At 20, I went to my first music festival, Osheaga in Montreal, with my best friend at the time. The lineup was incredible, but nobody prepared us for the less glamorous side of festivals: endless lines, mud that turned dangerously slick in the rain, and the unsettling sight of young people being carried off on stretchers. On the final night, as we slogged back to our Airbnb with our shoes caked in mud, I swore I’d never go back.
Keeping that promise was easy over the next 13 years, especially as music festivals seemed to shift toward popularity contests. As a sober, single woman with just a few close friends, I mostly avoided them out of fear that going alone would make me feel like an outsider. But when I saw this year’s Osheaga lineup—featuring Doechii, The Killers, and Olivia Rodrigo—and realized it fell on my birthday weekend, I decided to give festivals another shot.
Returning to the city where I went to college naturally made me reflect on how much I’ve changed. The version of me who partied three nights a week during my early twenties in Montreal is nothing like the calm, peace-seeking person I am today. Like a homebody stepping out of her shell, I braced for chaos as I rode the crowded subway to the festival. To my surprise, I arrived to find a relaxed crowd sitting on a hill, watching Dominic Fike perform. Deeper into the grounds, I passed an energetic group dancing to electronic music, while nearby others lounged on bean bags. The dirt I remembered turning to mud had been replaced with patches of artificial grass, where people lay back and gazed at the sky.
On the eve of my 33rd birthday, I expected to feel out of place, but I noticed plenty of people my age or older. I eased into the day with Jorja Smith’s mellow set. As the sun dipped below pink-tinged clouds, the crowd swayed gently to her soulful sound. Spotting the familiar silhouette of the cross atop Mount Royal against the soft orange sky, I remembered all those early mornings I’d seen it lit up at dawn after a night out. This time, I felt no desire for the neon orange cocktail the man in front of me was drinking. I no longer feel the need to lose myself. Jorja Smith kept hydrating on stage, and the crowd seemed far less drunk than at my last Osheaga—a change I appreciated, since I’d worried about feeling too sober around everyone else.
Still, I felt a little self-conscious about not being able to let go completely. But an hour later, I found myself in the front row, screaming like I was 20 again. On my way to see The Killers, I heard the opening chords of “Mr. Brightside” and realized I was running late. I joined the crowd sprinting toward what felt like the anthem of our youth. That sudden rush of energy was exhilarating. While I was surprised not to see more people my age belting out lyrics to “Smile Like You Mean It”—especially the line, “boy, one day you’ll be a man”—I realized the band had gained younger fans, too. A girl with glitter in her hair next to me asked her friends how old the lead singer was. After a quick search, one exclaimed, “Wow, Brandon Flowers is 44… he looks amazing!”
I had to laugh—44 doesn’t seem as old to me as it once did. Looking past the crop-topped teens, I noticed a woman in the crowd smoking a joint. Like Brandon Flowers, she had fine lines across her forehead. She closed her makeup-free eyes behind thick glasses as she took a drag, her gray and black hair falling over her hunched shoulders. She moved to the music as if no one was watching, and it struck me that the girls around us might see her as a little odd. But to me, her effortless presence felt like true embodiment. I didn’t want what the energetic girls beside me had—I used to envy younger people for their youth, but now I admire older women for their confidence. If anyone knows how to live fully and unapologetically, it’s Doechii. During her powerful performance, she wore a brown ruffled skirt that swayed with every twerk. She swung her long braids like a lasso, jumped as if skipping rope, and stuck out her tongue with her hands over her ears, making a playful, childlike face. When the microphone stand was too tall, she simply knocked it down. That’s the beauty of being an adult—having the freedom to do what you want. I was worried I’d feel isolated at such a high-energy show, but seeing others dancing alone reassured me. Later, back at the Four Seasons Montreal, I sank into the plush mattress, grateful to be older and no longer sleeping on the floor of a rundown Airbnb with friends, like I did at twenty.
Another advantage of attending a music festival in my thirties is knowing how to listen to my body. Feeling tired, I took it easy on my birthday. After a deep tissue massage at the hotel spa, I headed to dinner at Marcus Restaurant, smelling fresh and clean—a far cry from the typical festival grime of my twenties. Instead of greasy festival food, I enjoyed upscale dishes like ricotta and pesto anolini and eggplant soaked in Quebec maple syrup, all in a bright restaurant once visited by Justin Trudeau.
I rushed through dinner to catch Gracie Abrams’s set. When she noticed someone’s birthday sign and said, “This is a pretty big birthday party,” it hit me that maybe I came to the festival to avoid facing the fact that I didn’t have enough friends for a party of my own. But loneliness can still creep in, even in a crowd. Looking around, I saw the kind of life I thought I should have by thirty-three: a young mom with her daughters singing along to “That’s So True,” and a group of women in matching cowboy boots dancing hand-in-hand. The old “I’m a loser” thought surfaced, but then I remembered the solo festival-goers I’d seen the night before. I didn’t think they were losers for being alone, so why should I think that about myself?
