Wigan’s Folk Tradition is a Fancy Dress Piss Up

Since civilization began, humanity has loved disguise. 

Costumes serve a myriad of purposes. They free us from the confines of our daily identities, and allow us to embody our ideal selves, even if only for a moment. The Ancient winter festival of Saturnalia used costumes as a way to disrupt social hierarchies; the Carnival masquerade balls of the Middle Ages allowed people to indulge in food and revelry without shame. Indeed, the human desire to paint one’s face and pretend to be someone else is one that seems to transcend place and time. If costumes and debauchery are emblems of the human spirit, then there is certainly one place where the human spirit is alive and well: Wigan. 

For those out there whose knowledge of Wigan begins and ends with pies, Boxing Day is one of the town’s most anticipated events. Some spend weeks in advance planning their costume, hunched over sewing machines and agonizing over facepaint. Others leave things to the last minute, desperately searching for wigs and cowboy hats in the back of their wardrobe. Either way, the result is the same: streets vibrant with superheroes, princesses, cowboys, and celebrities. When I explained to people that I was writing an article about the event for STAT Magazine, most were happy to pose for a photo (“Only if you put us on the cover though,” a Tommy Shelby look-alike said to me) but some were more reluctant to stop for a chat. They had friends to meet, and, more importantly, pints to drink. 

“How many pints are you gonna drink tonight?” I asked one gentleman, who was dressed head to toe in a gown of lager. 

“Twenty!” he replied gleefully, before we were interrupted by a viking warrior.

“Nah he’s not,” she slapped him on the back. “This one’s drinking 16 and going home.”

At this point, it became clear that Wigan was the haunt of the most hardcore of seshers, a place in which drinking a mere sixteen pints is a point of ridicule. When I asked people for their “most Wigan memory”, partying was almost always at the centre. “Throwing up on King Street” was one answer. “Taking my boss to Popworld!” was another. When I asked a genderbent N-Sync what their hopes were for the night, they replied: “Just an absolute piss up, to be honest.”

And why shouldn’t it be? With various pandemics, cost of living crises, and the general agony of being alive, people deserve a night of silliness and fun. And yet, I still felt that there was more to the story. The Boxing Day fancy dress tradition has been going on for decades now, and its longevity suggests that this night means more to the community than just a good night out. Things became clearer when I spoke to George, aka Nosy Parker, who was looking spectacular in a red cloak and glow-in-the-dark nose. 

“It’s probably the only time I feel safe in Wigan,” they said, before quickly correcting themselves. “Well, that’s not true. I do feel safe in Wigan. But I normally wear makeup when I go out here, and people say all sorts. But tonight…”

George didn’t need to finish that sentence. On Boxing Day, standing out from the crowd is celebrated; on any other Thursday, it may be punished. Despite the centuries between them, it seems that Wigan’s fancy dress piss up isn’t too dissimilar to the aforementioned festivals of Saturnalia and Carnival. It’s an excuse to tear up the social rulebook and create a space where the zany and bizarre reign supreme. It seemed fitting that this conversation took place outside the venue where some believe the fancy dress tradition first originated: the Royal Oak Pub on Standishgate.

But the origins may actually be more nebulous – an “organic custom, with multiple origins that merged to create the happening”, as local artist and researcher Anna FC Smith explains over email. “The fact there are competing myths aids the sense of grass roots ownership.”

Smith points out that the popularity of Wigan’s fancy dress has waned in popularity thanks to changes in party habits, the economy, and drinking culture. “Participation happens organically like a mycelial spread; people are initiated by friends or older members of their family and now through seeing photos in the press and through cultural contagion people want to be a part of the party and see it for themselves.”

Through local anecdotes and photographs, the earliest official date we can call the start of Wigan’s fancy dress is 1978, according to Smith, “with the first of many fancy dress balls held at the Rugby Union club on Wingates Road.” So, if the tradition started roughly 45 years ago, why does it still endure? “Because it’s fun,” Smith answers, “and it gives people a sense of being a part of some larger expression and licence to play.”

Fitting, as George wasn’t the only person who saw Boxing Day as more than an excuse to go on a colossal bender. I also had a lovely chat with someone identified only as “Wiccan” (specifically from Marvel’s Agatha All Along series) about their personal history with the event, and why this year was their favourite yet.

“My first year, I went as a prisoner, which was… eh. Last year, I went as Harry Potter, which was cool, people got it […] but this is my best costume yet. I really like the character, and I made the costume myself. Not as many people know who I am, but that’s not the point.”

For Wiccan, Wigan’s annual costume extravaganza was about spending a night in the shoes of their favourite character and looking great while doing so. That isn’t to say that Wiccan is opposed to a good time, however. When I asked them for their most Wigan memory, they pointed behind me, towards an alleyway next to the Wetherspoons.

“Drinking too much at pres and passing out right there. Didn’t even make it to Spoons.”

Carnage and creativity coexist in Wigan, especially on Boxing Day. We shouldn’t be surprised. After all, this is the same town that refers to beans on toast as “skinheads on a raft” and invented the Wigan kebab. I am a firm believer in silliness as a uniting community force, and Wigan’s annual fancy dress hootenanny affirms this belief sevenfold. Despite the rain, fog, and cold, Wiganers donned their finest gay apparel and filled the streets with joy, music and colour. As the night drew to a close, I found myself particularly struck by the words of one Mike Wazowski impersonator:

“Probably Boxing Day is my most Wigan memory,” she said. “I didn’t even realise it was a Wigan thing until recently. I started uni this year, and I was asking people who they were dressing as for Boxing Day. They were like: ‘What are you on about?’”