Last Words: The Icelandic Power Lesbian

Disclaimer: I hate dating. I approach dating a little like a particular world leader approaches his presidency; despite some outward confidence, I am insecure, awkward, and ultimately horrible at my job. I am a terrible lesbian.

Perpetually single at 30, I had a life crisis. Like any normal adult human, I decided the best way to increase my chances of finding a mate was to move to Iceland. Surely my British accent alone was enough to make me exotic and interesting? Spoiler alert: Thanks to tourism, it was not.

I went from dating in a city of 8.7 million to a town in the east fjords, population 187. As a lady-gay I am used to a small dating pool. However, the pool didn’t become so much of a puddle as a drip, if that. Stretching my Tinder age range settings to 18-55+, it was still 124km to the nearest woman interested in women.

And she wasn’t my type.

Not having access to disposable dating was actually very liberating; I stopped wearing makeup, shaving my legs and took up knitting. My skin improved, as did my self-esteem, and my family all got hats for Christmas. Happy days.

“Not having access to disposable dating was actually very liberating; I stopped wearing makeup, shaving my legs and took up knitting.”

That is, until I moved to Reykjavík, where the whole nightmare began again. In Reykjavík, anonymity does not exist. Your window of being mysterious and exotic disappears as soon as you know one lady-liking lady. Meet one and you’ve met them all. Even the simple act of asking someone for an innocent coffee can be blown out of proportion, and spread across first the city, then the country, within minutes.

I learned this valuable lesson after I made a joke on stage about becoming a cultural stereotype whilst trying to seduce women with tea and crumpets. Yes, I had attempted to do a Bridget Jones with delicious toasted treats. What had not occurred to me was that not one, not two, but three of the women I had used this line on were in the audience.

In the break, I was uncomfortably sandwiched between all three. There was certainly something Dickensian about the situation; being surrounded by the ghosts of conquests past, present and yet to come. Obviously, I went home alone, and remain single with a freezer full of crumpets.

The quest to become a Power Lesbian continues.