Just as my loneliness began to fade, a real thunderstorm rolled in. It felt like nature had synced with Gracie Abrams’s emotional performance, with lightning and thunder blending into the stage lights and drumbeats. When the show paused for an hour due to the storm, I crowded under a tent with a group of loud, drunk men who mocked me for wearing a mask. All I could think was how I wished I’d taken my time at dinner instead. So I returned to the hotel and made a very adult decision: ordering two desserts—a pistachio Paris-Brest and a cherry olive oil meringue. Eating them in bed, I appreciated the freedom of leaving whenever I wanted.
The next day, Matt Shultz, the lead singer of Cage The Elephant, inspired me to care less about others’ opinions. He danced wildly, flailing his arms without restraint. “Can we be friends?” he asked the crowd. “We’re all just broken pieces at the party.” Maybe I wasn’t the only one feeling alone. During “Cigarette Daydreams,” everyone held up their lit phones, creating a sea of swaying lights. The very devices that can make us feel isolated became symbols of our longing for connection. Perhaps a music festival can bring people together—even if we don’t make friends, we feel part of something bigger. And as Shultz thanked the audience for being there, I felt a sense of belonging.Being part of the Cage The Elephant family made me think about how a fandom can be its own kind of chosen family. I might not have relatives or friends to go to a music festival with, but singing along with a crowd of strangers, all connected by how the music moves us, means something.
At Osheaga, if I belonged to any fandom, it was Olivia Rodrigo’s. I missed the Livies’ dress code for the night—plaid skirts, fishnets, and ribbon ties—but I sang every word of “Vampire” as if I were the same age as the young girls around me. As the humidity loosened Rodrigo’s curls and she swapped her glittery corset dress for a casual t-shirt and jean shorts, her style shift mirrored the audience’s energy over the three-day festival. The crowd’s roar was noticeably quieter than on the first night, and I could tell we were all running on empty. When Rodrigo sang, “I know my age and I act like it,” from “All-American Bitch,” I found myself thinking, “My feet are killing me and my back hurts—is this what getting older feels like?” I listened to my body and skipped the after-party.
When I thought about whether I could handle a music festival like I did at 20, I overlooked one advantage of age: knowing my limits. Because I paced myself, I didn’t need a week to recover afterward. So I stayed a few extra days at a retro hotel museum in the historic Old Port, an area I wish I’d explored more when I lived in Montreal. After grabbing my college favorite—Fairmount bagels—I hiked halfway up Mount Royal on the same path I used to run in university, without any guilt for not running it now.
I returned to Montreal worried that the festival and nostalgia for my early twenties would leave me longing for friends, family, and my youth. Instead, I came away feeling more confident. I still have moments of insecurity, like I did at 20. The difference is, now I don’t let those feelings keep me from enjoying life.
Frequently Asked Questions
Of course Here is a list of FAQs about going to a summer music festival alone designed to sound natural and provide clear helpful answers
General Beginner Questions
Q Is it actually a good idea to go to a music festival by myself
A Absolutely It can be a uniquely empowering and fun experience where you have complete freedom to see the bands you want on your own schedule
Q Wont I feel lonely the whole time
A You might have moments of feeling alone but its different from loneliness Festivals are social places and youll likely find it easy to strike up conversations with people who share your music taste
Q Is it safe to go alone especially as a woman
A Safety is the top priority Choose reputable festivals stay aware of your surroundings dont overindulge and have a plan for getting to and from the venue safely Many solo female festivalgoers have great experiences by trusting their instincts
Q Whats the biggest benefit of going solo
A Total freedom You can arrive when you want leave when you want and spend the whole day at one stage without having to check in with or wait for anyone else
Practical Tips Preparation
Q How should I prepare differently than if I were going with friends
A Plan more thoroughly Research the venue layout set your mustsee schedule and share your plans with someone back home Also pack light but smartyoure solely responsible for your stuff
Q What essential items should I bring
A Besides tickets and ID key items are a portable phone charger a refillable water bottle cash sunscreen and a small bag you can keep secure
Q Where is the best place to stand in the crowd when youre alone
A Near the soundboard is a great spot The sound quality is best the view is usually clear and its less crowded making it easier to enjoy the music without being jostled
Social Experience Questions
Q How do I meet people if I want to
A Its easier than you think Compliment someones band tshirt ask what act theyre excited to see or just start chatting with people waiting near the stage for the same set People are generally friendly and open