When I first put on a Barbour, I literally felt like I was dressed up to pretend to be a person who had inherited money and a weekend house in the Cotswolds. That wasn’t the look I was going for either.
At the time, I’d gone to visit friends’ families in Norfolk ; her mom had this totally broken-in Barbour that just seemed to fit. It looked like it belonged to her, and not like she’d bought it because some magazine told her it was “effortless.” So obviously, I assumed if I just purchased the exact same coat, I’d instantly become this sophisticated countryside woman. Boy, was I dumb.
As I walked through Hackney wearing my new, still-smelling-of-fresh-wax-and-optimism Barbour, I saw myself in a store window and almost died of embarrassment. I looked like I’d split off from my shooting party and ended up in the wrong zip code. The Barbour was great – perfect – but otherwise, every aspect of me screamed city girl trying to play landed gentry.
British countryside style is such a minefield of class-based assumptions and specific references to Britain’s history that dressing badly in it makes you look like you’re attending a themed party. But the individual parts of the whole can be really cool – they’re meant to last, are useful, and have an agelessness that fast fashion will never capture.
The trick (which I’ve learned after making many, many, MANY bad fashion choices) is seeing countryside style as inspiration as opposed to instruction. Don’t try to replicate the entire outfit. Just take components which you personally like and that are applicable to your own everyday world.
For example, my embarrassing Barbour. The issue wasn’t with the coat itself ; it truly is one of the best coats you’ll ever wear in British weather. The issue was how I styled it. When I went back to wearing the Barbour with regular jeans and trainers instead of trying to complete some kind of countryside estate fantasy, it actually worked.
Sarah does this perfectly with Fair Isle sweaters. For years, these were screaming “aristocrat weekend in Scotland” but she wears hers with high-waisted jeans and chunky boots, and it just looks like a great patterned jumper. No class connotations. No costume vibe. Just a really great jumper.
I think British heritage brands are starting to catch on too. Alexa Chung did those collaborations with Barbour that seem far more urban. Hunter boots are no longer just for trudging through muddy fields – now they offer slicker versions for city puddles. Even old-fashioned Pringle has moved past their golf association.
The key is to focus on functionality as opposed to the aristocratic baggage. Waxed cotton really does repel rain better than most modern fabrics do. Shetland wool is genuinely warm but doesn’t get heavy. Good boots with decent traction make sense when you live where it rains all the time.
What you want to avoid: Tweedy outfits with tweeds galore (except if you’re actually going hunting). Jacket with seventeen pockets for nothing in your actual life. Anything with horse or pheasant patterns – total costume land. And for goodness sake, don’t purchase spotless versions of items meant to appear worn. Nothing screams “country slob” like shiny new wellies with nary a scrape on them.
There are some combinations that actually work to help incorporate countryside elements without looking like I’m completely lost driving to a point-to-point. A waxed jacket layered over a crew neck and straight-cut jeans with boots – practical enough, but without pretension. A Fair Isle sweater layered over wide-leg pants and trainers instead of the usual corduroys. Classic Tattershall Checkered Shirts underneath modern blazers with jeans – immediately turns into just a cool plaid shirt, not a rural uniform.
You can also make tweed work too, as long as it’s in modern silhouettes. I have this tweed overshirt that takes reference to the traditional tweed fabric without having the look of borrowing it from my granddad’s shooting closet. Leather boots do the same – Grenson makes boots that nod towards countryside traditions, but are in colors and details that are current.
To tell you the truth, some of the best countryside-inspired pieces don’t come from obvious heritage brands either. This UK-based company called Carrier Co in Norfolk produces fantastic agrarian-inspired workwear based on actual historical farming practices rather than upper-class sports fantasies. There’s incredible knitwear coming from smaller Scottish companies without needing to pay Barbour prices. Charity shops in rural market towns are treasure troves for true countryside pieces that have actual wear rather than manufactured authenticity.
It’s essentially function that makes countryside-inspired style viable. The best pieces aren’t attempting to be rural; they’re made for working in rural environments. When translated to city living, you need garments that actually perform in your real-world environment versus signaling some countryside fantasy lifestyle you’re not really living.
Tom gets this perfectly because he actually lived on a farm before moving to London. His countryside pieces look correct because they serve a true purpose when he visits his family at home. His Barbour has real wear due to actual countryside usage, his jumpers are selected for warmth and not for pattern, his boots are strong and reliable because he occasionally needs them to be. There’s an integrity to it that you can’t fake.
I believe that honesty is what successful countryside-inspired style ultimately comes down to – identifying real relationships between practical rural clothing and your actual daily routine and not adopting another person’s lifestyle as a costume.
Eventually, my Barbour found its footing within my wardrobe once I stopped trying to make it something it isn’t. It’s simply a very practical coat that works both in London rain and in countryside mud. It has a little hole in one pocket, the wax needs re-applied, and the lining is getting thin – however those flaws have turned it from an apparent countryside indicator into simply a comfortable item with rural roots but urban purposes.
This is essentially what good countryside-inspired style should be: not pretending to be someone else, but recognizing garments created to withstand difficult environmental conditions. Far less about weekend-at-Balmoral role-playing; much more about honestly acknowledging that British weather is hostile everywhere, and sometimes you need clothes that can deal with whatever nature throws at you – regardless of whether that’s mud in Norfolk or waiting for the bus on a rainy winter day.
And the best part? Once you stop trying so hard to figure out what “looks” like a proper “countryside,” you generally end up with a wardrobe that is more practical, made better, and more authentic than any country-clothing-costume-themed photo shoot could possibly provide.
