Wild Life: Putting the Camp in Camping

The appeal of a backpacking trip, for the initiated, is self-evident: endorphin-fueled exertion, elevated perspectives, remove, silence. No work but the repeated production of your essential needs: food, water, shelter. Ample time to think. And yet, during a long stretch of clear trails and unrestrained reflection, a dozen miles into some hike somewhere in the Sierras, it occurred to me just how comically ridiculous it was. Finding pleasure in the physically demanding activity of carrying your weight in food and water across miles of changing elevation was one thing—that made sense. A kind of euphoria often accompanies such borderline-masochistic feats of physical effort. But then there was the irony, at least a century old, of finding respite in “nature.”

A lover of the great outdoors loves (expensive) gear. This is one of the first things I learned when I began to backpack in earnest. You will first need to purchase:
-proper hiking boots
-warm-yet-breathable clothing
-sun protection
-thick socks
-rain gear
-a lightweight jacket
-a lightweight tent
-a warm and compressible sleeping bag
-a compact sleeping pad, a headlamp
-outdoor-friendly toiletries
-a first aid kit
-a water container
-a water filter
-some sort of stove to cook your food
-your actual food

I probably forgot something.

This is for your streamlined, stick-to-the-basics backpacking trip. Glamping (glamorous camping) introduces a whole new facet of surfeit. It turns the re-creation of a domestic space within an inhospitable environment into a luxurious experience. Rather than escaping into a fantasy of bare-boned resiliency, glampers indulge in the laborious reproduction of urban comforts, “experiencing the outdoors” from inside, preferably with air-conditioning and wifi.

Outdoor wear—thick boots, warm jackets, knit hats—has the utilitarian draw of normcore, the idealized comfort of athleisure, and, as anyone who has been indescribably drawn to a Patagonia fleece will attest, an “enduring appeal.” What is the “enclothed cognition” outdoor wear produces? Perhaps its aesthetics connect its wearers to a certain desire for a kind of environmental consciousness in the face of climate change. Looking like you spend time outdoors might help you to care for them. That used to be somewhat true—in the early 20th century, outing clubs paired recreational activity with environmental advocacy, the Sierra Club being the most well-known example. Today, green consumerism promises that we can buy our way out of climate collapse, and perhaps the appeal of outdoor gear lies in the kind of virtue signalling it, and other “green” products, emit.