Here's How You Should Dress for Primavera

After contracting hyperthermia at Primavera last year, it's no wonder you've decided to head back for another round. Because if there's one thing the British are good at, it’s remaining stubborn in the face of shitty weather. Who cares if you come away with trench foot and a debilitating complex about ever enjoying yourself outside again? At least you squeezed the most out of your Easy Jet ticket.

I know you’ll have been obsessively checking the forecast before flying out this week, but optimism really isn’t necessary; Primavera is cursed, and when the rain inevitably comes so will an outfit crisis. Today’s the first day of music and, at the time of writing, the weather’s as bad as it’s ever been. Thankfully, however, we’ve prepared a few sartorial tips to help you through the lightning / sleet / misery. You’re very welcome.

RAINCOAT

Opening Ceremony, Port Aventura, Topshop, Pull & Bear, Tiger.

A raincoat is generally the best way to deal with rain. The good news is that you probably have one lying around the house from a geography field trip or a holiday to Wales. The bad news is that it’s now either far too small for you or makes you look like you live in Wales. Instead, go for a see-through raincoat – a bunch of designers had them in their last A/W collections, which means they’re in and will instantly make you more attractive to the opposite sex.

If transparency isn’t your thing, here’s a quick cheat sheet of some other options: Yellow says, “I enjoy the work of Noah Baumbach and own every Belle and Sebastian album”; patent is great if you’re often sick all over yourself; and floral says, “I don’t put out, leave me alone forever”.

SHOPPING BAG

Carrefour, Mercadona, Caprabo/Eroski, El Corte Inglés, Lidl

Highly functional, these work first as holdalls for your beer and emergency loo roll, then hats for when it rains. Just try not to asphyxiate yourself mid-festival, as it’s both kind of embarrassing and the quickest way to ruin your weekend.

Some Spanish shopping bags are plainly cooler than others. Mercadona, for example, has locations in a bunch of autonomous communities, so probably best to go for that if you want to introduce a political element to your outfit that you’ll spend all weekend explaining to strangers. Appreciate Glastonbury for its private yurt service rather than the fact it’s acceptable to exist solely on cider and acid for five days? Then the slightly more upmarket El Corte Inglés is the one for you. Or would you rather rock the supermarket equivalent of the high-end Kappa / Classics look? LIDL is ready and waiting.

Just don't bring any of the stuff in the picture above along with you; nobody wants a baguette after four hours of dry mouth.

UMBRELLAS

Burberry, pound shop, Tiger, Alehop, Ikea

Walking around in wet clothes is for mugs; an umbrella is a device that can help you avoid looking like a mug. Invest in one and take it out with you, but just make sure you don't turn into one of those idiots who pokes people in the eye with the little metal jutty bits that hold all the fabric together. I don't know what it is about holding an umbrella over your head, but people tend to lose all sense of spatial awareness as soon as they do – and that's not cool, regardless of how much you spent on your wacky animal brolly.

BOOTS

Tommy Hilfiger, Havaianas, Vivienne Westwood, Topshop, Dr Martens.

Trust me, even if you think boots make you look like a dick, wear them for the entirety of the festival. It's not like a tsunami is going to roll in and swallow up half of Barcelona, but when the toilets flood – and they will – nobody wants their limited, Tier 0 Air Max 90s covered in the piss and shit of 30,000 people.

INFLATABLE RAFT

Decathlon

Yes, this is neither practical nor fashionable, but picture the scene: the heavens open and the main stage collapses, turning the audience into a frantic mess of mud, vodka and ketamine piss. You look up to see Trent Reznor, his fringe soaked through and his nipples clearly chafing under his wet leather jacket.

You call his name and he glances up, scared, adrift. Sensing his worry you invite him aboard immediately, paddle your way over all the plebs and arrive in the VIP area, where you take a selfie with him and try to grab a bottle of Sol before the security kick you out. It is brief but magical. You return home with a revived sense of joy and self worth. Forty years later, you die happy.

More fascistic instructions on how to dress yourself:

A Girl's Guide to Dressing for University

A Girl's Guide to Looking Like You Live in London

A Girl's Guide to Screwing Older Men