Conversely, the past. People fucking love the past. Old people, yes, because they are hurtling toward the ground at the speed of light and so can't get enough of the past, when they were decades further from death. But younger people, too—the types who grow twirly mustaches and go to Blitz parties, presumably forgetting that the Blitz was the name given to the relentless and not-fun-at-all bombing campaign waged by the Germans during WWII.

War. All things considered, it's probably one of the things people like least about the world. Unless you're Genghis Khan or Tony Blair, when asked if you'd want to wage war, you'd probably go "nah" and make a face like you've just discovered you've been sitting on an unwrapped Twix.

It has all the things you get at a normal festival, like music, beer, mud, and people dressing up in embarrassing yet painstakingly created costumes. It's just that instead of the music being about "getting blunted" or promiscuity, it's about doing the "Lindy Hop" and maintaining stable relationships. And instead of costumes like "sparkly sequined glitter hippie" or "nu-rave native American," it's a more "deeply problematic SS uniform."

So what happens when you wedge these two things—both war and the past—together in a massive field in Kent, England? You get the War and Peace Revival show, a five-day military and vintage festival at the Folkestone Racecourse venue.

To find out why people enjoy reimagining a period that saw some of the greatest losses of human life history has ever seen, I went down to the festival and walked around.

I've often wondered why people are so obsessed with World War I and II. I mean, sure, it was the last time the world truly came together to defeat a terrifying and genuine evil, and the lessons we learned from the tragedies that took place have dramatically shaped the course of modern history, but fucking hell, we do love to yap on about it; it feels like there's been a new movie, book, or video game released about these wars at least once a day, every day, for the past 60-odd years.

The campsite genuinely looked like a scene in Full Metal Jacket, complete with signs saying things like "God Is My Shotgun" and "You Yell, We Shell, Like Hell." They even still did that annoying "wacky flag above our area so we know where we're camped" thing, but instead of being Spongebob Squarepants or an acid house smiley, it was giant American, British, and, in some cases, Nazi flags.

The first thing I noticed was the scale of the place. I wandered around to find things to do, and it was probably about two-thirds of the size of Glastonbury, but just absolutely rammed to the gills with tanks, army uniforms, and people camping in makeshift barracks rather than bright orange $40 Halfords.

I started talking to a guy named Marcus, who was sitting in the Vietnam section dressed as an undercover CIA agent and drinking what looked like Jack Daniel's and Coke, despite the fact it was ten in the morning. I asked what drew him to playing dress up in a giant field of other people playing dress up.

"I used to be in the army," he said. "To be honest, doing this is the closest thing you can get to the camaraderie of being in the army—I think that's why a lot of people do it."

In between sips of his drink, he told me he was a history teacher in his spare time, and that this is only one of many reenactments he attends, his favorite being the Tudor-themed War of the Roses reenactment where he likes to play an Italian merchant.

"The thing is," he continued. "The thing is, my rank is actually pretty high as a CIA agent. Basically, I'm on the same level as a colonel, so I can tell anybody here if I wanted to to let me use their helicopter or tank, and they'd have to let me."

I'm not sure if he was in character at this point, or if he actually believed what he was saying, but either way, he let me try on this fancy gas mask, so I couldn't complain.