Miss AP's Diary

Miss AP’s Guide to Festival (under)Dressing

Miss AP’s Guide to Festival (under)Dressing


Some people look at festivals as a chance to get back to nature, discover some cool new bands and drink warm beer in the sunshine. Others view them as a chance to rave until dawn, rediscover your wild side and show off that body that you’ve managed to get from raving until dawn. In amazing underwear.

Me? You can guess where I stand.

One thing I have learned from my years of festival going is that the most important thing you pack – more important than dry shampoo, flashlight or a secret stash of Bloody Mary mix – is a sensational stock of underwear. Want to know what goes with wellies at Secret Garden Party? Frilly knickers. Want to cut a dash amongst the hipsters of Coachella? Wear a waspie. No matter how hard you’re dancing, how gritty your festival situation becomes, if you’re wearing sexy underwear you will always look and feel like a festival fox.

I discovered this at Burning Man, where night becomes day and underwear becomes outerwear, and I have applied this rule to every festival I’ve attended since. The more straps, tassles, wisps of tulle and peeps of nipple, the better.

A good playsuit is the quintessential festival piece. At Burning Man in the 40* heat, I wore it with nothing more than studded pasties, a tutu and a tricorn. Back at shivering Bestival I layered it over a white tee, with a leather bomber thrown on top. The Mazzy swimsuit was festival freshness worn with denim shorts and a parka at Glastonbury, and worn with nothing at all for a boat party at Garden Festival in Croatia.


Want to add allure to your twisting and twirling dance moves? Throw on a babydoll – mine’s the Alina – for frills and bounce that give extra kinetic appeal. Want something a little more ravishing to pair with your skinny jeans? Bust out a basque to raise the temperatures. And remember, the more extra accessories you have in your armament, the better. I always pack a silk bag stuffed with sunglasses, suspenders, handcuffs, bustles and my trusty Harlequin mask.

Because if nobody recognises me, it didn’t happen. Right?