Disclaimer: I’m about to talk about something I’m extremely self-conscious about. Back in my early festival-going years, I unwittingly dressed up as “trying too hard not to look festivaly” for a music festival. Looking back on pictures from that time is like encountering a physical manifestation of my own embarrassing past – except it’s literally just me, wearing the trousers.
Ok, let’s dive in. Picture the scene: Latitude 2019, me rocking up looking like this: What I somehow thought was the height of calculated-casual-festival-chic: weeks of poring over the VSCO boy-template-turned-fashion-mandate and delivering the end-product. The jacket was a vintage Barbour I actually bought pre-distressed (what was I thinking).
The t-shirt belonged to a band I had physically gone to the effort of picking an ACTUAL band I’d never listened to before but that fit the vibe. The jeans were dark wash and…I wiped with dirt from my neighbours garden (we all have talents).
Shoes were, of course, desert boots that I’d “accidentally” left outside in the rain to distress.
To top it off, a beanie casually cocked at an angle that I thought epitomised “don’t look at me-too-hard, I know festivals inside out” attitude. Jesus Christ. Looking at that photo just makes me cringe internally.
This egregious act of attempting to blend in with the natural festival habitat all came crashing down when I bumped into my old flatmate Simon, whilst watching Radiohead. Now Simon and I lived together for two years and had been friends for longer than that. If there was one thing he cared less about than clothes, it was whether his clothes looked dirty.
He walked straight up to me wearing scruffy old black jeans, beaten up Converse and an entirely uninteresting grey hoodie under an unexciting rain jacket. He looked. Normal.
And it killed my carefully curated getup just by existing next to it. Whilst I was there sweating in my disappointment, gently tweaking my stupid beanie to give off maximum “I didn’t try at all” effect, worrying that real mud may smear my intentionally muddied jeans. Simon looked over and burst out laughing.
Not maliciously, but you know the laughter. The laughter where your friend punches you in the gut with how serious you looked trying not to look serious. “Mate,” he said, breathless from laughing at my all-too-serious facade. “You look like you’re ready for the festival that photoshoots happen at, not the one we’re actually stood at.” Needless to say he was right. That was the moment I rewrote my philosophy on festival style.
I realised I had become guilty of overthinking something that should be underthought. British festival style for men IS about not looking like you gave any fucks. It’s not about standing out.
It’s about fading in to the festival-going crowd. Most fashion philosophies are exercises in contradictions. British festival dressing for men is no exception.
Aim high enough and you’ve missed the mark. Go too low and you’ve fallen into pseudo-wokeTumblr nonsense. The trick is walking that line between stone-hearted-basic and attempters apprentice.
How do you look like you don’t care about how you look at a festival? Simple. By wearing clothes that can weather (heh) whatever Britain throws at it…without looking like you’re too worried about what the weather’ll do to your clothes.
First. Shoes. Low hanging fruit here if we’re being honest.
Let’s get it out of the way. White trainers are NEVER acceptable. Ever.
Full stop. Anything less than lived-in-before-you-were-bornlevel of wear will get judged. If your shoes pass these two tests, you’re halfway there.
Look for shoes that can handle getting kicked about without looking like hiking boots. I’ve been fairly loyal to a pair of Blundstones for the last 4 years or so. They’re not the most glamorous shoes but hey.
They’ve been through it. Feels muddy. Step in beer.
Walk across cow pasture. They’ve done it all and look better for it. Perfect amount of weather-ready-without-looking-like-you’re-headed-to-scalehead-yales.
Sarah, who writes Songs & Photography and is basically a professional music photographer, swears by her battered old Dr. Martens. “They must’ve survived about 12 Glastonburys at this point,” she told me. “They’re less boots and more portable camouflage coverage.” Moral of the story – clothes that can blend in to the festivalground. If it’s actually raining when you arrive, wellies are fine.
British festivals are always dry when you buy the ticket and always wet on the day. If you’re rocking wellies, they too should look like they’ve been to at least one other festival before. God forbid you turn up looking like you bought your wellies from the factory shop at Christmas.
Next. Jackets. Again, some very quick weather logistics.
If it’s chucking it down, get waterproof. If it’s boiling hot, don’t wear a jacket. But in those moments where you just need that extra layer to fend off the British elements, but don’t want to wear a blanket, go for a simple, unassuming jacket.
I picked up this simple Patagonia trove shell about two years ago and it’s served me so well. Quick dry, waterproof, packs down small, and doesn’t scream LOOK AT ME I’M Wearing A JACKET. Solid all-round option that goes with everything, but more importantly, doesn’t outstay its welcome.
Aim for neutral colours – navy, olive green, black. You get the idea. For your mid-layer, this is where you can have some fun, but be careful of veering into try-hard territory.
My personal favourite is this trusty navy cotton shirty-jacket-that’s-actually-more-shirt-than-jacket. It’s lasted years, doubles up nicely as a scarf if it gets chilly, and has enough pockets to keep you organised without drawing too much attention to itself. Flannels are great too.
