I Hear the Vixens Roam Free in London
"Oh, Fox, is this love?"
During dinner and cacophonous laughter at the haunted ex-nunnery, we discuss the foxes that rule over Tufnell Park.
Not the royal “we,” btw. This Mediterranean meal is courtesy of my old friend, the vibrantly macabre artist Daniella Batsheva. To my left is Raquel, a gorgeous Spanish make-up artist who forecasts I’ll see my first fox “tonight.” Across from me is Mark, a gentleman wealthy with wildcap tales about stealing from Mussolini’s granddaughter. We’ve had cameos from other roommates and Ziggy, Raquel’s bengal cat. But no ghosts, no foxes, and no matter. I am lovesick over London, and I fear that feeling more than anything living or dead.
I’m staying nearby, a Baby Basement Flat in a Victorian house; everyday I crawl out Nosferatu-style, using the top step to leverage up the handrail-less stairs. It’s perfect, cozy and—fitting for a wayward princess—surrounded by animal friends. A black cat with luminous green eyes looms at my window and a black dog (Cosmo!) lives above me with his lovely owners. But foxes…? It’s only me strolling these rose-bush-lined streets, feeling eerily comfortable and confident.
Once upon a time I feared leaving home, because, you know, I could die. Since my first reading of Grimm’s in girlhood, I understood straying off the path was a sure way encounter something that would devour me. But confronting that phobia means toffee pudding at The Ivy, nature walks in Hampstead Heath, exhibits at the British Museum and Sabbath at the haunted ex-nunnery—all with people adore.
And sometimes my mind drifts back to America and what I’ve left behind (my family, my apartment, my signed vinyl of Sleater-Kinney’s The Woods). But otherwise, I’m only haunted by a foreign feeling: happiness.
Oh no.
Hahahaha oh no. 🥲
So, here’s the story that follows when people ask about my London Era
It’s April and I’m on my flight from Copenhagen, breathless from the epiphany that Brooklyn isn’t enough for me anymore.
My solo travel ramped up in my 30s, partially as a reaction to isolation, but also to explore dormant my curiosities about castles, cemeteries, folklore, and…basic human connection. And eventually my trips reflected how post-pandemic New York—sitting at my laptop waiting for life to happen—was gnawing at me. Denmark confirmed I was seeking something more; Germany clarified I can’t speak German. But England had family, friends, a cultural heritage I adore, and BONUS, English as their native tongue. To wit, I was excited to nuke my entire life and leave the country, teehee!!
Then I arrived at my rent-stabilized apartment, filled with a decade’s worth of memories, a month before my lease renewed. And I was like “Okay 🙃 This is not a plan, this a panic attack.”
So I opted for a more thoughtful approach: gather intelligence with a monthlong stay in the UK. No sudden movements, no need to commit immediately. Explore the idea of being London-based, with an emphasis on that dirty word: “explore.”
So like many millennial American girls, I was raised to fear exploration
The first head trip for my generation was being told “You can be anything you want!” while pointed down a singular path labeled “College → Career → Marriage → House → Family.” Clever girls could briefly detour to a big city and add some “alternative” flourishes, but the endgame is the same. And until someone comes to guide you down their path, you’re constantly reminded of three things: competition is high, time is of the essence, if you round the wrong corner, something may swallow you whole.
The second head trip was realizing mid-journey that everything promised to you—real estate, relationships, reproductive rights, etc—is now astronomical to obtain. Because (third head trip) we had no roadmap for navigating ACTUAL horrors, like:
Graduating with pools of debt and paying in pennies with thankless gigs
Getting your dream job only to work 12 hours creating content for an algorithm
Plague
Feeling insecure because a hot 19-year-old on TikTok said your jeans are “cringe”
Consuming visceral updates on school shootings and war from the same platform that tells you your ex is engaged
“U up?”
Whatever’s happening with health insurance
Witnessing how many people are chill with electing predators & psychopaths into places of power and…
Finding yourself so lost because you weren’t encouraged to be anything beyond Someone’s Something, and prolonged solitude is forcing you to finally question, “Goddammit, what do I actually want from life? Is it this? IDK.”
