People are flocking to Oktoberfest in their millions right now. As for me, I just don’t get it. Here’s my cynical take on Munich’s infamous festival – and some life-saving products for the misguided bunch determined to go anyway.
The eye-wateringly tight «dirndl»
Beer zombies outside your door
Incidentally, the epidemic that is Oktoberfest is spreading to other countries as well. Even my Swiss colleagues have experienced it. And as they describe in the articles below, the encounter has left them pretty much immune to Oktoberfest fever.
If you’re still determined to go to Oktoberfest, please read on!
Now, I could just go on producing paragraph after paragraph of Oktoberfest-inspired hatred. However, I really do want to give those keen to go to the festival some solid information. Here comes my top 5 must-have products for a successful day at Oktoberfest.
1. Condoms
It’s a well-known fact that a lot of hanky-panky goes on both during and after Oktoberfest. We have 457 products made for this very activity in our range. Have a look and choose one that suits you. If you can’t make up you mind, you can’t go wrong with the Durex variety pack.
2. Sick bags
Speaking of ahem bagging things up, a sick bag would also be a wise purchase.
3. A portable pee tube
Given the interminably long queues in front of the ladies’ toilets in the beer tents, this urination aid might just be your saving grace.
4. Reading material
If your hangover the next day is so bad that you can’t remember what happened...
5. Make-up
If you’ve got a multiday Oktoberfest bender lined up, simply paint over the dark circles under your eyes. This Maybelline concealer is my all-time favourite. I’ve been using it for years – regardless of whether I’m at Oktoberfest or not.
To round things off, I want to know what you think of Oktoberfest. Write me a comment to let me know why you go to Oktoberfest – or why you don’t.
As a child, I was socialised with Mario Kart on SNES before ending up in journalism after graduating from high school. As a team leader at Galaxus, I'm responsible for news. I'm also a trekkie and an engineer.
Opinion
This is a subjective opinion of the editorial team. It doesn't necessarily reflect the position of the company.
«Anika, you only ever write rants,» a colleague said to me recently. She wasn’t wrong. Not because I hate everything and everyone – far from it, in fact. I like deserted beaches, Yoshi, Star Trek and even a tiny handful of lovely specimens belonging to the human race. What I don’t like, however, is Oktoberfest. As someone who spent seven years living in Munich, I feel like I’m entitled to an opinion on the festival.
It starts with the visitors «stampeding» (linked page in German) to get into one of the tents at Theresienwiese, where the festival is held. You’ve got to see it to believe it. People queue up at the crack of dawn, then go racing into the festival grounds at 9 a.m. sharp as if they’re being chased by rabid dogs. They run. At nine o’clock in the morning. The only time you’ll ever catch me running at 9 a.m. is on my way to the bakery to get a Franzbrötchen (a pastry popular in Hamburg, where I live now). This doesn’t exactly embody the laid-back vibe Bavaria is known for, but fair enough.
Then, there are the clothes. Anyone who’s tried on the traditional Bavarian dress known as a «dirndl» will know how those poor women in the 19th century must have felt in their corsets. «Dirndls» are designed to be eye-wateringly tight in order to make your rack look as big as possible. Having tried it myself during my stint in Munich, all I have to say is: nope, not my thing. Why? Because it sucked the fun out of the only thing Oktoberfest has going for it: the good food. With the dress squeezing my stomach, I was only able to manage a few teensy bites of my precious grilled chicken. I guess women at Oktoberfest are just supposed to look good, not actually eat.
Obazda is a wonderful thing. I like eating this Bavarian cream cheese at home, too. Minus the tight «dirndl», of course. Photo: Anika Schulz
Which brings me to my next point: sexism. Maybe this is just how it seemed to me as a green, urbanite leftie from Hamburg, but as a woman at Oktoberfest, I was very much reduced to my appearance. Sure, with the average blood alcohol level of the crowd hovering around the 0.2 mark, it’s not like I was expecting intellectual conversation. But constantly being greeted with, «Hey, aren’t you looking fiiiiine?» certainly makes me uneasy. Oktoberfest generally made me feel as if I’d been catapulted back to the 1950s. Busty women serve beer in XXL mugs, while the men stand around, jeering with their mates and shovelling pork knuckles down their throats.
Okay, I might be exaggerating that image a little, but I’m not the only one who feels that Oktoberfest is old-fashioned. According to a recent survey conducted by dating app Bumble, more than two thirds of this year’s Oktoberfest-goers think some of the festival’s customs reinforce outdated gender roles. Meanwhile, more than half the female respondents aged 18-34 find Oktoberfest culture sexist (article in German).
The sexism debate has also trickled into Munich’s political scene, with criticism of sexist and discriminatory images depicted on rides and food stands continually resurfacing (article in German). Candyfloss stalls emblazoned with topless women, and an image of a black man peering brazenly up a woman’s skirt, were just two examples of the «decor» in various places around Oktoberfest. At least the city council has come to an agreement with stall traders to paint over two sexist, racist motifs on a carousel and a carnival game this year.
If all this has got you saying, «Well, why don’t you just not go to Oktoberfest? It only runs for two and a half weeks a year. What are you so upset about?» then you’ve clearly never lived in Munich. Post-Oktoberfest and pre-Oktoberfest are one and the same in Bavaria’s capital. Just weeks after the festival has drawn to a close, Munich’s residents rush to bag a table for the following year. And, naturally, your chances of success in this endeavour are totally dependent on where you are in the social food chain. It’s about who you know, who owes you a favour and, above all, who you’ll be going with next year. Phew.
Incidentally, the weeks leading up to Oktoberfest are just as much of a drag as the event itself. Eating lunch with my colleagues in Munich, there honestly wasn’t a single day when Oktoberfest didn’t dominate the conversation. I’m not joking – I counted. One particularly Oktoberfest-mad colleague actually lives right on Theresienwiese (and pays a horrendously high rent for the privilege). His thoughts on the matter? «Every night, I get to see all the colourful lights and happy people. It’s actually great, you know.» Sure, really great. Especially if you like having an unobstructed view of «Kotzhügel» or Puke Hill –
the place where people who’ve drunk themselves into a stupor go to sleep off the booze. Just like that, right in the middle of the city, nobody batting an eyelid. That’s another thing I don’t get. In my youth, we lived by the motto: no matter how wild the party gets, you never leave anyone behind. At the end of a night of dancing, whichever one of us was most sober would do a lap of the club, grabbing any stray members of the group as they went. This was particularly important when it came to the friends who were glued to the bar, on the brink of taking a nap. We’d lovingly escort these friends to the car and drop them off at their front door. When I was the designated driver, I’d usually wait until the person had gone into the house and I’d seen a light come on inside.
Background information
How (bad) my first time at Oktoberfest really was
by Livia Gamper
Opinion
Oktoberfest? I'd rather get drunk alone on the sofa
