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It’s a scorching 31-degree night and I’m in a mosh pit surrounded by a couple of hundred loose units who, respectfully, are on average more than half my age. On stage, a South African gospel choir is belting their hearts out to the beats of an unassuming 50-year-old DJ. It’s the most fun I’ve had in a while, and definitely not how I imagined my night would unfold. But that’s the thing about Adelaide Fringe. It lures you in with one plan and sends you home with another.
This was my first year attending the opening weekend at Adelaide Fringe – the Southern Hemisphere’s largest arts festival, second only to Edinburgh. In 2026, it will bring together more than 8,000 global artists across 1,500-plus wildly diverse shows, spanning cabaret, comedy, circus, theatre, music and everything in between.
They call it “Mad March” in Adelaide for good reason. The city tips into glorious chaos, with streets closed to traffic, queues snaking through the parklands and music drifting through the warm night air. Yet somehow it all works – and I fully intend to keep coming back, year after year, until my hips finally refuse to groove.
What sets Adelaide Fringe apart from any other Australian festival for me is how united it feels. The main acts and electric energy are concentrated in two convenient parkland hubs, Gluttony and The Garden of Unearthly Delights, located opposite each other on the city’s edge. You can literally walk from one show to the next, meaning spontaneity is always on the cards. One night, I bounced from a drag queen parody to a cabaret show to a live piano bar – all within 200 metres.
Another reason I rate Adelaide Fringe so highly is its genuine accessibility. You don’t have to break the bank to pack your night with a line-up of world-class acts. There are plenty of free gigs, alongside $10 surprise comedy shows and $25 debut performances by artists you’ll one day boast about seeing “before they were famous”. That said, the Fringe is also famous for attracting award-winning shows by powerhouses from all around the world that are totally worth splurging on – from the showstopping LadyBoys of Bangkok and the Emmy Award-winning Irish band The Shamrocks, to Australia’s finest comedic talents like Josh Thomas, Lizzy Hoo, Tom Gleeson and Wil Anderson.
This accessibility extends to the artists themselves. Fringe is open-access, meaning anyone, from anywhere in the world, can apply to register a show. Among this year’s 8,000 acts, there’s a brilliant mix of grassroots stars, homegrown favourites and big-name global acts. I had just as much fun at shows by South Australian legends, like Minnie Andrews’ Shake It and DJ Groove Terminator’s History of House, as I did at a breathtaking circus sensation by Japan’s Cirqueworks and a hilarious one-woman comedy skit by acclaimed British comedian Elf Lyons.
Another thing that sets Adelaide Fringe apart from other festivals is its food and drink scene. Both Gluttony and the Garden of Unearthly Delights transform into mini-villages, decked out with colourful fairy lights, roving entertainment, nostalgic rides, and dozens of food trucks and pop-up bars. Between shows, you can picnic on the grass while eating your way around the world – from dumplings to tacos – squeeze in a beer and a boogie at the piano bar, dine at one of the elevated lakeside restaurants (honestly, I wouldn’t judge if you rocked up just to eat here), or debrief after a show over a glass of sparkling at Champagne Island.
That same hospitality spills out from the parklands and onto the streets. On Friday and Saturday nights during Fringe season, the East End of Rundle Street closes to traffic, transforming into a buzzing, open-air festival strip. Restaurants roll their tables and chairs onto the road, while buskers and roving entertainment bring the energy, making it feel like one big street party.
Whether it’s before or after a show, I’d recommend kicking things off with a pint at the Exeter Hotel or The Austral, then wandering a few steps to dine alfresco at some of the CBD’s coolest spots, like Paper Tiger, Africola, Golden Boy or Daughter In Law.
On my final night at Adelaide Fringe, I saw punk cabaret queen Bernie Dieter’s unmissable Club Kabarett. Near the end of the show, she told us to grab our neighbour’s hand and hold it tight. “You never know when someone needs it,” she said.
The man in front of her whispered back, “I needed it,” and I couldn’t tell if he was scratching his cheek or wiping away a tear. Goosebumps immediately shot up across my body as Bernie launched into a raw, heartfelt performance of ‘Into My Arms’ – a stark contrast to just moments before, when I'd watched a drag queen leap into a split jump atop a cake, then smear it across the stage using their butt cheeks.
This, in a nutshell, is Fringe: weird, wacky and utterly wonderful.