We sat down for an exclusive interview with Honor Santa Barnes, writer and performer of Florence. This satirical tragicomedy follows an ambitious young woman willing to use any means necessary to succeed in the art world. The National praised the show, calling it “the best show at this year’s Fringe” at the 2025 festival.
This show runs from 16th November to 21st November at Park90 – Tickets here
What initially inspired you to explore social mobility and class through the act of assuming a different identity? Why did the art world feel like the right setting for this story?
I’ve always been fascinated by persona, and the ways in which we all amend or reinvent ourselves to fit into different environments, whether socially or professionally.
I also knew I wanted to write something set in the art world. Having worked closely with that world, I found some of the dealings and dynamics within it fascinating, particularly at the higher echelons of society. There’s an interesting assumption that wealth, status and proximity to beautiful things somehow equates to morality, and I don’t think that’s necessarily the case.
However, I didn’t set out to write an opinion piece or a particularly critical examination of social mobility. But I think all my own observations and opinions about that world and the class system inevitably seeped into the writing. I thought the most interesting way to tell the story would be from the perspective of someone who doesn’t naturally have access to that world, and who decides to change herself in order to gain entry. When I was writing the play, I was reading Pygmalion, which was a real inspiration.
Interestingly, although I didn’t set out to write about social mobility, it’s something I’m now very conscious of exploring. The number of people who’ve come up to me afterwards and recognised themselves in those little acts of self-reinvention, from subtly changing their accents to telling small lies to make themselves more socially acceptable, has been fascinating.
Do you see Florence’s deception as an individual moral failing, or as a rational response to a system that already rewards different forms of pretence?
That is something I’d like to leave open to the audience to decide. From the protagonist’s perspective, her deception in becoming Florence is a completely rational response to a system that already rewards certain forms of pretence. She recognises that there are qualities, connections and behaviours that give people access to the art world, and she decides to play by those rules to get to where she wants to be. She is a product of a society and class system that makes it almost impossible for anyone who seems like an ‘outsider’ to get to the top.
The play also asks a deeper question about why we feel the need to put on so many masks? Does it stem from childhood insecurity, lack of confidence or perhaps the inability to believe that we are good enough as we are.
That said, I wouldn’t necessarily describe the protagonist as morally blameless. She’s a deeply flawed character, and I think that’s part of what makes her interesting. I don’t see her deception as a straightforward moral failing, but that doesn’t mean I think everything she does is justified. I think the tension between those two things is what makes her such an interesting character to play.
Does this suggest that our performed identities can eventually become more authentic than the selves we believe we are concealing? Where, for you, does performance end and identity begin?
This is probably the part of the play I’m most fascinated by. What I really wanted to explore was how much of ourselves we can change before we fundamentally become someone different. If you spend enough time performing a particular version of yourself, at what point does that performance stop being a performance?
I think we all do this to a certain extent. We adapt our personalities, our interests and even the way we speak depending on the people we’re surrounded by. You might find yourself pretending to like certain music or adopting certain behaviours because you want to fit in. But if you do that for long enough, those things can become part of who you are.
I suppose the question I’m interested in is what happens to the person underneath all that. Can you keep changing yourself to fit into a world without eventually losing sight of who you were to begin with? And perhaps more importantly, do you even want to go back?
As both the writer and sole performer, you occupy an unusual position in relation to Florence. How does performing the character yourself influence your writing, and have you ever found yourself sympathising with aspects of Florence that you originally intended to criticise?
It’s an interesting relationship because I actually wrote both the protagonist and Florence (her persona) from a fairly critical perspective. The play is, in many ways, a satire of the upper-middle classes and the behaviours and values that are perceived to be desirable or acceptable within that world. Florence is almost a personification of those values.
But the protagonist is equally flawed. She often attributes her actions to Florence, almost as though Florence has a life and influence of her own. There’s a real tension between the two, and I think the protagonist is often quite contradictory in the way she understands herself and her behaviour.
As a performer, though, you have to back your character completely. You have to understand their logic and believe in their decisions, even when you might fundamentally disagree with them. I think that’s where you begin to develop a real sympathy for them. You have to find the vulnerability and humanity beneath the less likeable qualities, and ultimately understand why the audience might want them to succeed.
It was also a very collaborative process. I worked closely with El Blackwood, who directed the production and acted as dramaturg on the script. She had a huge influence on how the characters developed and how the story ultimately reached the audience.
Has the audience’s response challenged or changed your understanding of the character? And what conversations do you hope the play will provoke among London audiences?
Interestingly, I initially set out to write a play about the art world. I wanted to lift the curtain on some of the less savoury dealings I’d encountered and explore the morality of a world that can sometimes seem to operate by quite different rules.
But when we first performed the play, I was struck by how much audiences wanted to talk about identity. They were much more interested in the idea of changing yourself to fit in, and all the little lies we tell about ourselves, than perhaps I had anticipated.
Obviously, what happens to the protagonist is quite an extreme version of that, but I think there’s something very recognisable at its heart. We all embellish, adapt and occasionally misrepresent ourselves, whether it’s in a job interview, on a first date or when we’re trying to impress a new group of friends. Which ultimately influenced the rewrites for The Other Palace and Edinburgh.
I suppose what I’d love London audiences to take away is a question about how much of ourselves we’re willing to compromise in order to belong. And perhaps to recognise a little bit of themselves in the protagonist, even if they’d rather not admit it!