Your European summer has finally arrived. Like the absolute sesh savage you are, you’ve booked a few of Stoke’s epic summer packages. Your suitcase is already stuffed with your cheekiest undies, not enough socks, and too many shirts, but you’re struggling for what else to toss in your bag. We here at Stoke compiled our tried and true packing wisdom so you don’t end up looking and feeling like an unprepared chump during Europe’s sunniest festival season.
A reusable water bottle to fill on your water breaks. You know the drill, hydrate or diedrate! And fuck single-use plastic, we love the planet.
Earplugs to keep your sweet, sweet eardrums free of the salacious sex sounds resonating unrelentingly from the tents around you.
A stash of Aquarius, the ambrosia of hangover cures, and a hot commodity.
A bottle of vodka or any liquid courage of your choice for when you’re sick of sangria and beer.
Hair ties to fix your grungy flip-flops when they finally bite the dust.
A fuck-yes attitude
Lust for life
What to Pack for IBIZA
Your elegant, lavish white shorts, pants, and shirts. To evolve into a true, beautiful, beach-going raver, you’ll need to rock all white. All day, all night, 24/7, optimally at the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean while the breeze majestically blows through your hair.
All of your beach shit. Bikinis, budgie smugglers, sandals, sunnies, a nautical themed pashmina afghan for inevitable yacht shenanigans, and everything in between. And sunblock, unless you want to try picking up beautifully bronzed babes while looking like a lobster.
Bum bag. They’re fashionable and practical. And keep your shit from getting lifted. In this case, a fanny pack won’t keep you out of the sack!
Your club attire. Throw caution to the wind; rock that risqué ‘fit. Don the hot pants that would make your dad weep. Wear your zestiest party shirt. Anything goes. Oh, and don’t forget glitter: the “herpes of the craft world,” but the life of any party.
Decent footwear. Ditch the stilettos, flats allow you to become the true rave god you are in your heart. Dudes, a nice pair of casual shoes will do- avoid trainers and jandals unless you want to reveal your true scrubby nature and dash your chances of entering Ibiza’s most boppin’ clubs.
Pills like Advil for your wicked hangovers, or that chlamydia prescription to clear up your least favorite souvenir, obviously…
A Fiji bottle of alc to pregame in the cab on your journey to the club.
A basic, super extra flamingo pool floaty for the mandatory ‘gram pics. You’ll want to post something that’ll make your friends back home ooze with envy but won’t earn you an awkward intervention from your aunt Karen.
All your beach shit part two: the reckoning. Swimsuit, sandals, a towel, a big floppy sun hat to protect your mug, and sunnies.
Torch for stumbling your way back to your accommodations, blissful, intoxicated, mildly delirious, after late night gallivanting.
Warm sleeping gear to keep your buns toasty at night. If your cozy hoodie and rank socks don’t get the job done, bring a cuddle buddy and steam things up a little.
Maternity pants for your food baby after you devour all the local cuisine you can get your greasy hands on.
Party attire. Your funkiest party shirt or freshest party dress for the epic street parties and clubs.
After-sun spray for when the spicy Spanish sun kicks your ass to oblivion.
Bug spray to keep flies away. Because we know nothing attracts the hotties like a massive, hovering swarm of trash-devouring insects.
All white, again. If you don’t want to stick out like a bum-bag-wearing, socks-and-jandals clad tourist dad amongst all the Spaniards, pack white pants and a white shirt. Re-use the ones from your Ibiza bacchanal, your wallet will be eternally grateful.
The traditional threads include a red scarf (called a Pañuelico if you want to be ~cultured~) and a red waistband. You can buy them for a few Euros once you get to the festival, so don’t bother packing the ones you probably don’t have. Plus you can break these babies out again at the San Vino Wine Fight Fest, so it’s worth investing a few shekels.
A few changes of summer clothes for when you get dirtier than you already are, you total beast. Expect to get covered in food, sangria, soda, and a colorful variety of other unintelligible liquids at the fest.
Ladies, one word: hats. The kind of atrociously gaudy hat your dusty great-aunt Denise would break out on Easter. You can acquire such a hat at Claire’s. In a pinch, DIY your own with a bird’s nest, mesh, feathers, and a metric fuck-ton of glitter glue.
Your fancy clothes that you’ve been lugging around Europe but haven’t had an excuse to wear yet. Gals, this means a dress, but “tHe RuLes” say it’ll have to fall below the knees. If you didn’t pack one for your Euro trip, H&M or Mango have your back on the cheap. Gents, a spiffy blazer, nice slacks, and a snazzy bow tie will ensure you’re out there looking like a highfalutin’ bloke.
Your poshest, pinkies-out attitude. This is the opportunity for us plebes to hob-knob with the boujee crème de la crème of high society. Whip out that swank and look like someone important for once while simultaneously tossing back bubbly.
You’ll wear basically the same thing you wore to Running of the Bulls. Or just any old white shirt. Hopefully you’re not too attached, because it’ll leave the festival almost as soaked with red wine as you.
Shoes you don’t give a fuck about. They’ll get decimated in the chaos. This means no Gucci, no glow in the dark Yeezys, and absolutely none of those freakish toe shoes.
Your prized water gun to fill with wine and douse unsuspecting victims. Bring a Super Soaker for ultimate drenching capabilities. Who doesn’t want to feel like an inebriated, stumbling action hero?
Swimming goggles. Either way, you’re getting wine in your retinas. But at least you gave it the good ol’ college try.
A change of clothes for after tomatoes are careened into your every crevice. Vital unless you want to feel like more of a sloppy, disgusting mess than usual.
A plastic bag to transport your grodie old clothes from the festival back to the campground.
Rubber undies to protect your most important orifices. Tomatoes will get everywhere. In all your nooks and crannies. You will be finding residue for weeks, months, years. Scientific studies show we’ll never know how the hell long.
A thigh master for training your legs to handle a massive, greasy pole. La Tomatina officially begins when someone manages to climb a huge, slicked-up post in the middle of a town square and snag a Spanish ham at the very top. With enough thigh power, you can be that local hero.
Goggles if you value your corneas being pulp-free. The aforementioned goggles can also be used to swim a few laps so your bod is tip top for Stoke’s saucy Foreplay Party.
Remember that pair of shoes you don’t give a fuck about? This is a good time to break ‘em out again. As long as they’re not fuckin’ Crocs.
Coins for hosing down. There will be hose wielding locals ready to douse you down and cleanse your soul (or make an attempt, at least) for a price.
Swimwear to take a dunk post-brawl. Or no swimwear. We won’t judge.
The local garb. Berret, moustache, a baguette to cradle, and your cringiest French accent so you can blend in with the local Frenchies.
An outfit that makes you feel like you’re in an old black and white French film as you meander through the vineyards with a glass of rosé in hand, you classy-ass fiend.
Is your suitcase packed with all the stuff you need to create the European summer of your wildest fever dreams? Get on it, and check out our Stoke Passport to guarantee your spot at Europe’s most prime festivals amongst beautiful like-minded travel addicts.
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