By some unwritten law of the fields, the front of the festival pit has earned a mythical status—where sweat, spilled drinks, and half-screamed lyrics forge what many call ‘the real experience’. This is the place for the wide-eyed thrill-seekers, the crowd-surfers, the circe-pit instigators, the ones who don’t mind losing their left shoe in exchange for a moment of communion with their favourite band. For them, this is how memories are made: breathless, battered, and triumphant.
But let’s cut through the glitter-dusted myth for a moment.
Because a field full of music lovers is never just one kind of person. And if you think the only authentic experience involves being shoulder-to-shoulder in the pit, knocking pints and brains together, it might be time to broaden your lens a little.
At the other end of the experience spectrum, you’ve got the fans who remain a good distance back from the railings. Some are in wheelchairs. Others use crutches, have chronic pain, or simply can’t afford to take a tumble in the chaos. Maybe they’re managing anxiety or PTSD. Maybe they have crowd-related phobias. Maybe—just maybe—they’ve done their time up front and now prefer the luxury of a camping chair and a perfectly poured pint. I know where I fit in nowadays!
And guess what? They’re no less of a fan.
Loving a band doesn’t require bruises and battle scars. You don’t need a selfie next to the security or a setlist soaked in someone else’s Red Stripe to prove you ‘belong’. Festivals aren’t a contest of endurance or youth—though the industry sometimes forgets that.
For every wide-eyed go-getter, flinging themselves into the pit, there’s someone else soaking up the same sounds from a gentle distance, perhaps watching a band they waited decades to see. Both moments are sacred. Both deserve respect.
None of this dulls the passion. If anything, it heightens it. These fans may sing louder, cheer harder, and cry openly at the sight of a long-awaited band. Their fandom isn’t measured in proximity to the stage but in the depth of their experience.
It’s time we let go of the “only the pit counts” narrative. Because the true magic of festivals lies in their variety—a thousand different experiences converging in the same moment, under the same sky.
So whether you’re pinned to the barrier with a powdery moustache, or lounging with your mates in camp chairs, swapping stories between sets, you're part of the tribe.
And you always were!