FITTINGLY FOR A HOBBY that attracts pale hipsters, glamping owes much of its popularity to Kate Moss. Two summers ago, the bony supermodel and her shambolic rock-star boyfriend, Pete Doherty, were seen—her in denim hot pants and Wellies, him in a porkpie hat—splashing through the mud at the Glastonbury Festival. This iconic music-and-performing-arts weekend, held every June on a farm in southwestern England, attracts more than 150,000 partiers, who come from all over the world for an orgy of rocking, raging, and camping. (Even Moss slept in a tent, though her spread at the private Camp Kerala, on a hill overlooking the masses, ran $12,000 and included down comforters, sheepskin rugs, and 24-hour attendants.) As soon as photos of the couple hit the press, their look became the new festival chic.

The result was that the UK's summer festival scene, already blowing up, went nuclear. The smaller, edgier festivals following Glastonbury were swamped with newcomers, causing irked veterans to start hosting more "authentic" do-it-yourself gatherings. Soon, partiers were going car camping with loads of essentials—stereos, flashy outfits, plenty of intoxicants—and, just like that, glamping was born.

By 2006, roughing it was officially in. That spring saw the publication of two unrelated glamping guidebooks titled Cool Camping (one a how-to, the other a where-to). Celebrated Radio 1 DJ Rob da Bank began espousing the virtues of sleeping wild. Fashion icon Ted Baker released air mattresses styled like tiger- and bearskin rugs and a folding chair designed to mimic a classic Chesterfield sofa. And Britain's glossiest glossy, The Sunday Times Style supplement, ran a photo spread of a lavish campsite featuring a candelabra.

It was a stunning development, especially to me. I was then the features editor for Trail, the country's biggest outdoor magazine, and as an American expatriate I'd come to understand that there were only four major classes of British campers: climbers (who often head overseas); retirees in mobile homes; antisocial bearded men wearing wool knickers and knee-high socks; and families taking cheap holidays.

Britons spend some $1.7 billion on outdoor gear annually, but the fact remains that their island was clean-shaved of its forests hundreds of years ago. Today, roads zigzag from one pub to the next, and the vast majority of open space is privately owned, though you can camp on much of it if you keep a low profile.

Glampers, of course, do the complete opposite. "Camping represents something totally different now," says The Sunday Times Style features editor Jessica Brinton. "The camping of my parents' generation is prosaic and deeply uncool. People in their late twenties and early thirties are turning it into another art form."

Or just another excuse to accessorize. Though she touts low-impact traveling, Laura James's Cool Camping: The Great Escape, Outdoor Living in Serious Style is basically a glampy gear guide, with thoughts on tepees, iPods, cashmere socks, and plastic turntables. She includes "How I glamp" contributions from such luminaries as Alex James, bass player for nineties Britpop act Blur, and model Jodie Kidd.

"Getting dirty's OK," Kidd offers. "If you have the right top and have clean hair then you can carry it off." When I call the 37-year-old James for advice before going off on my first glamp, she confesses that her inaugural camping trip, years ago, was a disaster. The key for her, she says, is bringing the right stuff. "I just hate drinking out of plastic," she confides. "Now I bring organic food, cashmere throws, and I do it in style."