Why I Wear White at Festivals
Words by Ruth
For most 25-year-olds, festivals mean mud, wellies, and unidentifiable dirt. Magazines push festival chic—denim, loud prints, and anything that hides the grime.
I go to over 20 music festivals a year. But I do them in a pristine white trouser suit.
Let me explain.
At 15, I was diagnosed with arthritis. At 21, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome was added to the list. That was four years ago, and I’ve used a wheelchair ever since.
For the last six years, I’ve been the frontwoman of the folk-rock band Holy Moly & The Crackers. I love what I do—writing, performing, travelling in a van with my best mates.
But, as you might imagine, I haven’t chosen the world’s most wheelchair-accessible career.
Most venues and festivals we play are difficult to navigate. That creates an immediate divide—it’s like being told, without words, “You weren’t invited to the party.” And when you’re meant to be leading the entertainment? That stings.
So I decided: if I’m going to be left out, I’m doing it in style.
That’s why I wear white.
Being in a wheelchair means I’m not trudging through the mud like everyone else—my friends joke that I get ferried around like a queen. So why not dress like one? I’m not getting muddy, so I might as well make the most of it.
Wherever I go, people stare. They’re not used to seeing a young, otherwise healthy-looking woman in a wheelchair. But to me, not being able to walk is the least interesting thing about myself. I wear white so they’ve got something else to stare at.
My festival wheelchair is spray-painted gold. I’ve got a mop of huge, curly dark hair. I’m wearing a spotless flared white trouser suit. Imagine seeing that after three days of rain, hangovers and mud. Now they’re intrigued—but I get to decide why.
Festivals are about freedom. About stepping outside the grind and becoming whoever you want to be. I see it in every glitter-covered, sequin-drenched person in the crowd—and as a disabled frontwoman, I like to think I add to that energy. I’m showing that anyone can take the stage.
When I’m up there—perched on my stool, surrounded by my band—I feel totally free. I almost forget I’m different. There are too few disabled frontwomen (and frontwomen in general), so I feel incredibly lucky to do this.
But it’s not always easy. Some festivals are great. Others? Let’s just say I’ve had a lot of piggybacks from my patient, heroic bandmates.
Freedom Festival last summer, the Mayor of London’s deaf and disabled arts festival, was one of the good ones. That’s where I met Samantha Renke and Kelly Knox—two powerful, inspirational women. The festival got it. They went the extra mile to meet everyone’s needs. It felt inclusive. It felt right.
It was the first time we had a signer translating our lyrics into sign language—amazing.
It’s also where I met the team from Attitude Is Everything, a brilliant organisation raising awareness and pushing for real accessibility in the entertainment industry.
There’s still so much work to do. Some of it’s about ramps and elevators. But a lot of it? It’s about attitude.
I do feel lucky, though. Touring empowers me. I love seeing people’s faces when they watch me rise from my wheelchair and get on stage.
We played the Avalon Stage at Glastonbury a couple of years ago. We’d just raced back from a festival in France. The stage manager’s face was a picture as I was carried out of the van, into my mud-splattered wheelchair—wearing that same white suit.
Hours later, two of my bandmates were wrestling me back into it with two minutes to spare before our second show of the day. They were caked in mud. So was the stage. So was my chair.
But the suit came home spotless.
If you can’t see a silver lining, try wearing one. It works for me.
x
—Ruth
Holy Moly & The Crackers’ new single is out April 6.
Follow Ruth on Instagram: @r_patt_
