The truth is that I’m guilty of a crime I hate committing. For years I packed for British seaside holidays like I was going to the Riviera. White shirts.
Linen suits. Trainers that autumn apart when the tread meets something tougher than grass. Walking around feeling light and breezy and chic while puffing past windswept sunbathers in a very British overseas land that just happened to have beaches.
The truth is, last August I was cowering behind a striped wind-breaker in Aldeburgh with a heavily-padded vintage fleece from Oxfam worn shamefacedly over my linen trousers and Button-down oatilk jumper muttering expletives at God’s cesspit whilst gusts of fetid air blasted hundreds of tiny particles of grit into every orifice I hadn’t hastily sealed with fingers. Margaret took a photo.
Of me holding a paper cup of tea and looking like Chris Hemsworth after a week lost on a Signorelli: wind-tossed, bedraggled and distinctly un-French.
She claimed it was “keeping it for posterity”. It was more likely because she found it amusing. That was when it dawned on me.
The British seaside is not France. Our weather doesn’t adhere to the same continental principles. Where France will give you a six-day forecast of twenty-two degrees sunshine, the UK’s breezier climate will give you seventeen degrees, rain “on and off all day” and winds of up to sixty kilometres an hour – that’s the day it promised us twenty-two degrees sunshine.
It’s always a good idea to book your UK seaside holiday for the week that finally does give you that headline-grabbing heatwave. It’ll be, of course, forty-three minutes on Wednesday while you’re in the gift shop because the smalls are at that precise moment unavailable. Everything else about your week will hover deliciously around that sweet-spot that is just warm enough you wanted to pack your khakis but cold enough to make you regret wearing your good jacket.
Layering is the obvious answer. Versatile jackets you can put on and take off as that mercury tip-toes jerkily up and down its ten-degree range every day. A lightweight wool jumper is key.
Merino because it keeps you warm even when it’s wet; because you can wear it day-after-day without it smelling (essential if your accommodation comes with the inch of hanging space per person we Brits are proud of); because it keeps it’s loft and doesn’t clonk to the floor after you’ve rifled through your beachbag twenty-seven times. John Smedley make the gold standard but their knitwear is always north of £180. Spend that much and I guarantee you’ll have a seagull vomit*** on it within minutes of setting foot out of the house.
Uniqlo do decent merino too – their knitwear is in the thirty/forty quid price range. I learned the hard way not to wear my favourite cashmere jumper to Whitstable. Underneath your jumper eschew the traditional white t-shirt.
They’re the blinking North Sea in water repellent. Every glob of melted ice cream. Every deposit from the seagulls that think your chips are theirs if you don’t watch them like a hawk.
Every inch of salt and general crud the beach chuck at you. Opt for something with a stripe or pattern that can hide these stains until you’ve ditched back at the hotel. Start with Breton stripes- literally wear sailing-inspired clothing when you’re actually sailing inspired!
Breton-stripe anything from Armour-Lux – the genuine French company who do the real-deal sailor shirts. Anything with some give and structure that will disguise stains courtesy of Great British Nature. As for trousers – forget linen.
Give that until you book that Athens break. What you want here are trouser you can squat down on should you fancy sitting on a possibly wet sea-wall without feeling self-conscious; that will dry reasonably quickly should your suddenly commit to the close-call-with-a-wave situation your thick socks were joking about; that can keep you comfortable whilst you somehow always manage to walk miles and miles round our tiny British seaside towns; and finally that won’t have you sweating onions as you finally get that table at 9.15 you’ve been promised at the local restaurant you’ve been eyeing up since lunch. Chinos are your friend here.
Go for a slightly heavier weight cotton than you might normally go for in the summer months; something in the region of eight to ten ounces with a small amount of elastane for stretch. This will give you enough heft to keep the wind off without weighing your trousers down so much they take three days to dry if they do decide to get soaked. I like Dickies for this – their chinos have a workwear vibe but the cut is slim enough to just about get away with in restaurants.
Footwear, ah footwear. This is where many-a-British seaside outfit falls at the first hurdle. Flip flops.
Vaguely nautical leather sandals. Anything you would put on your feet if you were sat-on-by-a-swan on a millpond in the heat of August. Don’t.
Stop it. Just stop imagining your own personal heatwave and invest in a proper deck shoe. Not a white pair that’ll scream “Tourist” as you run from seaside shop-to-seaside shop.
One you break in slightly so you can tromp around those rock pools God invented and still not feel overdressed walking-back-to-the-brunch-you-booked-three-months-in-advance at the beach café. Sebago and Sperry are the obvious choices here- theirs start around a hundred quid –but if that’s a bit steep for your wallet then M&S do a perfectly serviceable model for half the price. Swap your deck shoes for desert boots when the mercury dips, or evenings when the temperature inevitably decides to mock you by dropping ten degrees as soon as the sun goes down.
