I attended Britain's poshest sports events. This is what I learned

New York Times

21-06-2025

The train from central London to Ascot is a hotbed of sharp suits, stunning designer dresses and brow sweat.
It's 26C (79 Fahrenheit), summer has finally arrived in England, and, for the immaculately dressed people heading for a day at the races in the Royal Borough of Windsor and Maidenhead, that's perfect timing.
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For a start, it gives the above-average ratio of people who have decided to wear sunglasses on the train an excuse to keep them on, despite the carriage being in the shade and, well, inside.
Without meaning to stereotype, there are a lot of people who really, really love themselves on this train. To be blunt, it's a high tosser ratio. Much higher than usual.
Normally, a train full of people heading to a sporting event, a football match, for example, would involve at least some discussion about the day ahead.
Two blokes in this carriage are discussing the relocation of Abercrombie & Fitch.
There is some chat about the impending race day. Some women are talking about their tickets being 'in with the plebs' and are discussing tactics about how to blag their way into the Royal Enclosure.
One of their number regales an anecdote about last year's event and how their friend was excited to win £80 ($107) on a race. 'Oh, that was cute,' one of the group scoffs. 'We won £900 last year and £2,000 the year before.'
These are by no means gambling experts, given that they then describe how their cat helped pick their chosen horses.
But hey, if you've got the cash, flaunt it. And that will happen a lot today.
This is Royal Ascot, slap bang in the middle of the high-society British sporting summer, which encompasses a jewel-encrusted series of events scattered around west London and surrounding areas.
Tennis at Queen's Club, polo at Hurlingham, more racing at Epsom, cricket at Lord's, rowing at the Henley Regatta… all early summer events within a 40-mile radius stretching west of the UK's capital city, where the on-field action often feels secondary to the social buzz that surrounds them.
So, who exactly attends these events? And do they actually care about the sport? The Athletic donned its finest attire to find out.
At Ascot, the five-day race card is open to all (there is a £35 ticket option), but it also welcomes royalty, Andrew Lloyd Webber and lots of well-spoken blokes in top hats.
'Look at her, she's got nothing on her shoulders,' one irate woman points and speaks in angry, hushed tones to her friend. 'That's not for a royal occasion.'
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Royal Ascot is about what you wear as much as it is about horses. The latter is more important to the majority of people in attendance. That and flashing your cash.
'I know more about finance than everyone here put together,' a bashful chap states to his weary companion, who replies with silence.
He must be quite the finance guru, seeing as there are tens of thousands of people here, part of an overall five-day attendance that will top 250,000, making Royal Ascot one of Britain's best-attended sporting events.
Before The Athletic can ask this incredible man for advice, there is a smattering of noise around the amphitheatre-esque oval ring.
Ah, the national anthem has started. Hat off. Time to pay your respects, or even record it on your phone.
Polite applause follows as the King and Queen are paraded for our entertainment in a horse-drawn carriage. 'Three cheers for the King,' an enthusiastic royalist bellows.
This is all part of a tradition that dates back 200 years, beginning when George IV attended Ascot in 1825 with the Duke of Wellington. Queen Elizabeth II was British racing's greatest ambassador and a successful owner in her own right (she had more than 20 Royal Ascot winners). She also genuinely loved the sport, having regular catch-ups with her racing manager and only missing one Royal Ascot meeting (in June 2022, three months before she died).
King Charles III does not have the same affinity for the sport, but he does his best, taking on his mother's stable of horses and waving dutifully at the Royal Ascot parade, which takes place every day before the first race. It is part of several traditions that racegoers still adhere to in 2025, such as the dress code.
If you're sat in the Royal Enclosure, banned items include strapless or one-shoulder dresses, see-through fabric, midriffs, bow ties, cravats or neckerchiefs.
Instead, women must wear a dress or skirt that falls just above the knee or longer, or a trouser suit of matching material or colour, and a hat or headpiece with a minimum diameter of four inches.
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Men have to wear a morning suit which is black, grey or navy, a waistcoat and tie, a top hat, and black shoes with socks covering the ankle.
The cheaper the seats, the more relaxed the dress code becomes, but absolutely none of the 250,000 attendees can wear trainers, shorts, denim or leggings.
With all this pomp and ceremony, you'd hope the facilities match the occasion, and Royal Ascot does not disappoint.
The main grandstand was rebuilt 20 years ago in a £220million ($297m) redevelopment, the biggest investment ever made in British horse racing. You can see where the money went; the huge, sprawling stand comes with great views, great bars, great eateries and great, well, everything.
Massive escalators can take you to a higher vantage point (if you've bought the more expensive tickets), while outside there is a vast grassy area of more bars, more food and hundreds of seats and tables, covered or uncovered.
People approach their days differently; in one of the private enclosures, three old boys in full old-school suits and top hats sit and peruse their racecards and newspapers, smoking cigars and barely saying a word.
In the (cheaper) Windsor Enclosure, people queue for pizza slices and beers and dash to put their bets on for the next race.