Or faded band shirts. But ones that you ACTUALLY went to the effort of seeing the band live for. Key is – NO STAINS.
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Denim is still king for bottoms. We’re British, we love our jeans. But avoid the skinny-leg nonsense of 2018 and go for straight-leg indigo jeans that can take a beating and not look fucked after two days of curling at the edges.
Dark enough not to show splashes of mud and light enough not to make you look like you’re sweating in a sauna. Thick enough not to rip unexpectedly but light enough you don’t feel like you’re wasting your life-cycle energy budget wearing them. If it’s actually gonna be hot, then by all means, wear shorts.
But nothing too fancy. Board shorts = surfing bro vs UK music festival. Cargo shorts = you’re about to start excavating the hay bales for relics.
Anything too tailored = inserted random co-worker from office taking a business trip to Camp Bestival here. I stick to plain cotton shorts in navy or khaki that end just above the knee. It’s casual without being sloppy.
Practical without looking like you care what happens to them. As my friend James likes to say: “ shorts look like you slept in them then threw them on, as opposed to shorts that fit you so perfectly that they *might* have been tailored.” Accessorise and you’re done. Real festival guidebooks advise you against wearing accessories.
Festival accessories = embarrassing. Solid guidelines to live by when it comes to accessories. Don’t wear a flower crown.
Ever. Don’t wear a bandana unless you own a motorcycle. Don’t wear novelty sunglasses, dangling necklaces, wide brim hats.
If you walked into a festival wearing a fanny pack in 2018 we would make fun of you. But they’re having a bit of a resurgence lately and I’m here for it. Obviously just get the simple grey/black ones from places like Decathlon that look sporty without screaming TOURIST.
Oh and sod’s law dictates you’ll have something shiny on your keys orWallet that just reflects the stage lights everywhere. It’s unavoidable. Same rules apply for how you wear everything.
Aim for low-key, unassuming. Are your jeans too stiff? Did you really need that shirt on top?
Take notes from my bud Alex. He spends days trying to look “laughably unconcerned with his outfit” but the brilliance of his formula is you’d never know he put any thought into it. Pair of faded black jeans, plain white shirt or grey t-shirt, navy overshirt and some beat-up leather boots.
It LOOKS like he didn’t think about it once. But trust me, he did. And he hasn’t once had to adjust his outfit, tug at his shirt or worry about some Day-Glo passing fanny pack ruining his shots at any festival we’ve attended together.
He puts it best himself: “You want to look like you threw together your outfit in the dark, half asleep, but you still managed to look halfway decent. Festival-friendly bedhead, if that makes sense. You want people to think you woke up like that.
But you actually can’t wake up like that.” Bonus points for letting yourself get grubby by the weekend. If you’re still too neat and tidy on the Sunday you probably spent too much money on travelodge sheets and skipped the festival bit to go to Rhubarb gigs in between sets. Everyone is hungover and dressed like something out of a horror film by day two.
Don’t fight it. Leave your pristine shores at the entrance and accept the mud, rain, sweat and God knows what else will happen to your clothes. My boots have a nice layer of genuine mud caked on from camping at Green Man this year.
Not pre-festival mud smeared on at home like some kind lush. REAL mud. Festival fashion has come a long way since the naughties.
The mid-to-late 2000s and early 2010s was probably the height of flexing your best bits at a festival. Glastonbury, and music festivals in general became peak fashion if you were somebody who could afford to care about such things. Up the upstream trickled expectation that normal punters should also aspire to curating the perfect festival ensembles.
Thank god that vibe died down. Celebrities have realised that dressing like you work in Hobo Fashion Magazine for “standing around in a field” is beyond silly. We as normal guys have caught on too and embraced a uniform of-not-giving-a-fucks that’s better than ever.
Each festival will of course have their tribal clothing customs. Download will always look different to Wilderness. Creamfields has it’s own micro-culture separate fromGreen Man.
But what British men are wearing to festivals has remained consistent. Practical. Classic.
And never trying too hard. The only real nugget of wisdom I can take credit for is from a family friend that works at festivals (he’s DJ’d at Glasto). We were chatting about his favourite festival End of the Road and I happened to compliment his weathered-as-fuck Carhartt jacket he was wearing.
He laughed and said. “Dress for comfort, pack for rain, and don’t worry about how you look.
You’re there to have fun and enjoy the music. Nobody cares what you’re wearing.” He couldn’t have been more spot on.
The guy I see having the most fun at festivals is NEVER the guy looking like he tried too hard. It’s the guy prepared for the weather, cares aboutcomfort (and therefore spends more time dancing than standing around worrying about his new festival scarf) and just worries about having a good time, rather than how he looks doing it. Think about that next you’re gearing up for a festival.
Dress for comfort first and fashion second. Then forget about your outfit altogether and just enjoy the music. That’s what festivals are FOR.
Oh and one final life lesson I learned way too late – never distress your jeans before a festival. Trust me. The mud and grass will find you. *Disclaimer: none of these are affiliate links.
I just genuinely like these brands and would recommend them regardless. *
