Bag Policy Forest Hills Stadium

Let’s talk about the bag policy at Forest Hills Stadium. You know, that beautiful, historic venue where you’re supposed to be having the time of your life, not arguing with a security guard about your fanny pack. It’s a very specific kind of drama.

First things first: clear bags are your new best friend. Seriously. The stadium is basically running a "see-through or go-home" policy. They want to see every single item in your bag before you even get close to the gate. Think of it as a very aggressive, metal-detector-enhanced fashion show for your purse.

So, what size are we talking? You can bring a small clutch, but it can’t be bigger than 4.5” x 6.5”. That’s roughly the size of a slightly grumpy Chihuahua. If your bag is larger than that? It must be clear plastic, vinyl, or PVC, and no bigger than 12” x 6” x 12”. Why? I don’t know. Maybe they’re worried someone will smuggle in a small, disco-ball-shaped moon.

What about my actual, non-clear tote bag?

Leave it at home. For real. Unless it’s a medical or diaper bag (and you have the patience of a saint to prove it), your favorite leather crossbody is a no-go. You’ll have to hoof it back to your car or a locker. And nobody wants to walk ten blocks in concert traffic to stash a bag. It’s a recipe for a bad mood and possibly a lost phone.

I once saw a woman argue with security for ten minutes about her “very vintage, very small” satchel. It was a masterclass in determination. The guard just pointed to the sign. The sign won. The sign always wins.

Forest Hills Bag Policy for Concerts

The unspoken rules of the clear bag life

Here’s the thing: a clear bag is a transparency prison. Everyone sees your gum, your backup hair tie, and that sad, half-eaten granola bar from 2018. It’s humbling. Pack with dignity. Maybe don’t bring the entire contents of your glove compartment.

Can you bring a backpack? Nope. Unless it’s a very tiny, clear backpack that looks like a prop from a sci-fi movie. Standard backpacks, even “cute” ones, are banned. They’re too bulky, too easy to hide things in. You’re essentially a bag of forbidden snacks to them. It’s a little insulting, but I get it.

And let’s talk pockets. Jacket pockets are your friends. You can bring a phone, wallet, and keys in your pocket without a problem. It’s almost rebellious. You feel like a cool spy at a tennis match-concert hybrid. Just don’t get too cocky and try to smuggle in a full-size water bottle. They’ll sniff you out.

Forest Hills Bag Policy for Concerts

What about water? I’m going to be thirsty!

Here’s the tiny, fantastic loophole: you can bring one empty plastic water bottle. It has to be empty. Like, dry. You’ll look like a dehydrated pilgrim. But inside, there are water refill stations. Pro-tip: bring a bottle that seals well or you’ll get splashed by a very excited security pat-down.

You can also bring factory-sealed, empty metal or reusable bottles. Yes, they make you chug or dump your drink. It’s a little performance of hydration trust. I’ve seen a guy try to argue that his “almost empty” Gatorade counted. It did not count. The security guard gave him a look that could freeze the sun.

The forbidden fruit (and other things)

Don’t even think about bringing: coolers, glass containers, selfie sticks, or professional cameras with detachable lenses. Also, no laptops, tablets, or large tripods. Basically, if it looks like you’re going to document a full film production or start a picnic, leave it in the car. They want you, not your equipment.

Forest Hills Bag Policy (2026): Bag Size & Clear Bag Rules

Oh, and no signs or flags on poles. You’re not at a political rally. You’re at a concert where the sound is surprisingly good. Just hold your excitement in your hands. It’s cheaper.

So, what’s the final verdict? Do yourself a favor. Grab a cheap, clear bag from Amazon. Fill it with only the essentials: phone, ID, card, a tiny lip balm, and maybe a poncho (because it will rain on your favorite band’s set). Leave the full makeup bag and the questionable snacks behind.

You’ll glide through security. You’ll feel smug and superior. And you’ll be inside, sipping your $18 beer, while someone else is still arguing about their "vintage, very small" bag. Trust me. It’s the best kind of concert victory.