What I’ve learned about dressing for British beaches (spoiler: it’s complicated)

You know what I love about British beach holidays? The sheer bloody-minded optimism of it all. Every single time I pack for a coastal trip, I find myself throwing the most ridiculous combination of items into my bag – factor 50 and a woolly jumper, flip-flops and waterproof boots, a bikini and what is essentially arctic expedition gear. We’re a nation of people who refuse to let our famously unpredictable weather stop us from having a nice day at the seaside, even if that nice day involves huddling behind a windbreak in what feels like gale-force winds.

I learned this the hard way during what I generously call my “fashion magazine phase” – that brief period after uni when I was doing an unpaid internship at a glossy where everyone dressed like they were perpetually about to board a yacht in Monaco. Armed with this completely unrealistic reference point, I planned a weekend in Whitstable with my university friends. Picture this: me, age twenty-two, packing nothing but flimsy sundresses, completely impractical strappy sandals, and precisely zero waterproof anything because I was going to look effortlessly chic against the coastal backdrop.

Reader, I nearly died of hypothermia in June.

Okay, that’s dramatic, but honestly – horizontal rain, temperatures that belonged in November, and there I was wearing literally every item I’d brought at once while still shivering like a small, underdressed chihuahua. My friends, who’d grown up taking proper British seaside holidays, just watched this performance with barely concealed amusement. That weekend taught me that British beach dressing is an art form that has absolutely nothing in common with whatever they’re doing on the French Riviera.

Since then, I’ve become slightly obsessed with the whole thing – how what you wear to the beach changes depending on which bit of coastline you’re visiting. Because honestly, the outfit that works perfectly on Brighton’s pebbles would make you look completely bonkers on the wild beaches of Northumberland.

Take Brighton, right? It’s basically London-by-the-sea, which means the beach style is properly urban. This isn’t a place for traditional seaside gear – no cutesy bucket hats or sensible walking sandals here. Brighton beach style knows you’re probably going to end up in a bar or vintage shop as much as actually sitting on those bloody pebbles.

And oh, those pebbles. They’re absolutely key to understanding Brighton beach fashion. Unlike sand, pebbles get properly hot in the sun and walking on them in inadequate footwear is basically torture. I’ve watched so many tourists doing this weird hobbling dance across the stones in flimsy flip-flops, looking like they’re walking on actual hot coals. The locals, meanwhile, glide across in proper Birkenstocks or those chunky Tevas that looked hideous five years ago but are now somehow cool again, or even Crocs – yes, Crocs, because Brighton has managed to make them ironically fashionable.

My friend Sadie, who’s lived in Brighton her whole life, puts it perfectly: “You can always spot the day-trippers. They’re the ones grimacing their way across the beach looking like they’re being tortured, while we’re just strolling along completely unbothered.”

There’s this studied casualness to Brighton beach style that I find fascinating. It’s fashion-aware without being try-hard – vintage Levi’s rather than generic high street shorts, oversized linen shirts from independent boutiques rather than obvious beachwear, interesting sunglasses that suggest you might work in something creative. During Pride or other big events, the beach becomes this amazing explosion of color and experimentation, but even on random Tuesday afternoons, there’s way less adherence to traditional beach rules than you’d find elsewhere.

Move along the coast to somewhere like Whitstable and everything shifts. You’ve still got that London influence – the town is basically weekend central for city escapees – but the vibe is more deliberately relaxed. Breton tops are practically the uniform here, worn with white linen trousers rolled at the ankle and canvas espadrilles. Everyone carries those woven market baskets that work for beach stuff and then transition seamlessly to the famous food markets.

The thing about Whitstable is you’re never just doing the beach. You’re doing the whole experience – beach, then lunch at some seafood place, then wandering around the galleries, then ending up in a pub garden somewhere. So your outfit needs to work for all of that. Nothing too precious that’ll fall apart with a bit of sea spray, but nothing so aggressively beach-focused that you’ll look weird with a glass of Albariño later.

“It’s about dressing for the whole day, not just the bit on the pebbles,” my friend Leila explained when I was staying at her weekend place there. She’s got this approach down to a fine art – natural fabrics, easy layers, nothing that can’t handle a bit of wind without becoming completely unwearable.

Head further along to Suffolk and you hit a completely different aesthetic. Southwold, Aldeburgh – these places are proper traditional English seaside, updated with that rural-luxe thing that seems to dominate anywhere with expensive second homes. Think Crew Clothing, Joules, Seasalt Cornwall – lots of navy blue, tasteful stripes, and that understated middle-class thing that communicates “we’re comfortable but not flashy about it.”

The beach huts at Southwold create their own little microculture. Half the point is sitting outside your hut looking appropriately coastal, so there’s this whole category of beach-adjacent dressing rather than actual beach clothes. Proper sun hats with brims that might actually protect you, cover-ups that are destinations rather than just something to throw on over swimmers, and always – always – layers for when the East Anglian weather inevitably turns.

Cornwall’s a different beast entirely, especially anywhere with serious surf culture. Newquay’s all about proper technical gear – decent wetsuits from brands like Finisterre, swimming costumes designed to actually stay put when you’re getting hammered by Atlantic waves, and this general sense that the beach is for doing things rather than just looking pretty.