Wherever you are, it isn't cheap. A small glass of red wine? That'll be £8.50. Bottled beers are £7.20, a pint is as much as £7.80, and a single vodka and diet mixer is £9.30. Or just get a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Rose for £130. American sports fans may consider these prices reasonably good value given what is routinely charged at U.S. venues, but for Brits, this is punchy.
The Athletic accidentally wanders into luxury fashion shop LK Bennett, which sells dresses and bags. Could treat a friend to a gift, perhaps. Wonder how much that bag is. Oh, £299.99. That's OK, I'm all good thanks.
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Meanwhile, a woman stubs out her cigarette in her own ashtray, a mini glass jam jar. The posh don't like littering, apparently.
It's 5pm and, by a statue of famous horse Frankel, there is a make-up brush on the ground and half a portion of chips.
Almost everywhere you look, women are hobbling. Some are already carrying their shoes in their hand and, if they get the train back, will be grateful to the young lads selling flip-flops for £5 near the station (just a 10-minute walk away).
'Yeah, we're not doing good, I'm afraid,' a man down on his luck bemoans on the phone.
However you're spending your day and however much you're spending (or losing), there is a sense of this being somewhere near the best of British.
Yes, it's exclusive, but unless you're wearing fancy dress or shorts, everyone is welcome. The glorious sunshine helps, but the enormous Union flags that adorn the front of the main grandstand reflect the grand occasion. See the Union flag at most other locations in the United Kingdom and it'll mean something very different indeed, but here Britishness is celebrated.
Royal Ascot may be the most prestigious race day on the calendar, but the most iconic race is surely the Derby. Yes, not the Epsom Derby, it's just the Derby. Britain's richest flat horse race was first held in 1780, almost 100 years before the first Kentucky Derby.
It runs in the first week of June and, like Ascot, attracts the highest of society.
As The Athletic wanders around the Queen Elizabeth II Stand, the glances made are like towards excrement on a shoe. No top hat, you see. And everyone else is wearing one.
Here they're drinking Blanc de Blancs (Champagne) or Pimm's. In the owners' and trainers' viewing area, the atmosphere is quiet. Normally, you'd expect some rambunctious cheers as the winning horse crosses the line; here, there is barely a noise. It's just the day job.
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'Well done, old chap,' one man remarks to his friend in an accent that makes King Charles sound like a commoner.
Epsom offers a stark contrast between the rich and the not-so-rich.
On one side of the dividing line, there are expensive suits and Champagne, a few metres away, there are, yes, plenty of young lads in suits, but also baseball caps, hoodies and see-through ponchos.
There is a section of exclusivity, for sure (Queen Elizabeth II was a regular on Derby day) and Epsom certainly caters for the Royal Ascot crowd, but you wonder if it wishes to exclusively do so in the future given how prices have gone up for your average racegoer.
It's £76.50 for a Derby day ticket in the main Grandstand near the finishing line (£165 for the Queen Elizabeth II stand). Even for the day before, Ladies Day, it's £72, which is up from £50 just a few years ago.
There are cheaper alternatives, such as £35 for the Tattenham Corner, but that is situated far from the finish line and there is no access to the parade ring.
Pints, surprisingly, are more expensive at Epsom than at Ascot; a Pravha or Madri will set you back £7.99, as will a Guinness.
It's not cheap and the crowds have visibly dwindled in recent years.
The Racing Post reported that this year's Derby crowd was 22,312, down from 38,044 in 2019, the year before the pandemic. Even the hill opposite, which is free to attend, is noticeably quieter, although the horrific, endless rain will have something to do with that.
If Epsom is maybe unclear as to its target audience, those in attendance still make the most of the day despite the weather. And unlike in the posh bit, winning bets are celebrated like a last-minute football goal. 'GET IN THERE,' one chap punches the air, cigarette in hand, before sprinting off to collect his winnings.
Another has been slightly less lucky in that he's won, too, but has discarded his betting slip. He and his friends start the demeaning task of rummaging through discarded pieces of paper on the soggy, concrete floor, pushing past umbrellas and apologising through grimaces. It's safe to say he isn't wearing a top hat.
There are umbrellas at Queen's Club, too, but only to shelter from the unyielding, scorching heat.
Queen's, sponsor-titled as the HSBC Championships, is the premier warm-up for Wimbledon at the start of the tennis grass-court season. Its main court, the newly minted Andy Murray Arena, hosts almost 9,000 spectators. For comparison, Wimbledon's Centre Court hosts just shy of 15,000.
Queen's this year hosted a women's singles event for the first time since 1973, with the competition having moved to Eastbourne in the intervening decades. Both it and the men's event are 500-level, two rungs below a Grand Slam such as Wimbledon.
It boasts a stellar line-up: 10 of the world's top 20 women, including Madison Keys and Zheng Qinwen, and in the men's draw, Carlos Alcaraz, Jack Draper and Taylor Fritz.
While Wimbledon is far more well-known and prestigious, Queen's takes its place on the summer social calendar of 'to be seen' west London events.
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Wimbledon is posh, too, sure, but it boasts many more tourists than Queen's, which has an air of exclusivity with its endless swathes of beige trousers and pink shirts. Like the All England Club, it's also a private members' club for the rest of the year.
