I never much fancied becoming a secondary school teacher on the grounds that if I wanted to spend my days in a room full of mucky-minded, flatulent, hungover types I could do that in a newspaper office and for considerably more money. And now when I read stories such as the acting head of Baines School in Poulton-le-Fylde, Lancashire, trying to ban pupils from using fake tan, I’m glad that I chose one of our most reviled professions. Because if teachers can be bothered getting into a froth over orangey skin, they’re obviously a) bored, or b) snobby. And sneeriness over fake tan is one of the dreariest developments of our time.

To summarise: Carol Robinson wrote to parents asking them to ensure that girls do not arrive for school in “varying shades of orange… The current trend for fake/spray tans does little to enhance the appearance of our young ladies,” she said.

Well, that’s a matter of opinion. If Ms Robinson had seen the pasty, corned-beef legs at our school before fake tan existed, she'd think again. And, of course, her pupils might now start using sun beds instead, and melanoma is so not a good look either.

But the key thing she overlooks is that fake tan is the great equaliser. You only need to recall the rich girls in class whose regular winter ski breaks and exotic summer holidays ensured a year-round golden aura and maximum male attention, while all you could boast was chapped lips from another fortnight at Butlins, to know it’s true. Now, even the poorest kids have a bronzie and no one gets bullied for having thighs like Pillsbury Dough.

Teachers should remember that when you wear the same soul-sapping acrylic school uniform for eight hours a day, five days a week, it’s the little things like sneaking on mascara or browning one’s face that make the spotty adolescent’s life bearable.

And the products are so good now that you’d have to have cloven hooves and cataracts to end up with streaky bacon limbs. Having tried virtually every brand, I’d say the champion is John-son’s Holiday Skin Body Lotion, which gradually builds up a subtle colour, costs only £4.99 and, unlike other self-tans, doesn’t make you smell like you’ve been rubbed down with a weightlifter’s truss.

Anyway, a ban is unenforceable. Fake tan isn’t instantly removable, like a nose stud or nail varnish. You can’t send a pupil home for three days while it wears off. Can you? If so, pupils might find a new incentive to slap it on with a shovel. Worse, you’ll imbue fake tan with anarchic status.

No, having done a quick survey of teenage pupils, I can advise that the only real deterrent comes courtesy of the bra-pinging teenage lads who stand at school gates shouting at mortified girls, “You’ve been Tangoed!” If you must crush young girls’ spirits, teachers, this is probably the quickest way.

bargainhunter@thetimes.co.uk

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