The answer is yes and no. On the one hand, it’s quite fair to grumble about the hour walk’n’wait to get in, the poor sound quality, the half-hour line for food (gallingly, I spy founder Fabien Riggall asking a gaggle of people how long they’d been queuing, only for him to reply “Great!” and saunter off when they politely replied “20 minutes”) at what is, essentially, a glorified film screening. On the other, the same could be true of any music festival, for which we’ll put up with wading in mud, washed-away tents and baby wipe showers, too. When I say DANCE, you say ING, dancING, dancING!” honks a pigtailed rep through a megaphone, wearing boxfresh Keds, a burgundy Kellerman’s T-shirt and apostrophes for eyes, at the entrance to a familiar looking time warp. “The talent contest will be at 6.45pm!” The crowd, dressed head to toe in 1963, cheerfully whoop and expectantly scan the commotion of fancy dress and forced fun. This is Secret Cinema, after all, where the first rule isn’t don’t talk about Secret Cinema; it’s get involved or go home. When I first started watching 1987's Dirty Dancing — and I say "started" because I built it into my weekly routine, allowing it to become habit — Baby became an instant style inspiration. Baby Houseman, played by Jennifer Grey, clearly knew how to dress for the summer months, thereby arming me with a handful of outfit options for my favorite season. Since Baby's story arc starts at a place where she's modest and reserved and ends with her embracing her free-spirited, rebellious side, her clothes follow suit.