Last weekend I found myself stress-eating a Wetzel’s Pretzel in the middle of Westfield while having what can only be described as a fashion crisis. Not about my own outfit – though honestly, my thrifted blazer and Target jeans weren’t exactly screaming “put-together human” – but about something I’d been noticing during my recent travels around Britain. Each mall I’d visited had its own completely different fashion language, and I was starting to realize I’d been accidentally violating dress codes left and right.
It started a few months ago when I was visiting my friend Emma in Manchester. She’d suggested we hit up the Trafford Centre, and I threw on my standard weekend uniform: leggings that have seen better days, an oversized jumper from Uniqlo, and zero makeup because honestly, who has time for that when you’re just going shopping? The moment we walked in, I felt like I’d shown up to a wedding in gym clothes.
Everyone – and I mean everyone – was dressed like they were heading to a club afterward. Full faces of makeup that probably took an hour to apply, hair that had clearly been styled with intention, outfits that were definitely planned rather than grabbed from the bedroom floor. I watched a group of three girls walk by in matching white trainers so pristine they could’ve been straight out of the box, crop tops despite it being freezing outside, and the kind of perfectly straightened hair that requires serious commitment. Behind them, a group of women who looked to be in their forties were wearing skinny jeans, heeled boots, and going-out tops that would work equally well at a night out. Even the couples were coordinated – his and hers designer tracksuits with logos you could spot from across the food court.
“Did I miss a memo about this being a special occasion?” I whispered to Emma, suddenly hyperaware of my makeup-free face and the fact that my jumper had a small hole near the hem that I kept forgetting to fix.
“This is just how people dress for the Trafford Centre,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s a proper day out, isn’t it? You don’t just roll up looking like you’re popping to Tesco.”
That comment stuck with me because back home in London, looking like you’re “just popping to Tesco” is basically the default Westfield aesthetic. I regularly see people in those shopping centres wearing what I can only describe as “gave up on life today” outfits – which, to be fair, is often exactly how I look when I’m there. There’s almost this weird reverse snobbery about appearing too put-together, like you’re trying too hard or don’t understand that shopping is meant to be casual and functional rather than an event.
The whole thing got me thinking about how we dress for different retail environments, so I started paying more attention during work trips around the country. As a graphic designer, I occasionally travel for client meetings, and I’ve developed this habit of arriving early and people-watching in local shopping centres. It’s partly procrastination and partly genuine fascination with how regional differences play out in fashion choices.
Birmingham’s Bullring was a complete revelation. The color palette alone was so different from what I see in London malls – way more vibrant, more pattern mixing, more willingness to stand out rather than blend into the background. The jewelry game was next level too. I sat in the food court one afternoon after a particularly draining client meeting, watching people walk by and taking mental notes like some kind of amateur anthropologist.
There was more experimentation happening, more confidence in mixing things that London fashion sense might say don’t go together. A woman walked past wearing bright yellow trousers, a patterned top, gold jewelry that caught the light every time she moved, and nails that were clearly a professional job rather than a quick DIY situation. In London, that outfit might get you labeled as “too much,” but here it fit right in with the general energy of the place.
My friend Keisha, who moved from Birmingham to London for uni and never left, confirmed what I was seeing. “Birmingham doesn’t have London’s weird fashion anxiety,” she told me when I mentioned my observations over drinks one evening. “People dress to be noticed, not to disappear. It’s way more fun.” She wasn’t wrong – there was something genuinely joyful about the fashion choices I was seeing, like people were dressing to make themselves happy rather than to avoid judgment.
The opposite end of that spectrum might be Brighton’s Churchill Square, where I spent an afternoon last month while visiting another client. Here, looking too polished seemed almost suspicious. Everything was vintage or appeared to be vintage, styled with the kind of studied carelessness that actually requires considerable fashion knowledge to pull off. I saw more charity shop finds being worn with genuine pride, more gender-fluid dressing, more obvious rejection of anything that looked too mainstream or commercial.
There were people carrying tote bags from independent bookshops alongside their H&M purchases, like they needed to balance out the corporate shopping with some indie credibility. The whole aesthetic was very “I’m too cool for this mall but I still need to buy things sometimes, so here we are.” Which is fair enough – I’ve definitely felt that internal conflict between needing affordable basics and wanting to support smaller businesses.
But the most dramatic difference I encountered was probably in Newcastle at the MetroCentre. It was December, absolutely freezing outside, the kind of cold that makes your face hurt within minutes of leaving the house. Yet inside the shopping centre, I was seeing crop tops and bare legs like it was the middle of summer. At first I thought maybe the heating was incredible, but no – people were just committed to looking good regardless of the weather conditions outside.
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“You don’t wear a coat inside anyway,” one girl explained when I asked if she was cold. Her friend nodded along: “We get dressed for where we’re going, not for getting there.” There’s actually a certain logic to this that I hadn’t considered – if you’re spending most of your time indoors, why let the ten-minute walk from the car park dictate your entire outfit?
