“One cannot have too large a party,” writes Jane Austen in Emma. But could she ever have predicted that more than 200 years later, balls held in her honour would be selling out in 15 minutes?
This year, the largest and longest-running Jane Austen festival, held in Bath, brings together more than 3,000 fans, or Janeites as they prefer to be called, to celebrate the life and legacy of the beloved author. From balls and cream teas to festival fayres and dance lessons, for 10 days the city transforms into a living homage to Austen’s world. But what keeps modern audiences so captivated by this imagined past?
Elizabeth and Peter, a couple from London united by their shared love of Austen’s novels, have come down specifically to celebrate the 250th anniversary of the author’s birth. For Elizabeth, originally from Zimbabwe, Austen’s message of perseverance particularly resonates. “I grew up in a colonial era, it was difficult, but for me Austen’s novels helped me realise that everyone has a place in the world and that you do matter even if you’ve been told something different,” she says.
Recent film adaptations and TV series such as Bridgerton have helped to attract a broader, more diverse crowd. A group of bookTokers who met online more than a decade ago say they have seen a big shift in representation since they first came to the festival four years ago. “Things are changing for the better as more and more people see themselves represented,” says Lex, wearing a dandy outfit that feels more aligned with how they identify today.
Some fans are rewriting the script themselves. Joy Michelle Austin, a writer and blogger from California, sells her contemporary Austen adaptations at the author fayre organised by the festival. For her version of Pride and Prejudice, she reimagines prejudice as the prejudice of race, and the former antagonist Caroline Bingley has been rewritten and re-centred as a Nigerian American love interest. “For me as a woman of colour, it was important to write a story that we can see ourselves in,” she says.
For Sanne, attending the festival gives her an opportunity to learn some new sewing skills. Many of the attenders we speak to have hand-sewn their outfits with the help of traditional patterns or with the help of Pinterest and YouTube. A re-enactor showing off her hand-designed stockings with the words “Vintage fashion not vintage values” laments: “I miss the artistry and craftsmanship of the era. There was an appreciation and knowledge of art and culture that just doesn’t exist today.”
There’s a synergy between the city and the festival that would be hard to recreate elsewhere, not least because Bath featured prominently in Austen’s life and novels. Despite her complicated relationship with the city, today’s Janeites revel in the ease with which the city evokes the Regency world so vividly depicted in her work. Cruising down the Georgian streets, eating Bath buns, enjoying croquet on the lawns, it’s hard to not feel instantly transported into Austen’s past.
But the festival has become a victim of its own success. “It’s like getting tickets to Glastonbury,” says a Janeite, bemoaning her lack of success with ticketed events this year. Another describes how she spent a lunch break trying to get tickets to the Pleasure Gardens, but the website crashed and she missed out.
Fortunately, for those who aren’t in luck, the goodwill and passion of the Janeites means there is no shortage of informal Austen-inspired events taking place across the city – from the Bath backpackers’ hostel organising regency dress salsa classes for their guests, to an unofficial ball organised by festival newcomers determined not to miss out on the experience.
“Welcome ladies and …” a slight pause as the caller, Mrs Bennet, of the Bath Regency Phoenix ball, searches for the men in the room. “Ah, gentlemen,” she says, finally spying one. It’s no secret that the festival’s main appeal is to women, greatly outnumbering the men – although they do exist.
James, a director of a software startup in Bristol and the organiser of this year’s unofficial Phoenix ball, whose affection for Austen was passed down through his mother, was set on getting everyone to the ball this year. “The balls are the most necessary bit of the Austenite experience,” he says.
As the ballgoers poussette and twirl across the dancefloor, I watch as the pressures of modern-day life seem to float away. Though it’s not a requirement, the Janeites slip into a more formal, flowery diction, not unlike their hero’s prose, and as they nibble on cucumber sandwiches and rout cakes, exchanging compliments about each other’s outfits and festival pleasantries, it’s hard to believe it’s 2025. A split-second later, a phone comes out and an Instagram story is posted and the illusion cracks.