There’s a particular brand of British delusion that emerges around festival season. You see it in the shopping bags of hopeful twenty-somethings across the country—flimsy floral shirts, impractical suede boots, outfits seemingly designed for a parallel universe where Glastonbury takes place in the Balearics rather than a frequently waterlogged farm in Somerset. I know because I’ve been that deluded optimist more times than I care to admit. There was the year I packed exclusively linen shirts for Reading Festival, only to end up wearing the same rain-soaked hoodie for three days straight. Or the time I brought pristine white trainers to Bestival and returned with what looked like two lumps of archaeological mud that vaguely resembled footwear.
It took me years of festival disappointments—and several ruined outfits—to accept a fundamental truth: British festival fashion isn’t about looking good in the conventional sense. It’s about looking good while acknowledging we live on a damp island where the weather forecast is essentially just a creative writing exercise. I’m not saying abandon all style ambitions—far from it. I’m suggesting we embrace a peculiarly British form of pragmatic festival dressing that works with our meteorological realities rather than against them.
I had this epiphany at Latitude about four years ago. It had been glorious sunshine for the first day—25 degrees, clear skies, the kind of weather that tricks you into believing maybe, just maybe, this time will be different. I’d smugly packed a selection of carefully chosen pieces that walked the line between stylish and practical. Then, around 3 AM on the second day, the heavens opened. Not just rain, but that special British festival rain that seems to defy the laws of physics by somehow falling upwards and sideways simultaneously. By morning, the entire site looked like the Somme with better catering options.
As I stood in a rapidly expanding puddle, watching a man in a soaked floral playsuit (brave choice, mate) sink ankle-deep into mud while trying to hold both a pint and an increasingly soggy crepe, I had my revelation: we need to stop dressing for the festival we want and start dressing for the festival we actually get.
Since then, I’ve developed something of a system. A British festival capsule wardrobe, if you will, that maintains some semblance of style while acknowledging we’re essentially engaging in a very expensive form of glamping in a country where “summer” is a theoretical concept rather than a reliable season. And since festival season is upon us, I thought I’d share these hard-won insights with you.
Let’s start with the absolute non-negotiable: outerwear. Your first instinct might be to reach for a standard waterproof, which—don’t get me wrong—will certainly keep you dry. But most lack any semblance of style, leaving you looking like you’ve just wandered off a hillwalking expedition and accidentally found yourself at the main stage during Stormzy’s set. Instead, consider a waxed cotton jacket—Barbour if your budget stretches that far, or one of the decent high street alternatives if not. They’re properly waterproof, look better with a bit of weathering, and have proper pockets for all the festival essentials (phone, cash, hand sanitizer, emergency Percy Pigs). Mine’s a navy Barbour Ashby that’s survived five festivals and actually looks better for it—each muddy adventure adding character rather than ruining it.
If you’re more of a parka person, Folk, YMC and Universal Works all do options that balance practicality with style. The key is to look for sealed seams, a proper hood (none of those pointless decorative ones that protect approximately 4% of your head), and a cut that allows for layering underneath. Because regardless of what the weather app says, you’ll need layers. British festivals exist in a microclimate where it can be simultaneously too hot and too cold, often within the same hour.
For mid-layers, the humble sweatshirt reigns supreme. I know, hardly groundbreaking style advice, but there’s a reason it’s a festival staple. Cotton or cotton-blend options insulate when it’s cool but don’t become unbearable if the sun does make an appearance. Community Clothing do a fantastic one made in Lancashire that’s built like a tank but doesn’t look like something your PE teacher would wear. If you’re determined to inject some personality, go for something with a subtle bit of interest—a contrast stitch detail or a small embroidered logo—rather than anything covered in neon slogans unless you’re explicitly trying to be found easily when your phone inevitably dies at 2 AM.
When it comes to t-shirts, pack more than you think you need, but don’t waste money on anything expensive. Festival conditions are brutal, and even with the best intentions, that pristine white YMC number isn’t coming home in the same state. High street options from Uniqlo, Arket or H&M will do the job perfectly well. Go for darker colors or patterns that can hide a multitude of festival sins—that mysterious brown splatter could be mud or beef dripping from a £12 burger, and it’s sometimes better not to know.
For legwear, I’ve become a staunch advocate of the humble cargo pant, which has thankfully been reclaimed from its 90s lad culture associations. Labels like Albam, Universal Works and even Carhartt WIP do versions that look considered rather than like you’re about to help your mate move house. The multiple pockets prove invaluable when you need to keep essentials secure while jumping around to Arctic Monkeys, and the slightly looser cut means you can add a thermal layer underneath if the temperature drops. The key is finding ones in a cotton-nylon blend that dries quickly after rain or an unexpectedly enthusiastic silent disco session.
