My Countryside Gays – WTF Are We Doing Out Here?

If you’ve been following my life (you probably haven’t, there’s more important stuff going on), you may have seen that I recently survived a house fire – forcing me to move back to the Shires. It was as if, after complaining about my lack of sex in London, the universe decided to reward me with a relocation back to the town in which I frequently took part in moral and sexual deviancy. However, when much of this deviancy was taking place, whether it was sex in pubs or hand jobs in cinemas (Cineworld, please do not ban me I was young and foolish – also, lower your prices), I was very much a baby gay! I had not yet had any queer experiences except potentially going to dinner with a girl I fancied or drunken kisses with close friends. So, here I am, a queer adult who has been forced to move back to a town with one ‘club’ and less than ten pubs. So my question is: gay people in the countryside, what the f*ck are we doing? Where are you guys going to get lit? Where are we serving c*nt? Where are my divas, dolls, baddies? And don’t tell me Wetherspoons…

Demi in hertfordshire

Upon returning home I’ve seen a concerning number of skinny jeans and Air Force 1s! Where are the micro mini skirts, the platform heels, the Doc Martens? Do you know how scary it is to go from living your best queer life in London (sexless or not) to having to return to the Shires? Within the month I’ve been here, I’ve lived out multiple nightmares. 

Picture this: me in a maxi skirt and sweater vest, lips lined and glossy, at my local pub making eyes at a soft masc across the room. Our eyes meet frequently, they are shy, their cheeks warm and they look away but always return to gaze at me. Me, however, an unabashed tigress, stares at her prey, excited for the chase. The soft masc and I continue this way throughout the evening until eventually I walk past them. It is only when I enter their proximity, I not only hear their voice but also hear what is taking place at their table. Dear Reader, this is NOT a soft masc but instead a young man at dinner with his parents! I was sick to my stomach. I nearly called the police on myself then and there. I felt tricked, bamboozled even!

A second nightmare: I was existing, being my gorgeous self, in the Shires, wearing a low-cut top and slacks with platform boots – quite a simple outfit. Minding my business at the pub, I was told by a group of white men that I looked exactly like Naomi Campbell. Guys, I am 5’2, I have short locs and struggle with back problems due to my gargantuan tits. What on God’s green earth about me evokes the same aesthetic as supermodel Naomi Campbell? I am delusional, yes, but I am not BLIND. (Note to white readers: if you are reading this, thinking to yourself ‘this is definitely a compliment’ just know that you are wrong, please learn more Black celebrities or, better yet, shush x).

Being Black in the countryside is always a strange experience, but having since realised my queerness and fully embracing it in London, being back here is all the more jarring.

Many of you must be experiencing the same thing since most of us Londoners, being gentrifiers, have had to return to our family homes in the suburbs for Christmas anyway. Scrolling through TikTok for a hit of queer dopamine, longing for the community we’d taken for granted in the city. London has so many chances for community. There’s Dykes who Hike, Housmans who host several LGBTQ, POC, and feminist book clubs, Misery Party a QTBPOC mental health collective & sober party, plus of course Pxssy Palace and Gal Pals. There seems to be something for every queer person under the sun! Why can’t that energy be emulated here?

This probably sounds whiny, and I recognise I’m very fortunate to be able to move away from my childhood home and experience so many wonderful inclusive spaces, but it seems insane to me for there to just be nothing here. Yes, Hertfordshire is a mere 30 minutes on the train (if they aren’t delayed or cancelled, but that’s a rant for another time), but should young queer people be forced to trek into London, spending money they don’t have, for community? Why is there nowhere for young queer people to go? Even older queer people, where are you communing? Where are you holding space for each other? It is not even a feeling of being unsafe or uneasy that I am experiencing, which is again very fortunate, but it is just pure uncertainty. There are no signifiers, no codes here for me to know when I am amongst queer people. If you’re still hiding in the closet, make room so I can come in and hang out!

I am lucky that so many of my school friends (like three of us) turned out gay (shout out to Catholic school for raising a gay-as-hell generation once we got over the internalised shame and indoctrination lol) so we can hold space for each other and share our experiences. And I’m even more fortunate to have made so many incredible queer friends of colour while living in London that I feel close to. But I do want better for my hometown. I want better for the young people who don’t want to move to big cities to find themselves or their people – you should be able to find yourself right at home, your community shouldn’t have to be just online.

I’ll eventually move away and reposition myself in London, but for those growing up in the Shires and other not-so-queer counties, I hope you’re building something for yourselves. And if you are, I’ll be sure to come and visit. 

Yours truly,

Demi x




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Demi Echezona
Demi Echezona

Failed dating show contestant on BBC “I Kissed a Girl” and writer of horny and sad poetry, Demi is based in Islington, London and works for independent publisher VERVE Books as an editorial assistant and social media manager. In her spare time she attends spoken word poetry nights, drinks an unhealthy amount of fruit tea with honey and aggressively reposts her FYP on TikTok.