The first time I wore a Barbour jacket, I basically looked like I was playing dress-up as someone with a trust fund and a weekend place in the Cotswolds. Not exactly the vibe I was going for, you know?
I’d been visiting my friend’s family in Norfolk – her mum had this perfectly worn-in waxed jacket that just looked… right. Like it belonged on her body, not like she’d picked it up because some magazine said it was “effortlessly chic.” So naturally, I thought I could just buy the same jacket and magically transform into this sophisticated countryside woman. God, I was naive.
Walking through Hackney in my brand-new Barbour (still smelling like fresh wax and optimism), I caught sight of myself in a shop window and nearly died of embarrassment. I looked like I’d gotten separated from my shooting party and wandered into the wrong postcode. The jacket was fine – great, even – but everything else about me screamed “city girl cosplaying as landed gentry.”
Here’s the thing about British countryside style: it’s so loaded with class implications and specific cultural references that wearing it wrong makes you look like you’re heading to a themed party. But there’s something genuinely appealing about these pieces – they’re built to last, designed for actual function, and have this timeless quality that fast fashion will never achieve.
The trick I’ve learned (through many, many fashion mistakes) is treating countryside style as inspiration rather than instruction. Don’t try to recreate the full look – just pull individual elements that actually work in your real life.
Take that Barbour jacket that made me feel so ridiculous. The problem wasn’t the coat itself – it’s genuinely one of the best things you can wear in British weather. The problem was styling it like I was about to go grouse hunting. Once I started wearing it with normal jeans, trainers, and a simple sweater instead of trying to complete some country estate fantasy, it actually worked.
My friend Sarah does this perfectly with Fair Isle sweaters. These used to scream “aristocratic weekend in Scotland” but she wears hers with high-waisted jeans and chunky boots, and it just looks like a really great patterned jumper. No class signifiers, no costume vibes, just good knitwear.
I think British heritage brands have figured this out too. Barbour’s done those collaborations with Alexa Chung that feel much more urban. Hunter boots aren’t just for stomping through muddy fields anymore – they make sleeker versions that work for city puddles. Even stuffy old Pringle has moved beyond golf course associations.
The key is focusing on the practical benefits rather than the aristocratic baggage. Waxed cotton actually does keep rain out better than most modern fabrics. Shetland wool is genuinely warm without being bulky. Proper boots with decent grip make sense when you live somewhere it rains constantly.
What you want to avoid: matching tweed everything (unless you’re actually going shooting). Jackets with seventeen pockets that serve no purpose in your actual life. Any prints featuring horses or pheasants – instant costume territory. And please, for the love of all that’s holy, don’t buy pristine versions of things that are supposed to look worn. Nothing says “countryside tourist” like wellies without a single scuff mark.
I’ve found some combinations that actually work for incorporating countryside elements without looking like I’m lost on my way to a point-to-point. A waxed jacket over a crew neck and straight jeans with boots – practical without being precious. Fair Isle jumpers with wide-leg trousers and trainers instead of the expected corduroys. Those classic tattersall check shirts under a modern blazer with jeans – suddenly it’s just a nice patterned shirt, not a rural uniform.
Tweed can work too, but in contemporary cuts. I’ve got this tweed overshirt that references the heritage fabric without looking like I borrowed it from my grandfather’s shooting wardrobe. Same with leather boots – brands like Grenson make styles that nod to countryside traditions but in colors and details that feel current.
Honestly, some of the best countryside-inspired pieces don’t come from the obvious heritage brands anyway. There’s this company called Carrier Company in Norfolk that makes brilliant workwear inspired by actual agricultural traditions, not upper-class sporting fantasies. You can find amazing knitwear from smaller Scottish producers without paying the Barbour premium. And charity shops in market towns are goldmines for genuine countryside pieces that have actual wear rather than manufactured “authenticity.”
The thing that makes countryside-inspired style work is the same thing that makes actual rural clothing so enduring – it’s all about function. The best pieces aren’t trying to look rural; they’re designed to work in rural conditions. When you translate that to city life, you want clothes that genuinely function in your actual environment, not ones that signal some fantasy countryside lifestyle you don’t actually live.
My friend Tom gets this perfectly because he actually grew up on a farm before moving to London. His countryside pieces look right because they serve a real purpose when he goes home to visit. His Barbour has genuine wear from actual countryside use, his jumpers are chosen for warmth rather than pattern, his boots are sturdy because he sometimes actually needs them to be. There’s an honesty to it that you can’t fake.
I think that’s what successful countryside-inspired style comes down to – honesty. It’s about finding the genuine connections between rural practicality and your actual life, not adopting someone else’s lifestyle as a costume.
My Barbour eventually found its place in my wardrobe once I stopped trying to make it something it wasn’t. Now it’s just a really practical coat that handles London drizzle as well as it would handle countryside mud. It’s got a small tear in one pocket, the wax needs reapplying, and the lining’s wearing thin – but those imperfections have transformed it from an obvious countryside signifier into just a well-loved, functional piece with rural origins but urban purpose.
That’s what good countryside-inspired style should be: not pretending to be someone you’re not, but appreciating clothes designed to work in challenging conditions. Less “weekend at Balmoral” roleplay, more honest recognition that British weather is brutal everywhere, and sometimes you need clothes that can handle whatever gets thrown at them – whether that’s Norfolk mud or waiting for the tube in February rain.
The best part? Once you stop trying so hard to nail the “countryside aesthetic,” you usually end up with a wardrobe that’s more practical, better made, and infinitely more authentic than any Instagram-ready countryside costume could ever be.
Claire started Claire Wears to bridge the gap between fashion media and real life. Based in Chicago, she writes with honesty, humor, and a firm “no” to $300 “affordable” shoes. Expect practical advice, strong opinions, and the occasional rant about ridiculous trends.