If you’re more of a jeans person, save your good selvedge for another day. Opt for something hardwearing but not precious—Levi’s 501s are the obvious choice for a reason. They can take a beating, don’t show dirt easily, and if they get muddy beyond salvation, you haven’t ruined your prize Japanese denim. Whatever you do, avoid anything white or light-colored unless you’re specifically aiming for the “fell in a mud bath” look by the end of day one.
Now, footwear—arguably the most crucial festival decision. I’ve seen grown men nearly weep at the sight of their box-fresh trainers disappearing into a sea of mud, never to look the same again. My advice is brutal but necessary: leave anything you truly care about at home. This isn’t the time for your limited edition collaborations or anything with a suede panel.
For muddy British festivals, wellies remain the nuclear option. Not the most stylish choice, granted, but there’s a certain point (usually around 4 PM on day two when the site resembles the world’s largest mud bath) where function obliterates any concern for form. Hunter’s are the obvious choice if you want to telegraph that you’re a slightly posh festival-goer, but their Festival range is actually decent—slightly less heavy-duty than their regular wellies, which means you won’t feel like you’re walking around with diving weights strapped to your feet. If you’re on a budget, any generic wellies will do the job, but size up and wear proper thick socks to prevent the dreaded welly rub that can ruin your festival by day two.
For less apocalyptic conditions, trail runners from brands like Salomon or Hoka have become increasingly acceptable from a style perspective while offering actual practical benefits like grip and water resistance. They’re the sweet spot between practical footwear and something you wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen in when you inevitably bump into someone from school you haven’t seen in fifteen years.
If the forecast is genuinely promising (approach this assumption with extreme caution), then canvas high-tops are your friend. Converse Chuck 70s or Vans Sk8-His can handle a bit of dust and light mud, and they’re not so precious that a beer spill will ruin your night. Plus, they’re relatively easy to clean post-festival, unlike anything with a complicated knit upper that will never truly recover from the experience.
The accessories game is where you can inject some personality without compromising practicality. A decent bucket hat provides sun protection on the rare good days and keeps the rain off your face on the inevitable bad ones. Folk, Albam and YMC all do stylish options that don’t make you look like you’re desperately clinging to your Britpop youth. Brands like Universal Works and Dickies offer options that manage to be practical without screaming “I’ve just been fishing.”
For bags, cross-body options reign supreme. They keep your essentials secure while dancing and are harder for the light-fingered festival opportunists to access than a backpack you can’t see. The Fjällräven Greenland pocket bag is perfect—just enough room for the essentials without encouraging you to bring your entire life with you to the main stage.
A quick word on sunglasses: bring a pair, obviously, because the British weather’s favorite prank is to unleash blazing sunshine immediately after you’ve written off the entire weekend as a washout. But please, for the love of God, don’t bring your expensive designer frames. Festival sites are where sunglasses go to die—lost in mosh pits, sat on in tents, or abandoned in portable toilets in moments of crisis. Something cheap but not completely horrible looking from the high street will do the job.
The final piece of advice—and this applies regardless of which festival you’re attending—is to build in some redundancy. Pack assuming you’ll lose access to at least one item due to mud/rain/overexcitement during a Chemical Brothers set. A spare t-shirt rolled up into a zip-lock bag (the most unsexy but practical packing tip I can offer) has saved many a festival day for me.
It might seem like I’m being overly pessimistic about British festival weather, but this is hard-earned wisdom from someone who once had to fashion emergency footwear out of plastic bags and gaffer tape after my trainers became casualties of the Glastonbury mud. The irony is that the moment you fully commit to dressing for meteorological disaster, you’ll experience the one British festival in recorded history with five straight days of Mediterranean sunshine.
But that’s the thing about British festival dressing—it’s an exercise in hope tempered by experience. We pack raincoats while praying for sunshine. We bring wellies while dreaming of dusty fields. It’s not about surrendering to the inevitable weather disappointment; it’s about being prepared for it while maintaining enough style that you don’t wince when you look back at the photos.
So go forth, pack smartly, and remember—the greatest festival outfit isn’t the most Instagram-worthy one you packed with optimism. It’s the one that allows you to stay until the bitter end of the headline set while your less practically dressed friends have retreated to their tents, defeated by Britain’s refusal to provide the weather its festival calendar so clearly deserves.
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