He’s Six Years Older Than Me is an intimate interdisciplinary performance exploring memory, consent, shame, and the human instinct to search for patterns in past relationships. Framed through the live experience of taking an STI self-testing kit, the piece gradually unravels into a deeply personal reflection on intimacy, vulnerability, and the stories we tell ourselves to make sense of what has happened to us. Blending movement, text, and confession, Taeyun Kim examines the blurred space between self-analysis and self-blame, asking why we cling to seemingly meaningful details – age gaps, personality types, recurring “types” – in the hope they might provide answers.
You’ve just done a show called He’s Six Years Older Than Me at the Brighton Fringe. First of all, was this your first experience of the Brighton Fringe and, if so, what did you think?
Yes, it was my first Brighton Fringe. I’ve done other fringes before – I’ve done Lambeth Fringe in London and I’ve done VAULT Festival, which is now sadly closed because they lost their venue due to funding issues. But yes, this was my first time doing a fringe outside of London.
For people reading this who may be discovering your work for the first time, how would you describe He’s Six Years Older Than Me?
He’s Six Years Older Than Me is a live performance about a young woman – myself – performing an STI self-testing kit for the first time. Throughout this clinical act, she tells stories about her past experiences, and the process slowly becomes a confession that develops into the question: “Okay, he’s six years older than me… so what?”
What first sparked the idea for this piece?
I tried my first STI self-testing kit in the UK in 2024. I’m from South Korea, and we don’t really have anything like that there. We don’t tend to do self-testing – it’s a much more conservative society, so you would normally go to a clinic and see a doctor rather than order a sampling kit and do it yourself.
When I discovered it here, it felt like a very foreign idea to me, although it can obviously be much more accessible for some people who might not have time, money, or easy access to clinics. At first, it seemed really convenient, but when I actually tried the test, it was so intimidating. The instructions felt unclear and I remember thinking, “Oh my God, how do I even get blood out of my finger?” That sense of culture shock became a really strong motivation for the show. I wanted to talk about that experience and turn it into something creative.
That’s really inspiring. Why does this feel like the right story to tell now?
While preparing the show, I did a lot of research and read many articles and studies. Something that kept coming up was the ongoing issue of people refusing to wear condoms or not properly engaging with conversations around protection and consent.
I became particularly interested in stealthing. In some countries, stealthing is legally recognised as a form of rape or sexual assault, but proving lack of consent can still be incredibly difficult because the boundaries are often treated as blurred. That’s why I felt it was important to shine more of a spotlight on that specific act and raise awareness that it can be a form of sexual assault.
The work feels deeply personal and intimate. How much of yourself is reflected in it, if any?
It definitely started from an autobiographical place. At first, I thought I was just being stupid because I didn’t know how to use the STI kit and had never done one before. But when I started talking to other people, including people from the UK and Europe, they admitted that they still find it frightening too, even if they’ve done it many times.
People talked about how stressful it is trying to get enough blood from your finger and how intimidating the whole process can feel. So, although it began as a personal story, it slowly became something much more universal. I started incorporating stories from friends, alongside research and articles from places like Men’s Health and Women’s Health.
So yes, it absolutely comes from my own experience, but I think it’s also something a lot of people can relate to.
What do you hope audiences take away from the performance?
This is very much a live performance rather than a traditional theatre piece. Although it has text and a dramaturgical structure, I come from a performing arts and dance background, so there are a lot of multidisciplinary elements within it.
I think audiences can take away different things depending on what resonates with them. For some people, it might be the storyline and the conversations around stealing. For others, it might be the projections, movement, choreography, or visual elements. I hope people discover different aspects of the work that connect with their own tastes and experiences.
Following on from that interdisciplinary aspect – which really interested me – how did the choreography and writing develop alongside each other? Did the writing come first, or the choreography?
The choreography definitely came first because I’m from a dance background, so movement is the most natural language for me when I create.