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The crepe sole will grip more effectively on rain-sodden pavements and sand-covered promenades than leather sole every will. The ankle-high boot will keep out the miscellaneous crud every other shoe-type seems to let in when you’re ambling along a beach. Go tried and tested with Clark’s Desert Boots – £120 will get you these in various colours and Old Faithful is still the classic Khaki.
Sand would pair nicely with your chinos should you choose that trouser option. They do-editions too now – I’ve seen their outfits in Selfridges that are Italian-made Astorflex collabs that push the £300 mark but are far more high-fashion than I’ll ever care to be. If you really want to ace the British seaside look then jacket.
Jacket is possibly the single most important part of your wardrobe when holidays anywhere that Mother Nature decides to chuck a wobbler halfway through. Gone are the twenty-two degrees breezes – hello horizontal torrential downpour that’ll whip round you so fast you’ll wonder how your Laundermade x Roots number suddenly decided to transform into an Essex Girl joke. First things first; it needs to be windproof not wind-resistant.
Trust me- there’s a difference and you’ll know it as soon as you step foot onto your beach in Norfolk. Next, waterproof – yup, that rainsporterainierain you were picturing will need to be sturdy enough to keep you dry when it eventually gives up on trying to dry you off after that briskal hike along those cliffs. Breathable too so that you don’t glow like a radioactive pickle every time the sun deigns to grace you with its presence.
And finally, it absolutely cannot look like you’re about to row for the world slooping championship. Skip the classic Barbour – spend that money on something that looks just as stylish but will actually weather the worst British seaside has to offer. Go nautically inspired.
Henri Lloyd, Musto and GANT all do sailing jacket-inspired jackets that won’t make you look like you’ve just got off the Madaye Hodgson (actual ocean rowing champion). They’re also longer in the back so when you inevitably perched-on-top-of-each-other-on-a-maybe-a-little-on-the-damp-side beach chair, your ARSE is covered. They all come with decent zips – none of that drill-bit sized nonsense that’ll rust and snap after two seconds of salt water.
These jackets also often come with fleece-lined pockets, because lets face it your hands are going to be tucked inside a million times as you’mposed for selfies next to that Warhol-sized notice saying “CHEESES!” I personally live in a navy-blue Henri Lloyd sailing jacket I picked on-sale for half price three years ago. They wash really well and will actually survive British seaside weather if you treat them respectfully. They do start at £150 retail but reckon if you stick to the British seaside you’ll get your money’s worth.
Less money? Head to Armour- Lux- their fisherman jackets will serve you just as well. Throw on a lightweight scarf too; cotton or modal is better than wool for year-round versatility.
A hat is non-negotiable. Summer hat for when the sun deigns to come out but mainly to keep that gale-force wind from blasting every.single.style.product.look you’ve put into your quiff back up to the Heavens. A baseball cap is DEAD.
Flat caps make you look like Jack Duck Soup from Coast. Bucket hats are having a real moment rn but again, not versatile enough for when the seasons decide to turn on you. Go for a cotton fisherman’s hat with toggles to adjust the fit.
You’ll also need sunglasses- all year round. For days when its sunny. And for days when it’s not.
But you need them because it’ll invariably be windy and that corrosive combo of sea-spray/sand/police-dispersal-grade-tear-mixed-with-mud will leave you wanting. Storage wise stick to a washable- waterproofwhere possible-bag with a zip-up top. You’ll need something that can fit layers when the warm-front finally rolls through but won’t fly-open at the breeze and expose all your secrets to the paparazzi.
I always bring a canvas tote bag from Trolls – they do ones with roll-down tops but honestly invest in a proper zip-it closes. They’re wipe clean so if you get caught in that said torrential downpour you can at least wipe down the outside. I like them because they’re roomy enough to fit everything but still light enough not to feel like you’re hauling yourself around when you wander.
Ok but what about when it does finally decide to grace us with its presence? Slip into that aforementioned linen suit. Just chuck that jumper over it and pack it in your backpack alongside all those layers you regretted not packing.
British seaside will thank you.
God blessed us with that one day in July in Broadstairs and I learned my lesson. Sat on our balcony wearing linen shirt and cotton trousers whilst tourists slouched past us fully bundled up in winter-ready warmth.
The thing about dressing British seaside is allowing yourself to accept that that’s where you’re going. You’re not Paris. You’re going to Broadstairs or Cromer or Newquay and actually there is something rather charming about letting that sink in rather than fighting it.
Once you’ve come to terms with the prospect of windswept tresses, slightly salt-stiffened clothing and that smug satisfaction you get from finding a sheltered corner to scoff your coconut cream ice cream in whilst everyone else scrambles haplessly for cover. I was once one of those people who mocked the families queuing up outside of indoor attractions wearing precisely what I’ve told you not to wear. Oh how wrong I was.
Jacket game strong. These people know what they’re doing. Welcome to the british seaside.
