Shakespeare's Globe Bag Policy

Picture this: I’m standing in line at the Globe, feeling very cultured, when my friend’s giant tote bag gets flagged. The security guy gives it the side-eye usually reserved for smuggled fireworks. Oh no, I think, we’re about to reenact a comedy—except the joke’s on us.

The bag was an overstuffed disaster: a sweater, a water bottle, and a paperback of “Hamlet” I’d never finished. The guard smiled and pointed to a sign. “Max A4.” That’s it. No dramatic monologue. Just a tiny rule that turned my Shakespeare plans into a game of bag Tetris.

So, here’s the deal: your bag must be smaller than a standard sheet of paper. Think of an A4 page—about the size of a large envelope or a slim notebook. If it’s bigger, you’re out of luck and into the cloakroom queue.

Why the fuss over your tote?

The Globe is a wooden building. Wooden. And it’s packed with hundreds of sweaty groundlings. A big bag is a fire hazard, a trip hazard, and a general “please don’t block my view of the stage” hazard.

Plus, there’s a lovely irony: you pay to see plays about princes and pirates, but your bag gets treated like a villain. It’s literally banned from the main action.

No joke—they check everything. Water bottles? Allowed. But that jumbo backpack you wore on the Tube? Nope. You’ll be sent to the bag drop, which costs a fee (around £1–2, non-cash only). Bring cash for that, obviously.

Discussing the evidence for Shakespeare’s Theatre: Andrew Gurr, Stanley

The cloakroom hack

Yes, they have a cloakroom. It’s a small, stressed-out room near the entrance. You drop your bag, get a ticket, and reclaim it after the show. Pro tip: arrive early for this, because the queue for cloakroom is longer than Hamlet’s soliloquies.

But here’s the kicker: if you have a camera or a tablet, that’s also a bag-size issue. They don’t want you recording the show—because, you know, copyright and all. So leave the selfie stick at home.

Actually, selfie sticks are banned outright. The guards treat them like weapons. And honestly? With the Globe’s low lighting and audience proximity, a selfie stick is a safety hazard. Just watch the play.

What you can bring

Your phone, a small wallet, and maybe a tiny crossbody bag. Ziploc bags are a genius move—I’ve seen tourists use them for essentials. You look a bit like a camp counselor, but you’ll breeze past security.

Globe Life Field Bag Policy (2026): Bag Size & Clear Bag Rules

Also: no food in the yard (the standing area). You can eat it before, or sneak a granola bar, but don’t be “that person” chomping during the dagger scene. Trust me.

And if you’re sitting in the galleries? Same rules. The bag policy applies everywhere. There’s no VIP loophole for your oversized purse.

The ironic twist

Here’s what gets me: Shakespeare wrote about baggage all the time—grief, secrets, lies. And here we are, in 2024, worrying about literal baggage. You’ve got to love the theater’s sense of humor.

My friend ended up stuffing her sweater in a tiny foldable tote. It looked ridiculous, but she got in. We laughed, then watched a brilliant “Twelfth Night.” The bag drama became part of the show.

Shakespeares Globe London – TripHock

So, plan ahead. Measure your bag before you go. Or just bring your phone and your sense of adventure. The Globe is about the words, not the accessories.

One last thing: umbrellas are also tricky. The yard is open-air, so rain happens. You can bring a small folding umbrella, but don’t open it during the show—it blocks everyone’s view. Better to just get wet and pretend you’re in a sad scene.

In the end, the bag policy isn’t a villain. It’s a guardian of safety and space. It makes sure you’re free to laugh, cry, and gasp without smacking your neighbor with a backpack. That’s pure Shakespeare—order amid the chaos.

So next time you go, channel your inner strategist. Win the bag game, and the stage will welcome you. To bring, or not to bring? That’s the question—and the answer is: almost nothing.