Now no one could’ve predicted [gestures wildly above]. But it explains why so many millennial women are fed up and fear-consumed over the fruitlessness of The Path. ✨It would’ve been nice✨ to be presented multiple pleasure-seeking roads that supported curiosity and self-sufficiency; men go down these routes without thinking. But many women find themselves at a later-in-life crossroads, suddenly forced to overcome an archaic embodied anxiety of the unknown. “Will this jeopardize the dreams I’ve held my entire life? Will I be abandoned or abandon the people I love? Will I die?”
To allude to the last newsletter, it isn’t that “Women in Europe get to do whatever they want,” no, grow up. But something I’ve explained to puzzled faces all month is that American women aren’t encouraged to leave, let alone move, out of the country. APPARENTLY we’re already free, though this perceived freedom has a very hard stop.
SO [deep breath] how do you escape from this fear? Well, in my experience, you don’t, it lives in some form forever. But fearlessness is not necessary to diverge off The Path, discernment is.
Secret: fear is just a neutral agent withholding important information
Your mission is to feel and move through it, learning what’s underneath. Is this flagging a legitimate danger, like land leeches? Or is it signaling a hidden desire, since after all, everything you want is on the other side of fear? As my current state of fear transmutes into a gently nervous self-doubt, I’m realizing—whenever I have a giggly “Oh no 🙂” moment with London—it feels like falling in love.
I think!! I’ve never feared *loving* something—that feeling is foreign to me and my wide-open heart. But I’ve heard it happens, so tell me if it sounds like this: I’m scared of loving London because it may mean commitment and leaving a ton behind. There’s vulnerability and risk, and the logistics of overhauling my life would be, at best, hideously annoying. And I’m extra scared because when I run up to those concerns, my first thought is, “SO WHAT?”
London has opened its arms, and I’m hitting the limitations of my old lifestyle. Maybe I could follow my punk heart and history-loving brain by exploring something I never dared to dream about. Write my fairy tales, connect with new people, wear go-go boots, see beautiful cities every weekend, and be a stone cold fox. And yeah, maybe I can do this from New York or New Jersey, but then I’ll have never diverged from The Path laid out for me. I know this would not be my worst decision, especially if it’s made for me and me alone.
But no sudden movements, no need to commit immediately. Explore.
The longer I live, the more I advocate for exploration, with a caveat
That is, exploration ≠ travel, and I won’t pretend traveling (without a dick or a social media sponsorship) is inherently effortless and affordable. I've used cunning and resourcefulness to make it work, but I still fuck up constantly. Likewise, exploration is a personal journey; if you have no anxieties country-hopping but can't sit with your own thoughts for a second, maybe a trip to Macchu Pichu isn't the solution. The key is to hear, then silence, the voice that says, “I can’t do that, because…” and that could mean exploring pleasure, academia, new friendships, heritage, dorky little niche interests, living situations, libations, and sure, romance.
Still, I do encourage ladies to use travel for exploration, because it tends to be a catalyst for many of those things, all the paths we’ve been warned off. Really, it boils down to this: if you are a woman, especially one adjacent to the “childless cat lady” genre, pursue your passions and make no apologies. Not only because that’s the life equivalent of putting on some Doc Martens and kicking the patriarchy in the balls, but because you can be anything you want.
And to you and all inhabits of the haunted ex-nunnery, that’s why I’m having a London Era
Being here is an extension of our current mission at Cinderella Undercover: to explore different realms, and to fight for a woman’s right to multi-dimensionality. It’s irrelevant if this lasts a month, a year, or a lifetime, and it doesn’t matter if I can’t get tickets for The Last Dinner Party next week (outlook is grim). I will not regret exploring this all on my own.
This is partly why I tell Mark I’m good to walk the 10 minutes home when he kindly offers to escort me. And MY GOD, what do I see staring straight at me as soon as I turn a corner? A fucking fox.
Three fucking foxes, actually. And just after I get some photo evidence, a man drives by and shouts from the window, “Darling, they’re trying to eat you!”
Well, they can get in line.
As Always,
I Remain,
The One & Only,
Mary Grace
PS, I made you a playlist so you can follow me around the city. 💋