I’ve got a bit of a confession to make: I kind of hate outdoor kit.
Not the kind of hate reserved for genuinely terrible things, but a low-level irritation with the way it’s treated like a ticket to the outdoors. A shiny, expensive, technical ticket. And if you don’t have it—well, apparently you’re not really outdoorsy.
You don’t need fancy kit to get outdoors
I didn’t own a proper waterproof jacket or branded walking shoes until my late twenties. That’s over a decade of heading out in the wind and rain with whatever I had to hand. My first “waterproofs” were the kind that keep you dry for the first 10 minutes and then you slowly find yourself getting increasingly damp.. My walking shoes? Whatever was cheapest in my local bargain sports shop. And guess what? I still had brilliant days out.
When I did start getting some “proper” kit, it wasn’t because I suddenly wanted to—it was because I had booked on to summit Kilimanjaro. Everything I read in the run-up made it sound like I needed a small mountain of specialist gear, including technical knickers. (Spoiler: I really did not need technical knickers.) The person I was going with had all the latest, snazziest kit, and I felt totally out of my depth. So I spent more money than I wanted to on gear that I thought would make me feel like a proper hiker. Honestly? Most of it wasn’t necessary (what was important though was good walking boots and a well fitted backpack).
The pressure to keep up
Outdoor kit has a way of making you feel like you don’t belong. Like there’s a checklist you’re meant to complete before you’ve earned your place on the hill or in the kayak. And don’t even get me started on the pressure to have the latest or best version of everything.
A few years ago, I rocked up to a weekend meetup with a sleeping bag that could generously be described as ‘fine for summer camping if you’re already wearing a duvet’. I’d had it for years and it worked (mostly). But I remember the awkward feeling of unrolling it next to someone’s ultra-light, ultra-technical, ultra-expensive cocoon and suddenly wondering if I looked like I didn’t belong. It was like being back in primary school, comparing packed lunches and feeling a bit embarrassed about your squashed sandwich.
Despite this, I slept well and do wonder if anyone really cared or noticed anyway – after all we were asleep!!
Starting with what you’ve got
When I started kayaking, I took the same approach. I didn’t buy a heap of kit straight away—I used what I already had. Old leggings, a jacket I’d used for decorating, and some borrowed bits. It worked fine. Eventually, I did buy some water shoes (cold, wet feet are fun once), but most of my kit held up for over a year—even with me paddling three or four times a week. It was only when things actually wore out that I replaced them (and yes one of my kayaking cags is for 14 year old boys from Decathlon – it was cheap and does the trick!).
Kit can help—but it shouldn’t gatekeep
This isn’t a rant against gear itself. Some kit is brilliant. A warm sleeping bag can turn a shivery night into a cosy one. A decent waterproof can mean the difference between soggy misery and actually enjoying the rain. But I do hate the idea that you need a full kit list, brand new and matching, before you’re allowed to join in. At Adventure Queens, we always say the outdoors is for everyone. But we also need to keep reminding each other that this means every budget, every backpack, every mismatched bit of kit. Whether you’re in trail runners or old Converse, sleeping under a tarp or in a tent from your friends garage, you still belong here.
Go anyway
So if you’re eyeing up your first hike, paddle, or campout and worrying that your gear isn’t good enough—go anyway. You’ll figure out what works for you, not what’s trending on Instagram. And when you do decide to invest in something, it’ll be because you need it, not because you felt like you had to keep up.
The outdoors doesn’t care what you’re wearing. And honestly? Neither should we.