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If you’ve spent any time in general aviation—whether in the cockpit, at a fly-in, or just loitering around a hangar—you’ve probably had that thought: Do I really like people… or just other pilots?
It’s tongue-in-cheek, of course. But there’s a nugget of truth in there that keeps coming back to me.
As President of Flight Outfitters, I’ve had a unique front-row seat to the aviation community—not just as a business leader, but as someone who came into flying a little later in life. I earned my private pilot certificate in my late 30s, after a lifetime of loving aviation from the sidelines. And once I had that license in my hand, something clicked.
Suddenly, I belonged.
And once I belonged, I did what any newly minted pilot with a slight entrepreneurial streak might do: I asked myself, Now what do I get to wear?

I’ve had a unique front-row seat to the aviation community—not just as a business leader, but as someone who came into flying a little later in life.
Flight Outfitters, in a sense, was born from that question. You could say it was my way of showing the world I was finally in the tribe. The aviation version of “dressing the part.” I wanted gear that reflected what flying meant to me—something rugged, useful, aspirational, and undeniably aviation. A little bit like Patagonia, but for pilots. And based on where we are now, it seems like a lot of other pilots felt the same way.
The Pilot Personality
Pilots, in general, are a fascinating bunch. We’re leaders. We’re planners. We’re confident (okay, occasionally to a fault). As John Zimmerman put it in his Air Facts article, Do We Want Flying to Be Hard or Easy?, earning a pilot certificate is “one of the most difficult things you can do as a hobby.” And he’s right—it takes time, discipline, money, and commitment.
You can’t get your ticket on a weekend at a resort. There are no shortcuts to the sky.
So it tends to attract a certain kind of person: Type A, usually. Goal-driven. Risk-aware but not risk-averse. People who like to be in charge—not just because of ego, but because they’re willing to carry the weight of responsibility that flying demands.
That creates a unique community. One where everyone is in control of their own airplane—and yet, when we gather at a place like Oshkosh, it feels like a massive family reunion.
So it makes me wonder… are we actually friends, or are we just really into the same machines?

Aviation attracts a certain type of person: people who like to be in charge—not just because of ego, but because they’re willing to carry the weight of responsibility that flying demands.
The Answer is Yes
If you’ve ever had one of those late-night hangar conversations, you know exactly what I mean. We might say, “I don’t generally really like people, but I like you”—a bit of pilot gallows humor. But when pilots find each other, there’s a connection that cuts through the usual social barriers.
It’s the common language. The shared understanding. The fact that someone else knows what it’s like to handle an unexpected crosswind on final, or navigate airspace like a chessboard. Someone who also remembers their first solo like it happened this morning.
That common ground creates trust. Instant respect. Almost like a secret handshake. “You know what 1200 means? Cool. You’re in.”
Friends, Heroes, Storytellers
One of my favorite parts of this job is talking to customers—not just to sell gear, but to ask the question I genuinely care the most about: How did you get into flying?
For me, it was my grandfather. He took me to Oshkosh when I was a kid, along with his B-24 Liberator crew. It was right around the time Top Gun came out, and the idea of being a pilot was the coolest thing I could imagine. Pilots were different. They weren’t just cool—they were my kind of different.
And now, years later, I look around and realize: many of my friends are my heroes. They’ve flown things I haven’t flown. Handled emergencies I’ve only read about. And they tell stories—great stories.
There’s something about a pilot that makes them a natural storyteller. Maybe it’s the sense of drama in aviation, or the way we debrief ourselves mentally after every flight. Whether it’s a near miss, a fuel mix-up, or just a good old-fashioned $100 hamburger, pilots know how to spin a yarn. And around a campfire or a hangar couch, those stories bond us.
A Tribe of Lone Wolves

Psychologically, pilots share a lot: high conscientiousness, high independence, strong internal motivation.
If you look at pilots demographically, you’ll see a wide spread—different backgrounds, different ages, different aircraft. But psychologically, we often share a lot: high conscientiousness, high independence, strong internal motivation. (Yes, there’s actual research to back that up.)
We’re lone wolves, in a way. But flying somehow brings us together. And that’s what’s so fascinating.
Because when you ask, “Do we like each other or just the airplanes?” the answer is both. We like airplanes—we love airplanes. We like trailing-link gear, STOL mods, Garmin panels, and arguing about whether student pilots should wear Bose A30s or not. (No judgment. Just know we’re judging.)
But we also like each other. Not always right away. Not always everyone. But enough.
Because birds of a feather really do flock together. Even if it’s only a loose V-formation, where each of us is still kind of flying solo.
The Final Approach
So maybe it’s this: aviation gives us just enough shared passion to bring the lone wolves into a pack. It lowers the defenses, opens the conversation, and invites connection—not just through what we fly, but why we fly.
And that’s where the magic happens.
So the next time you’re chatting with a fellow aviator and you think, Man, I don’t usually like people, but I like you, just smile. Because they’re probably thinking the same thing.
- Do We Like Airplanes or Other Pilots? - April 25, 2025
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