Last month I got one of those messages that makes your heart sink a little. “BABE! Sarah’s getting married and we’re doing a MASSIVE hen weekend in Bristol! It’s going to be AMAZING!” Complete with about fifteen party emojis and a GIF of someone pouring champagne. Don’t get me wrong – I absolutely love Sarah, she’s been my friend since college, and I’m genuinely thrilled she’s marrying someone who actually deserves her. But hen dos… god, where do I even start with hen dos?
I’ve been to more hen parties than I care to count at this point – the joys of being in your early thirties when everyone’s getting married, I guess – and honestly, most of them have been exercises in how to feel deeply uncomfortable while pretending to have fun. The matching t-shirts with “Bride Tribe” plastered across them, those horrific L-plates that scream “look at us, we’re having a hen do!” to everyone in a five-mile radius, and don’t even get me started on the penis-shaped accessories. It’s like someone decided the only way to celebrate getting married was to regress to the most embarrassing possible version of yourself.
The worst one was definitely my cousin Emma’s hen weekend in Blackpool three years ago. Her maid of honour – who clearly had some very specific ideas about what constituted “fun” – made us all wear identical hot pink velour tracksuits with “FUTURE MRS” and “TEAM BRIDE” written across the back in rhinestones. I kid you not, we looked like a very specific type of girl group from 2003. Walking around Blackpool in those outfits while carrying inflatable male anatomy was honestly one of the most mortifying experiences of my adult life. I spent the entire weekend wanting to apologize to strangers for our existence.
But here’s what I’ve figured out after surviving way too many of these weekends: you can absolutely celebrate someone getting married without looking like you’ve escaped from a fancy dress shop. You just need to be a bit more thoughtful about it, and honestly, a bit more selfish about what you’re willing to wear. Because those photos are going to exist forever, and I refuse to be tagged in Facebook memories wearing something that makes me look like I’ve lost a bet.
The trick is finding that sweet spot between “I’m here to celebrate” and “I still want to look like myself.” Last summer, for my friend Priya’s hen weekend in Bath, I think I finally cracked the code. The bride’s sister had thankfully just said “dress nicely for dinner on Saturday” which was blissfully vague and gave everyone room to interpret “nicely” however they wanted.
I went with this gorgeous forest green midi dress I’d been saving for a special occasion. It was structured enough to look formal but had enough stretch that I could actually move in it – crucial when you inevitably end up dancing to Destiny’s Child at 2 AM in someone’s hotel room. The colour was rich enough to feel celebratory without being so bright that I’d blind people in photos, and it had pockets, which is basically mandatory for any event where you need to keep your phone handy for the endless stream of group selfies.
For the daytime stuff – which involved a pottery class (surprisingly competitive) followed by wine tasting (predictably messy) – I wore high-waisted jeans that actually fit properly and a silk camisole in this beautiful dusty pink colour. It was fancy enough that I looked like I’d made an effort, but comfortable enough that I could throw a cardigan over it when we inevitably ended up in a pub garden because British people are genetically programmed to sit outside regardless of temperature.
The shoes thing is where most people go wrong, I think. Everyone gets seduced by their highest heels, but the reality is you’re going to be walking around cobblestone streets and standing in bars and possibly dancing on questionable surfaces. For that Bath weekend, I brought metallic flat sandals that worked with everything and could handle spilled drinks, plus some block-heeled mules for dinner that were high enough to make me feel dressed up but stable enough that I wouldn’t break an ankle during impromptu karaoke.
What I’ve learned is that accessories are your secret weapon for sophisticated hen dressing. Instead of everyone wearing identical sashes or t-shirts, you can coordinate in much subtler ways that don’t make you look like a walking advertisement for someone else’s wedding. For my friend Katie’s book-themed hen in Edinburgh last year, we all wore our own outfits but added these gorgeous vintage book brooches that her sister found on Etsy. It was a nod to the theme without veering into costume territory, and I actually still wear mine sometimes because it’s genuinely beautiful.
