If there was one top trend of the weekend that was teeny tiny denim cut offs. I'm not talking Kate Moss, I'm talking the more arse cheek the better so they thought, rain or sunshine. The constant pour down allowed us to opt for comfort and warmth (from the waist up-wards it would seem) with Granddad jumpers being the common choice, in navy greens, gordy patterns and obviously oversized. Studded and sequined bumbags where the go to accessory, closely following a trusty waterproof.
Scruffy buns saved the day after mid-day showers which were later unravelled creating effortless, sun dried, dry shampooed, mermaid hair. Hunter wellies still reigned paired with a variety of knee high socks, pink and green where a favourite.
Leeds festival 2011 was a 50/50 mix of comfort and Topshop. It was the year men ruled with rugged jeans, head scarfs, band ts and those jumpers, the ones us girls steal because lets face it, those denims are draughty. Think the hairy man, the indie man, the clean man, the dapper man (in Burberry I might add) and the stoner men (not in Burberry but SoulCal, probs) we had them all and they had their own style. Not a dead seagull Hollister hero or I work at Jack Wills bow down and swoon in sight.
Beady eye allowed all males to feel like Liam Gallagher for a set unfortunately for the lasses who had to deal with out spurts of bravado, I kinda enjoyed it. Skinnies and button ups flooded the Horrors although there were a mix of hoodies, hats and trainers. Shocking. I figured it was the last night and everything else owned was wet, lost or muddy.
Pulp being the wildest night, thus being the shortest paragraph. Though, a sea of amazed fans, young and old, singing their hearts out to Common people adorned in elbow patched cardigans and vintage tweed jackets purchased from the Oxfam tent during the day.
It was good to see the males taking control of their wardrobe. After all there really is no excuse when Topman continues to throw up the best of iconic bandwear attire. I'm not complaining. As for the girls, opening your tent to provent suffocation, a few hours after you found it, kicked off your wellies and slept flat out, seeing Topshop bitches head-to-toe in vintage finds, boy-from-next-tent jumpers and well, Topshop just isn't want you need to see. Now remember what I'm about to tell you, my friends, as an experienced festival goer, this is otherwise known as, shot time. After which I'd eat something then think slut granny, sex hair chic and you're half way there.