent declaration that we took our roles seriously. I’ll never forget my first shift—looking sharp in my pressed uniform; I could feel the confidence it gave me and see the trust it sparked in people’s eyes. Every course I teach now, whether it focuses on officer safety or leadership, begins with a tribute to my friend Clayton Smith. He was a police lieutenant with the Marco Island, Florida, Police Department when he was tragically killed in a car crash. I first met Clayton when he was working in Ohio, and he taught me early in my career that the "fundamentals" are the foundation of law enforcement— a lesson that has stayed with me throughout the years and that I share with every student I train.

The Science Behind First Impressions. Research shows that people form first impressions within 100 milliseconds based on visual cues alone. These snap judgments—about trustworthiness, competence, or authority—are made almost instantly. For police officers, this means the public’s perception is shaped before a single word is spoken. A well-maintained uniform enhances perceptions of authority and trustworthiness, which is critical in gaining compliance and de-escalating tense situations. Historically, this aligns with how many use of force continuums ‘back in the day’—from the 1970s training models to agency policies of the ‘80s and '90s—listed officer presence as the number one step, banking on the power of a professional appearance to set the tone without force. Even today that first look still builds trust or sets up a fight. In policing, where split-second decisions can dictate outcomes, appearance is a tactical tool determining how every interaction begins.

The Drift from Professionalism. Somewhere along the way, though, we’ve drifted. I’ve seen officers show up to training in jeans with holes, t-shirts, and sneakers—looking more like they’re headed to a casual barbecue than preparing to uphold the law. It’s not just a change in dress code; it’s a shift in mindset. We’re not alone—society’s obsession with casualness has crept into every profession—but policing can’t afford to follow that trend. Swapping polished shoes for flip-flops or pressed shirts for hoodies signals how we view our role. In a job where first impressions matter, that casual approach can set us back before we start. It’s not about pointing fingers but recognizing what’s at stake when we don’t look the part.

Policing’s Paramilitary Roots. Policing is paramilitary for a reason—structure, discipline, and unity are our backbone. Imagine a soldier stepping up to accept a medal in flip-flops and a tank top—would that fly? Not a chance. The military understands that appearance reflects readiness and respect, and we must hold that same line. It’s not about vanity; it’s about maintaining the standards that keep us effective. Letting small things slide, like dressing the part, erodes the professionalism that sets us apart.

A Call to Action: Dress Like Professionals. I’m not saying we need to wear Class A uniforms to every training session—full dress blues with medals pinned on would be overkill for a classroom day. Nor am I talking about beards, tattoos, or outer vest carriers—some will argue those are the real issues, but that’s a distraction. I disapprove of beards, but a well-groomed officer with a beard can still look sharp in dress pants and a collared shirt at training. This isn’t about personal style choices but the baseline effort to look professional in settings like training where we’re visible and setting an example. I get it; long hours call for comfort, but a collared shirt isn’t a straitjacket—it’s a choice to prioritize the job. In fact, for firearms and defensive tactics training, I encourage officers to wear their street uniforms—not just for appearances, but because we perform how we practice. Sure, they might take a beating in the heat or dirt, but fundamentals mean training like it’s real, not just staying cozy. If you’re training in gym shorts, how ready are you for the real thing? Is it too much to ask for officers to ditch ripped jeans and hoodies for something that says, “I’m here to do the job”? That small effort speaks volumes.

Consider the police car as an extension of this principle. A clean, well-kept cruiser projects competence and care—people see it rolling down the street and form an impression of the officer inside before the door even opens. A dirty, cluttered car? That screams neglect, suggesting the officer might not take their duties seriously. If we wouldn’t let our vehicles represent us that way on patrol, why let our attire do it at training?

It’s not just about comfort; it’s about culture. When officers can’t be bothered to dress like professionals, it reflects on the organization. Does leadership care enough to set the tone? If they’ve let this slide too long, it’s time to turn it around—not just enforce rules, but show us how it’s done. Are we fostering a culture of excellence or one of apathy? If the expectation stops at “just show up,” we say mediocrity is acceptable. Leadership has to lead by example—if they don’t, the slide into gym shorts and flip-flops becomes the norm, not the exception.

Studies reinforce that a sharp appearance boosts confidence and projects authority, both critical in policing. More importantly, it’s a mindset. When we look good, we feel good, which translates into doing good—whether de-escalating a tense situation or mentoring a rookie. The uniform, even the effort we put into training, is a tool, not a relic.

We can’t enforce standards we don’t embody. Let’s return to the fundamentals: dress like the professionals we are, and respect will follow—just like Clayton Smith taught me all those years ago.