Fruitcake is a confident, funny, sexually liberated person who has never really needed anyone else. So, why is she suddenly so drawn to the strange girl in her intro to psych class? This one-woman show follows Fruitcake, a first-year university student who slowly becomes entangled with an alluring, slightly off-putting classmate who shares her love of awkward silences and obscure indie films with unnecessarily long titles. As their connection deepens into something that might be romantic, or might be something entirely weirder, Fruitcake finds herself pulled into the orbit of this girl’s strange little world. But the closer she gets, the more it becomes clear that there’s something under the surface.
I wrote this show because I wanted to unpack that feeling so many queer women, especially neurodivergent queer women, have had at some point. hat feeling of being completely consumed by someone. Not necessarily romantically, not exactly sexually, but in that way where your whole world starts to orbit them. That intensity that is both beautiful and deeply unsettling. The kind of connection where you can’t tell if you’re being seen or being swallowed.
It also dives into the kind of relationship dynamics that can come up when one or both people are neurodiverse or carrying trauma. So often, neurodiverse characters in stories are painted as difficult or draining, like they’re some kind of burden to everyone around them. But that’s such a narrow and unfair take. Neurodiverse people are constantly navigating a world that isn’t built for them, and that can leave scars. I wanted to show what it looks like when someone enters into those connections with care instead of judgment. When needs aren’t treated like inconveniences, but something you work with and around. It’s about love that adapts, not love that demands.
As a queer neurodivergent person, I wanted to create something that feels honest to the awkward, funny, beautiful mess that is falling for someone you don’t really know, but desperately want to. Something that captures how queer longing can be obsessive and electric and also incredibly lonely. How girlhood, trauma, attraction, and self-worth get wrapped up in each other until you don’t know what you’re actually chasing. How sometimes the mystery isn’t about what someone did, but what they never told you.
I’m performing the show myself, which has been wild and terrifying and beautiful. It’s just me and the audience in a room. A small set. No costume changes. Just one person trying to explain how it all happened while gently unravelling in real time. It feels like talking to friends. Some moments are funny. Some are quiet and sad. Some sit in that strange place where you’re not sure whether to laugh or cry.
The team behind Fruitcake is small, queer, and completely heart-led. We’ve built this show with so much care. The process has been full of laughter, softness, and honest conversations about grief, desire, and the need to be understood.There’s no neat resolution in this story, and that’s intentional. We wanted to make space for uncertainty, for longing, for the ache of not knowing.
We have toured the show around Australia and the UK, hitting festivals like Melbourne and Brighton Fringe, but will be doing our final run at the Hope Theatre for Camden Fringe. It is sad to think this is the last time I will step in those shoes, but I am so excited to share this show with London.
At the end of the day, Fruitcake is for the girls who’ve been called too intense. Too much. Too emotional. It’s for anyone who’s ever been ghosted without explanation, who’s stayed up late replaying moments in their head, trying to make sense of someone else’s silence. It’s a little unhinged, a little funny, and surprisingly sweet. And it just might stick with you longer than you expect.
Join me for Fruitcake’s last Hurrah! Running at the Hope Theatre, London N1, from 7 – 10 August at 7pm.
I hope to see you there!