My friend Tom moved down there from London five years ago and he’s become quite the expert on spotting locals versus tourists. “The serious surfers look completely unfazed by whatever weather’s happening,” he told me. “Proper wetsuits regardless of season, boards that actually look used, kit from the local surf shops rather than whatever Zara’s calling beachwear this season.”

Even if you’re not surfing, Cornwall encourages this more active approach. Quick-dry everything, technical sandals that can handle rock pools and coastal path walks, lightweight layers that stuff into backpacks. There’s less “let me pose for Instagram” and more “let me be properly equipped for whatever the Atlantic decides to do today” – which, given Cornwall’s position, could honestly be anything.

The north Devon coast has elements of Cornwall’s surf culture but with its own character. Woolacombe and places like that combine traditional British families-on-holiday vibes with more adventure-focused stuff. You’ll see kids in bucket hats next to serious surfers in full technical gear, plus walkers dressed for the South West Coast Path that runs along the clifftops.

My cousin Rachel holidays there every year with her family and she’s developed this whole strategic approach. “The beaches themselves can be gorgeous if the sun’s out, but getting to them often means these steep paths where you catch the full force of the wind. So we always pack assuming we’ll need everything.” Layers that can be tied around waists, sweatshirts that stuff into bags, footwear that works for both sand and sometimes muddy approaches to the beach.

Welsh beaches – Pembrokeshire, the Gower Peninsula – they’re stunning but they demand respect. My Welsh friend Rhian grew up on this coast and she’s got no patience for inadequate preparation. “These beaches are wild and beautiful but the weather can change in minutes. You need to be ready for that.” This means proper waterproof jackets, not just token windbreakers, walking shoes that can handle beach and muddy paths, and always more layers than you think you need.

The outdoor activity culture in Wales influences everything too. Beach visits often combine with coastal path walks or other adventures, so you see a lot of technical clothing – proper outdoor brands like Rab and Mountain Equipment even on summer days. Wild swimming’s massive there too, which brings dryrobe-style changing robes, swimming shoes for rocky entries, all this specialized cold-water gear that prioritizes function over any conventional idea of beach fashion.

Northumberland beaches are another level entirely. Bamburgh, with that incredible castle and vast sand – it’s spectacular but bloody hell, it can be brutal. Even in summer, if the wind’s coming off the North Sea, it feels like winter anywhere else. So people dress accordingly – serious layers, weather-resistant everything, outdoor brands dominating over anything traditionally beachy.

You see a lot of proper walkers tackling the coastal paths, families with substantial windbreak setups for full-day expeditions, hardy swimmers in wetsuits regardless of season. Dogs everywhere too, which adds another practical element – pockets for treats, shoes that handle sand and mud, clothes that survive enthusiastic post-swim shaking sessions.

Scottish beaches represent the extreme end of our national talent for optimistic coastal dressing. On a perfect day, somewhere like Luskentyre on Harris rivals any tropical paradise – and locals absolutely make the most of it, though never with complete abandon because, well, Scotland.

“There’s always an element of being weather-ready,” my Scottish friend Isla explained. “Even on the most beautiful day, people bring layers, windbreakers, sometimes thermos flasks. We know how quickly it can all change.” So swimming costumes get worn under easily-added layers, shoes are practical rather than decorative, cover-ups provide actual warmth rather than just modest coverage.

The wild swimming movement’s particularly strong in Scotland, bringing specialized cold-water gear – changing robes, neoprene gloves and boots, proper swim caps. This technical approach influences general beachwear too, with quality outdoor brands featuring heavily in coastal attire.

What’s brilliant about all these regional variations is they’re shaped not just by weather but by the actual physical characteristics of each beach and the social context around them. Sandy beaches need different shoes than pebbly ones. Urban beaches near good bars require outfits that transition from sand to social settings. Activity-focused beaches foster more technical, performance-oriented clothing.

There are seasonal differences too. British beaches in high summer look completely different from the same spots in spring or autumn, when they’re mainly dog walkers, outdoor enthusiasts, and locals. Winter transforms them again – wild swimmers in full cold-water kit, walkers bundled against the elements, the occasional photographer capturing moody seascapes.

My own beach packing has evolved massively since that disastrous Whitstable weekend. Now I always include layers regardless of forecast, footwear appropriate to the specific beach surface, a substantial hat that won’t disappear in the first gust, and always – always – waterproof protection within easy reach. I’ve learned to check wind strength and direction, not just temperature, because wind can transform a perfect beach day into an endurance test in minutes.

I’ve also embraced the different regional characters, adapting my approach depending on location. Brighton gets more urban-appropriate pieces that work from beach to bar. Cornwall gets active, technical stuff that handles coastal walks or impromptu bodyboarding attempts. Northumberland gets enough layers to survive unexpected Arctic fronts rolling in from the North Sea.

The British beach holiday might require more wardrobe planning than its Mediterranean equivalent, but there’s something wonderful about our determination to enjoy our coastline regardless of conditions. We might not have guaranteed sunshine, but we’ve got some of the most beautiful and varied coastal landscapes in the world – and as long as you’ve packed appropriately, there’s genuine joy to be found on a British beach in almost any weather.

Just don’t forget the thermos. Even in August. Trust me on this one.