Ive never been, but every year I’ve dreamt of being there. What does it feel like to wake up in a damp tent listening to revellers still singing at 6am as someone lost on their way home urinates on a neighbours bonfire. There’s many a reason to want to go to a festival, and the godfather took place this weekend.
Glastonbury.
Now, although the dream sounds fun, the idea of drinking all night, stoning all morning and singing along to some incredible acts while you recover from each stage of the day, isn’t too appealing to this broken 40-something. In fact, watching from the comfort of my side of the bed is actually far preferable.
I’ve had my own mini Glasto at home this year, I didn’t have to deal with the crowds and I could cherry pick what I watched and when. Better still, I needed no expensive sun cream.
It’s still only Sunday as I write this, in fact it’s 8am and I’m rewatching last nights Lewis Capaldi set. Despite being far from over, there’s a lot to take away from this years efforts. Most notably, the prevalence of normal, which I LOVE.
I’m not talking about the normal audience, most of whom are struggling with the heat and body odour to a very AB-normal level. No, I’m talking about the acts.
Long gone are the years of headliners getting on stage in pristine condition, dragging a group of immaculate, impossibly skinny, backing dancers, band and singers behind them, while their own outfits remain immaculate and unmuddied. Songs about love and broken hearts are also a thing of the past, well, less popular at least.
The thing I’ll take away this year is their normality. Maisie peters displaying hair in her armpits without care, Lizzos crew wiggling and jiggling as they danced by her side, Lewis Capaldi proudly swearing, ticking and topless, and Rick Astley singing songs by The Smiths with The Blossoms because, hey, he’s never sung them publicly before but he’s a huge fan.
Guns and Roses was another highlight for me. Along with bands like Manic Street Preachers, these were headliners whose songs I know well because, like me, they’re old as fuck. Still popular though, and still well worth a listen, far from being past it, irrelevant or defunct.
I love that Glastonbury is a yardstick for us all to feel included. Much like Pride events, I watch this festival and feel like I’m not just in the audience, but I’m represented on the stage as well. I’m also a jiggly, ticky, hairy, fan girl and although my mental instability would never allow me to be brave enough to show so much publicly, I’m glad I wouldn’t have to feel afraid of any reaction if I made that choice.
Encouraging your backing singers and band to be plus-size and proud, teaching them how to be big, beautiful and still athletically capable is an excellent lesson for us large girls. It’s possible to exist with crisps AND cardio.
Acceptance is all we’re looking for, inclusion against the odds. What Glastonbury 2023 proves is that the odds we’re against are diminishing. Ending your set because Tourette’s and vocal problems are taking over, coming off stage because your mental health is suffering, is clearly ok. And so it should be. Props to LC for stopping when he needed to.
I’m less bothered about myself, but I am bothered about the impact of public figures and their image on my 6 year old daughter. She’ll be as impressionable as I was, and I hope the messages she receives from the media are healthier. The things I was told to worry about – not swearing, not drinking, not being fat, not talking about your mental health – aren’t things that I’ll carry forward. No, I don’t want her effing and jeffing at every conversation, but exposure to real language rather than hiding it, makes it less attractive, less naughty, and less exciting as a way of acting up. Seeing big girrrrrls on the television doesn’t mean I want her to actively be unhealthy, but if she turns into a size 14 teenager with more jiggle than firm (as I was) I don’t want her to be bothered by it. I’m happy for her to know you don’t have to be skinny to be bloody gorgeous, fit and / or healthy.
I want her to hear songs about suicide and mental illness and understand the normality and seriousness, rather than feeling encouraged to hide these things under an already fraying carpet.
Finally, if she wants to sing songs by her favourite band with her friends when the band is no longer top of Spotify, I’ll be happy to sing along with them.
My childhood, my parents, and festivals at the time, were all shoving a very specific narrative down my impressionable throat. I wish there’d been more variety in those days, because it may have left me in a better place now.
For all these reasons, I’ve loved Glastonbury 2023 with all its normal differences and I’ve shared hordes of it, proudly, with my 6 year old.
Thanks for reading 💜
Creative Steph 