What struck me most about Newcastle was the group coordination. I’ve never seen so many friend groups wearing matching or complementary outfits, clearly planned in advance through what must have been extensive group chats. In London, accidentally matching your friend is embarrassing. Here, it seemed to be the goal. There was pride in the visible effort, celebration of the work that goes into looking good rather than pretending it all just happened naturally.
This whole mall fashion exploration has made me realize how much I unconsciously adapt my style based on where I’m going. When I visit my sister in Glasgow and we go to Buchanan Galleries, I find myself putting on actual makeup and choosing my outfit with way more care than I would for a London shopping trip. It’s not even conscious most of the time – just some instinctive understanding that different places have different unspoken rules.
Glasgow has its own specific glamour that isn’t quite like anywhere else I’ve been. More color than you’d see in most English shopping centres, more obvious pride in looking dressed up for what might be just a regular weekend errand. The beauty standards felt different too – everything was more polished, more deliberate. Like the act of leaving the house was reason enough to break out the good stuff.
“Glaswegians don’t miss an opportunity to look good,” my sister’s friend told me when I commented on this. “Why waste a perfectly good Saturday looking rough?” Which, when you put it like that, makes my usual weekend uniform of whatever’s clean and comfortable seem almost disrespectful to the weekend itself.
The weather probably plays a bigger role in all this than I initially considered. In cities where going outside often means battling rain and wind that seem personally vindictive, indoor shopping centres offer this rare opportunity to wear something that isn’t primarily designed for survival. When you’re used to dressing in layers and waterproofs, the chance to wear something flimsy and pretty without immediately catching pneumonia isn’t going to be wasted.
There’s also an economic element that I’ve been thinking about. In areas where entertainment options might be more limited or expensive, shopping centres often function as the main social hub rather than just retail spaces. If the mall is your Saturday entertainment rather than a chore to get through as quickly as possible, of course you’re going to put effort into how you look there. It’s the difference between dressing for an errand and dressing for an event.
What’s fascinating is how these local fashion codes persist despite social media and the fact that most of these shopping centres contain exactly the same stores. You can find Zara and H&M pretty much everywhere, but how people style these identical pieces varies dramatically based on where you are. It’s like each city has developed its own dialect for the same fashion language.
I’ve started testing this theory by consciously adapting my outfits when I travel for work. Last month I had a client meeting in Liverpool and decided to properly dress up for a quick shopping centre visit afterward – makeup, heels, the whole thing. I felt slightly ridiculous getting ready, but when I got there, I blended right in with everyone else who’d clearly made an effort. It felt good, actually. Like I was participating in this local tradition of treating shopping as something worth dressing up for.
The reverse is true too. My London friends who would literally rather die than look “overdressed” for Westfield suddenly start planning their outfits and applying mascara when they visit family up north. It’s this weird social code-switching that happens almost unconsciously – some instinctive understanding that different environments have different expectations.
I’m definitely guilty of this myself. When I go home to visit my mum and we hit up our local shopping centre, I automatically adjust my style to fit what I know works there. My usual London uniform of black everything gets replaced with something more colorful, more obviously put-together. It’s not fake or performative – it’s more like speaking the local language fluently because you grew up there.
Last Christmas, my flatmate came home with me and was completely baffled by my pre-shopping preparation routine. “Why are you putting on a full face of makeup to go to the shops?” she asked, genuinely confused as I applied mascara and lip gloss. I couldn’t really explain that where I’m from, shopping isn’t just shopping – it’s a social activity that requires appropriate preparation. She understood when we got there and she felt conspicuously underdressed among all the other Christmas shoppers who’d clearly spent time getting ready.
The most complicated mall fashion ecosystem I’ve encountered might be Bluewater in Kent. It’s this weird mix of understated wealthy people and full-on Essex glamour trying to coexist in the same space without really acknowledging each other. You’ll see someone browsing in expensive but unmarked clothing right next to someone in head-to-toe sparkle, and both are somehow perfectly appropriate for the environment while being completely different aesthetically.
“It’s like watching two different species share the same habitat,” my friend who lives nearby described it. “The quiet luxury crowd trying not to make eye contact with the full-glam contingent.” This creates this strange fashion tension that’s actually kind of fascinating to observe – two completely different approaches to looking good existing in the same space without quite merging.
As online shopping becomes more dominant and physical retail keeps changing, I wonder if these distinct regional mall cultures will survive. There’s something really wonderful about the fact that despite Instagram’s global influence and the same chain stores everywhere, people in different parts of Britain still express local identity through how they dress for a shopping trip.
For all the talk about fashion becoming homogenized and everywhere looking the same, spending afternoons people-watching in shopping centres across the country reveals we’re still pretty diverse in how we express ourselves through clothes. We’re still resistant to complete uniformity, still finding ways to maintain local character and community values through fashion choices.
Next time you’re in a different city, I’d recommend spending an hour in their main shopping centre just watching the fashion parade. It’ll probably tell you more about local culture and values than any tourist guide. Just make sure you dress appropriately for wherever you are – nothing marks you as an outsider faster than wearing your casual home shopping outfit somewhere that requires more effort. Trust me on this one.
