Who loves a festival? Mostly everyone. At least we do in the UK. I spent my twenties longing to be over here while friends were attending Glastonbury, Bestival and T in the Park. And now I’m here it’s even better, because I’m living my cozy middle-aged life attending as an author and hanging out in the Phlox book tent, making new friends and seeing old ones. I went to Wilderness this month, and while I don’t miss the 19,000 steps I was doing in the brutal sun, I miss the general happy vibes. There are very few things to not enjoy about a festival. Okay, I can think of one … the rampant cultural appropriation. That I will never get, as well as the people who just seem to keep missing the memo.
One of the things I love the most is the freedom and the joy of dressing at a festival. Well, almost all the freedom. The naked man climbing out of the pond got a little too free for me. But all weekend long, I witnessed masculine folks and cis men wearing things they probably would never wear otherwise. I smiled as I watched a group of young men holding hands and dancing in a circle in a field with the gigantic carefree smiles of toddlers as their friend filmed on his phone. I saw loads of dads in very shiny leggings. Read more at Elle.