When my uni friend Zara had her hen weekend in Barcelona – this was pre-pandemic when we could still do things like that – we each wore whatever we wanted but all incorporated her favorite colour, which was this gorgeous deep blue. One girl wore a blue dress, another had blue shoes, I wore a blue scarf. In the photos we looked coordinated without looking uniform, and everyone felt comfortable because they’d chosen their own interpretation.
If you’re organising a hen do, honestly, consider suggesting a colour palette rather than identical outfits. When I had my own hen weekend two years ago, my sister asked everyone to include some gold element in their Saturday night outfit. The results were amazing – gold jewelry, sequined tops, metallic shoes, even one friend who wore gold nail polish. We looked cohesive in photos but everyone still looked like themselves, which made for much better pictures and definitely happier hens.
For Sarah’s upcoming weekend, I’ve already planned my outfits with the kind of military precision I usually reserve for work deadlines. Day one is going to be wide-leg black trousers with a sleeveless burgundy top – burgundy because it’s Sarah’s favorite colour – plus my trusty gold hoops and flat leather sandals that can handle whatever Bristol throws at us. Day two is this floral wrap dress that doesn’t wrinkle when you pack it (honestly the holy grail of weekend-away clothing) with suede ankle boots that can actually deal with hills.
The best part about this approach is that I can wear all of these pieces again in real life. Unlike that hot pink tracksuit, which made exactly one post-hen appearance at a “bad taste” themed party before going straight to the charity shop. When you spend decent money on clothes – which, let’s be honest, most of us do when we’re trying to shop more ethically – you want to be able to wear them more than once without feeling like you’re in fancy dress.
If you’re a bride reading this and worrying that skipping the traditional hen paraphernalia means your weekend won’t feel special enough, trust me on this – the most memorable hen dos I’ve been to have been the ones where everyone felt confident and comfortable. Happy friends make for a happy bride, and nobody feels happy wearing something that makes them want to hide in the bathroom all evening.
That said, I’m not completely anti all hen traditions. A small, thoughtful accessory can be lovely as a keepsake. For my friend Nina’s Parisian hen weekend, her maid of honour gave us each these delicate silver bracelets with tiny Eiffel Tower charms. They were something we could wear throughout the weekend without feeling ridiculous, and I still wear mine occasionally. It’s a sweet reminder of a really good weekend.
The key is finding that balance between celebratory and cringe-worthy. I always ask myself: would I wear this to meet new people? Would I be comfortable running into someone from work? If the answer is no, then it’s probably not the right choice.
For evening events, embrace the chance to dress up without going full fancy dress. Jumpsuits are honestly the secret weapon of hen do dressing – comfortable enough for dancing, elegant enough for dinner, and so much easier for bathroom trips after several glasses of prosecco than some complicated dress with a million buttons. I’ve got this black wide-leg one that’s been to at least five different hen celebrations, styled differently each time with accessories.
Comfort should be your number one priority, especially if there are activities involved. Nothing’s worse than trying to do a cocktail-making class or – god forbid – a pole dancing workshop while constantly adjusting an outfit that won’t stay put. Choose fabrics that move with you, shapes that allow actual movement, and always bring layers because venues are either freezing cold or boiling hot, there’s never any middle ground.
Remember that you’ll probably have the actual wedding to attend at some point, and starting that day hungover and exhausted because you couldn’t sleep in your scratchy sequined outfit is not doing anyone any favours. Self-care is part of sophisticated dressing – choose things you can actually relax in.
I’ve already had a quiet word with Sarah’s sister about the whole thing, actually. She’s organising everything and thankfully she’s on the same wavelength – no L-plates, no matching outfits, no forced anything. She’s asking everyone to bring a photo with Sarah for a scrapbook and to wear something that makes them feel good for the Saturday dinner. This is hen do perfection as far as I’m concerned.
So if you’ve got a hen weekend coming up and you’re already dreading the thought of temporary tattoos and tiaras, take heart. You absolutely can celebrate someone’s upcoming marriage with style and dignity. Choose outfits that make you feel like yourself, coordinate subtly if you want that group feeling, and remember that those photos will exist forever – long after the plastic tiaras have been thrown away. Here’s to celebrating love without a single penis straw in sight.
