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Ahead of the third series of The Only Way Is Essex, we tour the show’s main sites to find out how it created a mini tourism boom in the much-maligned county. For the more cultured side of Essex click here In a field outside Epping on a grey summer’s day an expectant crowd has gathered. The Duke of Essex Polo Cup is billed as the “highlight of the Essex social season”, but the polo is just a sideshow to the main event – the arrival of the celebrity guests, most of whom seem to have either been married to Katie Price or appeared in Big Brother, or both. As Peter Andre, Alex Reid and Dane Bowers make their way along the red carpet to the VIP marquee (not together, that would be awkward), the onlookers murmur excitedly. Suddenly, there comes a deafening roar from above and all eyes turn skywards. A helicopter lands in the middle of the polo pitch and disgorges its brightly-coloured cargo. There are a couple of tense moments as the draught from the helicopter blades sends hair extensions and lace skirts billowing upwards. Then there’s the difficult matter of negotiating a muddy field in eight-inch stilettos. But after a couple of wobbles, the safety of the red carpet is reached and the waiting paparazzi stand to attention: the cast of The Only Way is Essex has arrived. Britain’s first “structured reality” show, The Only Way Is Essex (TOWIE to its fans) has been something of a surprise hit. The series, which follows the lives of a group of spray-tanned young men and women as they flit between beauty salon, wine bar and nightclub, returns to our screens for a third series next weekend, having picked up a Bafta award and spawned a succession of imitators. The photogenic cast, meanwhile, seem intent on world domination, appearing at premieres and on chat shows, launching beauty products, fashion labels and fitness DVDs (the Essexercise Workout, since you ask). But even more improbable than the show’s success is the fact that it has sparked a mini tourism boom as TOWIE fans travel to Essex to see the locations where it is filmed. I grew up in Essex and while it does indeed have many lovely and underrated corners, the suburban extremities of the Central Line and the commuter towns of the M25 corridor are not among them. But what do I know? At the polo match I get talking to a group of bubbly young women from Glasgow. They tell me they are in Essex to celebrate their friend Rowan’s hen weekend, and that the whole itinerary is a carefully planned homage to TOWIE. “We’ve had the best time,” says Alana, who admits that she doesn’t even like the show. “We’ve been to London before and it’s so unfriendly, but everyone here has been so lovely and welcoming. Essex people like to have fun. They’re like Glaswegians: they don’t take themselves too seriously.” I am a rubbish Essex girl. Despite having been raised in Romford, the spiritual home of the white stiletto and the boy racer, I’ve never had a fake tan or a manicure, let alone a boob job, and I can’t walk in high heels. But if I’m going to immerse myself in the TOWIE experience, some personal grooming is going to be necessary. My first stop is on Queens Road in the well-heeled suburb of Buckhurst Hill, which must have more hair, beauty and tanning salons per capita than any town on the planet. I pass an interiors shop whose USP seems to be that every single item, from picture frames to table lamps, is encrusted in diamante, and a boutique specialising in “pet couture” including a pink leotard for your lapdog emblazoned with the motto “This Is What Spoiled Looks Like”. Heaven knows where you go if you want to buy a pork chop or a loaf of bread. In Posh Frocks I spot a pile of flyers by the door inviting local people to audition for the next series of TOWIE. My destination is Belles & Beaus, a beauty salon where some of the girls from the show get their spray tans and nails done. I’m terrified of looking like an oompah loompah so I shun the Fake Bake and go for a manicure instead. I ask Kate, the nail technician, if they get much demand for Vajazzles, the sparkly makeover for one’s, ahem, “bikini area” which famously saw the light of day on the show. Right on cue, a young woman walks into reception and whispers something to the receptionist. She is ushered into a back room and emerges five minutes later clutching a small bag with the words Vajazzle Me on it. When the cast of TOWIE are not waxing, spray-tanning or Vajazzling themselves, they can be found gossiping over a salad and a glass of sauvignon blanc at attractive country pubs and wine bars in the Chigwell, Epping and Loughton area. I decide to have lunch at the Kings Oak Hotel , in the heart of Epping Forest, which has featured as a backdrop to some of the show’s more dramatic scenes. There’s a banner outside advertising an upcoming pool party. After ordering my food, I take a quick peek at the members-only “Beach Club” and am greeted with the sight of a sparkling blue swimming pool surrounded by Indonesian-style day beds decked out in billowing white linen, where, despite a stiff breeze, a handful of young women in bikinis are lounging around, acting for all the world like they are in Ibiza rather than Epping Forest. At a table nearby a trio of girls in designer sunglasses who could have stepped straight off a TOWIE set enjoy a lunch with their lapdogs. Suddenly it feels like I’ve entered a parallel universe. Picking up the trail again, I take the M25 from Epping to Brentwood, the dormitory town which is at the epicentre of the TOWIE phenomenon. Home to the Sugar Hut nightclub and Minnie’s boutique, where much of the show’s action takes place, the town has been inundated with followers of the show from near and far. “It’s been absolutely crazy,” says Jamie, the receptionist at Brentwood’s Premier Inn. “And it’s not just groups of women: it’s fellas too, and we also get lots of families making a weekend of it. We’ve even had people coming over from Australia.” At Minnie’s boutique, the reaction is one of similar bewilderment. In the show – and in real life – the shop is run by sisters Sam and Billie Faiers. The girls’ mum, Sue, is holding the fort when I visit. “You should come here on a Saturday – they are queuing out of the door,” she says. “It makes me laugh. We’ve had people from Cardiff, Scotland, Ireland …” Some come to shop, but most are hoping to get an autograph from the sisters, who can often be found working behind the counter. This may be Essex’s answer to the Sex and the City tours which were all the rage in New York a few years back, but the major difference is that on this tour there is a very real possibility that you will bump into the stars of the show going about their daily business. I tell Sue I’m going to the Sugar Hut that night and haven’t a clue what to wear. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you Essexed up,” she says thrusting a white Tinkerbell dress with beaded bodice and lacy tutu and a pair of eight-inch high leopardskin platforms into my arms. Sartorially this is a bit of a new departure for me but I decide to squeeze into it for the comedy value. While I resist the urge to skip around the shop singing “Nobody loves a fairy when she’s 40,” Sue appraises my outfit with an expert eye. “You just need a bit of fake tan,” she says kindly, though I suspect a fake body is what I need to carry off this little number. Queuing to get into the Sugar Hut (“It’s not just a nightclub … it’s a lifestyle”) later that evening, I realise that my fairy dress would not have been out of place at all. Whereas the dress code in most London clubs is to look like you haven’t tried too hard, here it’s clear that everyone has spent at least three hours getting ready. And that’s just the men. Clearly, the show’s motto, “look reem, smell reem, be reem”, (and no, I don’t know what reem means either) is taken quite seriously here. Once inside the club, which has a vaguely oriental theme, I’m relieved to find that posing is coming a distant third to drinking and dancing. At the bar I bump into a group of girls from Croydon, which is admittedly not quite Canberra, or even Cardiff, but is still quite a long way to come for a night out. “It’s the furthest I’ve ever driven. It took one and a half hours to get here,” says one of the women as she lines up shots on the bar. Was it worth it, I ask? “Oh my god, yeah, we love it.” I have to agree. I can’t remember the last time I was in a place surrounded by so many people so intent on having a good time. I was planning to stay just for one drink but the atmosphere’s infectious. If I had a handbag I’d dance around it. I’ve embraced by inner Essex girl and it feels good. • The Only Way Is Essex returns to ITV2 on 25 September at 10pm Essex Television Joanne O’Connor guardian.co.uk