I spent seven years learning festival fashion the hard way so you don’t have to

My first British festival was basically a masterclass in how not to dress for three days in a field. Picture this trainwreck: white linen trousers (I KNOW), a silky camisole that turned completely see-through the second I started sweating, and suede ankle boots that lasted approximately ten minutes before the mud claimed them. Reading 2014, I was twenty-two, and I genuinely thought I’d nailed the whole “effortlessly cool festival girl” aesthetic.

Six hours later I’m standing there looking like I’ve been dunked in chocolate milk, wearing my friend’s massive hoodie because my top has become X-rated, crying into warm beer because my feet feel like they’re on fire. Meanwhile, girls in proper wellies are having the time of their lives dancing to Arctic Monkeys. The jealousy was real.

What an absolute disaster.

Fast forward through about twenty-five festivals (yes, I keep a list because I’m weird like that), and I’ve basically got a PhD in not looking like death while standing in British fields for extended periods. Since festival season’s coming up and I just saw someone on TikTok recommend white jeans for Glastonbury (THE AUDACITY), I’m sharing everything I wish someone had told me before that first catastrophic weekend.

Here’s what nobody wants to admit about festival dressing in Britain: it’s not about recreating those dreamy Coachella photos. It’s about surviving three days of unpredictable weather while maintaining enough dignity to show your face at work the following Monday. Different skill set entirely.

Let’s start with feet because this is where I see people make the most tragic mistakes. Waterproof shoes are literally the difference between having fun and wanting to amputate your toes by day two. Not water-resistant, not “should be fine if it doesn’t rain too much” – properly, completely waterproof. The weather forecast means nothing. British summers are chaotic at best, and festivals exist in some kind of meteorological twilight zone where you’ll get sunburned and hailed on within the same hour.

I’ve tried everything over the years. Started with classic Hunter wellies which look the part but will destroy your feet after walking miles on uneven ground. Moved on to hiking boots (practical but make you look like you’re about to scale Everest rather than see Dua Lipa), then those got uncomfortably hot during one scorching July weekend at Wilderness. Now I swear by chunky waterproof trainers. Not glamorous, but after ten hours of standing and dancing, glamour matters way less than functioning feet.

The actual outfit strategy I’ve developed is pretty simple: practical foundation plus one fun element plus backup options for when British weather inevitably loses its mind.

Foundation layer needs to be comfortable and not show every splash of mystery liquid that gets thrown around at these things. Black denim shorts work brilliantly (not too short unless you want your thighs to hate you), dark leggings, or proper combat trousers if you’re feeling practical. For tops, cotton t-shirts or lightweight shirts you can adjust as the temperature swings wildly throughout the day. I learned this after spending one very long afternoon at Green Man in a synthetic blend top that basically turned into a personal sauna.

The fun element is what makes you look intentional rather than like you’ve just rolled out of bed. Vintage kimono, embroidered jacket, sequined something, fringed vest – whatever makes you feel festivalish. Key thing is it needs to be removable because British weather will definitely change its mind at least seventeen times per day. I once wore this amazing beaded top to Latitude that looked incredible in photos but nearly gave me heatstroke when the sun came out. Spent most of Saturday carrying it around like an expensive, jangling handbag.

Then there’s the emergency stash, which is where my bag becomes slightly ridiculous. Always packed: proper waterproof jacket that compresses down small (learned this lesson the hard way at Isle of Wight when I had to make a rain poncho from a bin liner – do not recommend), warm layer for when it inevitably gets freezing at sunset, and at least two spare pairs of socks. Wet socks inside wellies is genuinely one of the circles of hell.

Hats are essential but nobody talks about this enough. Wide-brimmed for sun protection because festival sunburn is weirdly patchy and obvious. Warm beanie for cold snaps. Something waterproof for rain – though I once panic-bought a bucket hat covered in marijuana leaves during a downpour at Download because it was literally the only option. Had to explain that to my mum when she picked me up. Still traumatized.

Accessories need to be minimal and practical. Large jewelry is asking for trouble in crowds – I’ve seen too many earrings get caught on backpacks, and it never ends well. Small cross-body bag that zips and sits where you can see it (festival pickpockets are absolutely a thing). Mine usually contains: biodegradable wet wipes (they’re magic for everything), hand sanitizer (if you’ve seen a festival toilet on day three, you understand), portable phone charger because your battery will die right when you lose all your friends, and way too many hair ties.

The real secret though? Layering like your life depends on it. I’ve genuinely experienced all four seasons during a single headliner set. Last summer at Reading, I watched someone go from full winter coat to bikini top and back again during The 1975’s performance. She had the right idea.

But the absolute game-changer is good waterproofing spray. I treat everything before leaving home – clothes, shoes, bag, boyfriend if he stands still long enough. Got caught in what can only be described as biblical flooding at Bestival wearing a white dress (because I occasionally make terrible decisions), and now I approach waterproofing with religious devotion.

I know this isn’t the sexy advice you see on Instagram. Fashion blogs want you believing festival style is all flower crowns and crochet bikinis and looking like some bohemian goddess who definitely didn’t sleep in a tent and queue forty minutes for questionable food. Those photos are taken in controlled environments with professional lighting and models who get to go home afterward.

Real festival fashion – British festival fashion specifically – is about looking decent while acknowledging you’re basically camping in a field with terrible facilities and weather that changes faster than a toddler’s mood.

My most successful festival look ever was actually pretty simple: black denim shorts, vintage band t-shirt, this incredible sequined jacket I found in a charity shop, waterproof trainers, bum bag (fight me, they’re practical), and a wide-brimmed hat. Wore variations of this for three days at End of the Road, switching out tops and adding layers as needed. Did I look like I’d stepped off a fashion blog? Definitely not. But was I comfortable and able to actually enjoy the music instead of worrying about my increasingly tragic appearance? Absolutely.

That’s really the point, isn’t it? Festival fashion should make your experience better, not worse. You want to feel like yourself, just a cooler, more adventurous version who happens to be living in a field for a few days. You shouldn’t spend the whole weekend stressed about mud stains or whether your feet are going to fall off.

So as you’re planning outfits for this year’s festivals – whether it’s the massive ones like Glastonbury and Reading or smaller gems like Wilderness and Green Man – remember: comfort first, looking cute second, and always pack twice as many socks as seems reasonable. Seven years of festival fashion disasters have taught me this much at least.

And if you spot someone in sensible waterproof shoes with a slightly manic gleam in their eye, wearing what looks like three different outfits layered together and clutching overpriced cider like it’s life support… come say hello. That’s probably me, finally having cracked the code of British festival dressing and actually enjoying myself without risking major medical intervention.