When I first told people I was moving from England to Miami, the reactions were a mix of “oh wow, glamorous” and “you’re going to melt.” Both were true. I did melt. More than once. I still don’t know how people wear full glam makeup in this heat without their face sliding off like butter on hot toast. But here I am, two years later, still singing, still modeling, still somehow surviving the Florida humidity with only minor frizz-related breakdowns.
England was home, but it was a little… quiet for me. I grew up singing in small pubs and local shows, and don’t get me wrong, there’s something sweet about performing in a room where the bartender knows your name and your uncle heckles you between songs. But I wanted more than pint glasses and sticky floors. Miami promised color, chaos, and a stage bigger than my comfort zone, and I couldn’t resist that.
The first time I performed here, it was at a little lounge tucked between a taco joint and a vape shop (Miami loves its vape shops, let me tell you). I was terrified. My British accent still clung to every word, my outfit was probably too much sequins for a room with eight people in it, and my nerves made me sound like I’d had five cups of coffee on an empty stomach. But by the end of the night, someone came up to me and said, “You belong here.” I carried that sentence home like it was a trophy.
The music scene in England felt polite. There’s a lot of talent, but people clap like they’re at a school recital. Miami? Miami is loud. Miami dances. Miami sings along even if they don’t know the words. You get off stage here buzzing, drenched in sweat (again, that humidity), and feeling like you’ve shared something real. I love that.
And then there’s the modeling side. I stumbled into it when a photographer friend asked if I’d pose for a test shoot. I thought it would be awkward—I mean, who feels natural pretending to look serious while leaning against a random brick wall? But it turned into one of my favorite outlets. Modeling in Miami is a whole mood: beaches, neon lights, rooftop shots with palm trees swaying in the background. It’s dramatic and fun and just the right amount of extra. Very much my vibe.
Of course, none of this makes dating easier. Miami has a lot of options, but I’m picky to the point of madness. My friends say I have “unrealistic standards.” Sorry, but if a guy can’t handle me rehearsing the same line of a song twelve times in a row or waiting an extra hour while I fix my eyeliner, he’s not cut out for this life. So yes, I am thirty, single, and not rushing to settle for anything less than someone who claps loudly at my shows and doesn’t flinch when I hog the bathroom mirror.
But being single has its perks. I can focus on my music, take every opportunity that comes my way, and spend late nights writing lyrics without anyone complaining I left tea mugs all over the apartment. Miami has this strange ability to make you feel like anything is possible, even if the traffic is trying to convince you otherwise. Some days I walk along the beach and think, “This is where I’m supposed to be. This is where it gets real.”
So here I am, still building, still dreaming, still sweating. Trading the drizzle of England for Miami sunshine might have been one of the boldest things I’ve done, but it feels right. The stages are bigger, the palm trees taller, and the opportunities brighter. And who knows? Maybe one of these days I’ll find a guy who claps as loud as Miami does. Until then, I’ll keep singing my heart out.