When I was preparing to do the test, the instruction video kept telling me to warm my hands and improve blood circulation. I was trying everything and it still wasn’t working, so eventually I just started doing my own dance warm-ups, stretches, and yoga routines instead. That became the raw material for the choreography.
At first, I almost imagined myself as a YouTuber giving instructions like, “Follow me if you want to get more blood out more easily!” That was really the starting point.
Then, when I started writing the text, I went back through diaries, notes, and memories about how I felt at the time. That’s also how I came up with the title.
I realised that three of the men I’d been involved with were all six years older than me. When you’re doing an STI test, it naturally makes you revisit memories and think about how those relationships started. I found myself asking, “Why do I always choose men who are six years older than me?”
I describe it as this instinct to search for patterns. You know how friends will say, “You always go for Scorpios – at this point, it’s your fault!” We look for patterns because we want explanations, even if they don’t actually solve anything. So, the show explores that urge to analyse every detail and search for reasons why things happened.
Were there any artists, choreographers, writers, or experiences that inspired the work?
Definitely Michaela Coel. I found her incredibly inspiring while writing this piece because she writes, produces, directs, and performs her own work.
I was juggling writing, choreography, performance, and personal storytelling all at once, so I watched a lot of her interviews to learn more about her creative process.
I was also inspired by a Korean drama series on Netflix about two women who were once close friends but have become frenemies. What interested me was the way the story revisited memories from different perspectives, showing how two people can interpret the same event completely differently.
I draw inspiration from lots of different art forms, not just theatre, but films, television, visual art, and movement.
Has there been a reaction or conversation with an audience member that’s stayed with you after the performance?
Yes. After one of the Brighton Fringe performances, a man in his forties or fifties came up to me after the show. He was probably the last demographic I expected to connect with the piece because I mainly imagined younger audiences or queer audiences relating to it most strongly.
But he later posted something online saying, “A young woman performing an STI kit live was not on my bingo card… but I’m going to think about it for a very long time.”
That really stayed with me because it reminded me that the work could affect people outside of the audience I originally imagined.
What excites you about creating interdisciplinary work compared to only writing or only dancing? What magic happens when all of those forms come together for you?
For me, writing and dance each have opposite emotional experiences attached to them. Writing is incredibly enjoyable while I’m actually doing it, but speaking those words aloud on stage feels terrifying because I didn’t originally train as a performer who speaks.
Dance is the opposite. Creating choreography in the studio can feel stressful because I don’t always know where it’s going, but once I’m on stage performing, I stop overthinking and just exist in the movement.
So, combining disciplines creates a balance for me. If I’m nervous about the text, movement grounds me. If I’m uncertain about the choreography, the writing carries me through.
I’m not a traditionally trained actor, so I think my performances rely heavily on physicality and body language alongside speech. That’s just naturally become my way of creating work.
What’s next for you after this project? Have you got anything lined up?
Yes – I’m taking the show to the Edinburgh Fringe. I’ve just finished Brighton, so now I’m mainly preparing for Edinburgh. Tickets are already on sale.
Alongside theatre, I also work on visual art collaborations and gallery-based performances. I’ve performed with visual artists at the Royal Academy of Arts, and I also do some film and site-specific work.
So, I’m continuing to explore lots of different creative forms alongside theatre.
If audiences could leave with just one feeling or thought after watching He’s Six Years Older Than Me, what would you want it to be?
I want audiences to leave thinking: “She’s fine.”
She’s fine. I’m fine. You’re fine. We’ve all been there in some way.
Making this show happened during a really difficult period in my life because it’s such a personal story, but at the end of the day, we survive these experiences. We take the test, we move on, we hope for better people in the future, and life continues.
It happened but we’re okay.
Tickets for He’s Six Years Older Than Me at the Edinburgh Fringe are available now: https://www.edfringe.com/tickets/whats-on/he-s-six-years-older-than-me