Good luck getting in, with membership applications closed since 2019. If they ever reopen, the annual fee is just over £2,000, but anyone who makes it as a member also has to purchase a £15,000 share in the club.
During the tournament, Neal's Yard Dairy knows its audience. Positioned just outside Barons Court underground station, one of its staff is stood outside selling picnic boxes with four classic British cheeses for £15. Or a sparkling apple juice for £3.50.
A man in vanilla trousers and a blue shirt marches down the street, having bought a Panama hat. Unbeknownst to him, the label is bouncing off the back.
There's no official dress code at Queen's, but most people dress exactly the same anyway, particularly the men. Light trousers, light shirt, Panama hat. Done.
Everyone tends to drink the same, too; Pimm's, at £34 a jug or £12 a glass.
It's also incredibly well positioned, just a five-minute walk from Barons Court on the London Underground and sat almost invisibly among rows of terraces and marbled houses and apartments. A posh version of Everton's (now former) football ground Goodison Park, basically.
Temporary stands are erected on the two main courts; the Andy Murray Arena and Court 1, while the middle of the venue plays host to a maze of makeshift concourse areas and corridors that link all the courts together. A marvel of organisation.
The contrasts between the two biggest courts are vivid; on centre court, where Brit Dan Evans is putting on a stirring, crowd-pleasing performance, they keep as quiet as possible during play. Even back on row N, where The Athletic is positioned, they're whispering, despite being nowhere near the court.
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Over on Court 1, where Portugal's best player, Nuno Borges, blows a one-set lead against veteran Spaniard Roberto Bautista Agut, the noise never ceases. For a start, the cheers from the nearby Andy Murray Arena are loud and booming, but so too is the exclusive balcony area hanging just to the side of the court, where people are sipping their wine or their Pimm's and chatting loudly (the judge on court 1 has to shush them at one point). Where professional sport means a social occasion.
A woman eats salmon with a plastic spoon while Batista Agut glares at someone who decides to get up and walk out during a point. Borges' serve is later delayed for the same reason.
'Why don't we just play on?' he angrily queries. 'People are just f****** moving on the sides anyway, we might as well just play.'
No one seems too concerned by the outburst. One man's primary issue is balancing his tray of sushi on his knees while he squirts soy sauce over the top. Pie and a pint, this ain't.
Despite the quantities of alcohol being quaffed (they don't drink here, they quaff) and the boiling weather, it's a civilised day to the end. The gender split being balanced as much towards women than men undoubtedly helps on that front.
All of which, coupled with the incredible access fans can have to players (Borges and Batista Agut simply walk through the crowd alone at the end of their match, out to the corridors where anyone can stand and ask for their autograph or a selfie) makes Queen's a great day out. And a pretty posh one at that.
It's not as posh as The Hurlingham Club, though, which surely takes the crown (a pretty expensive crown, too) as Britain's most exclusive early summer soiree.
This is polo's blue riband event, based near Putney Bridge and Fulham Football Club.
Known as Chesterton's Party in the Park, this is far more about hob-nobbing than it is about polo. For context, the only thing holding up traffic near the venue on a sunny Sunday morning is a delivery van from Waitrose, the British middle classes' go-to supermarket. A man walking past has a jumper tied around his shoulders in a non-ironic manner. And every second person looks like Benedict Cumberbatch.
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The three-day tournament climaxes on Sunday with six teams from Dubai, the U.S. and London among those doing battle.
'This is adrenaline-fuelled, high-class international top-quality polo,' the announcer says to a crowd of a few hundred sat in a temporary stand.
The rest of the venue is littered with benches featuring people drinking, yep, Pimm's, or wine, watching blokes dressed as knights on horses attempt to lance a ring of flames onto their spear as a warm-up act before the main event.
If you go to watch football, cricket or rugby, you'll probably find burger vans, bars and merchandise stalls. At Hurlingham, there's a Hello Fresh stand. Or a Champagne tent. Or a shop for hand-rolled Cuban cigars.
You can also book dog-and-family professional photography, or buy lots of expensive clothes.
As for food, burgers are out, teriyaki rice bowls, calamari and Moroccan street food wraps are in. And if you want a pint of British bitter on draught, forget it. The only thing on tap is, you guessed it, Pimm's.
If you're not wearing a cream blazer, you probably shouldn't be here.
As for the sport, well, as we're told, it's 70 per cent about the horse and 30 per cent about the rider. If you've never seen polo, the horses basically chase a ball around a large field while their riders stoop down and try to hit it through goalposts with a large mallet.
But no one is really watching that; Hurlingham is about drinking and being seen, or just catching up with friends. And there are a lot of kids around, who are all allowed onto the pitch at half-time to stamp out the divots.
A family-friendly day of posh food, posh drink and not much polo. And an overriding smell of privilege and horses**t.
(Top photos: Benjamin Cremel, Dan Kitwood, Marco Endelli, Dan Istitene, John Walton – all Getty Images; design: Kelsea Petersen)