Edinburgh Fringe 2026 is finally underway and in this interview we speak to Julia Atkin who is the writer and actor of Crying At My Podiatrist. ‘”When Julia Atkin loses her big toenail, she gains an unlikely spiritual advisor: her Ukrainian podiatrist. In this preposterous, dark comedy, Julia revisits the worst three years of her life-medical mishaps, identity crises and giggling through grief. Crying At My Podiatrist blends absurd body horror with a reluctant search for meaning in the world’s least spiritual office. Existential dread and unexpected tenderness collide in an Edinburgh Fringe debut.”
How would you describe your show to someone discovering it for the first time at the Fringe?
Crying At My Podiatrist is about how I got my big toenail surgically removed, and my Ukrainian podiatrist became my spiritual guide for the worst three years of my life. It’s a cheeky, absurdist body horror solo show with a beating heart at the center. Think grief with giggles.
What moment, idea or frustration first sparked this show into existence?
There were a couple of moments. The first was about a month into COVID lockdown. I kept thinking about what I could do alone, and the obvious answer was a solo show. I had no idea what I wanted it to be about. The next moment was when I met my podiatrist, and he removed my toenail. It’s rare to meet someone like him in real life; someone so interesting you want to write down everything they say and do. The final moment came at a confluence of life events: I was diagnosed with Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder, became suicidal, did psychedelic therapy, and helped my Aunt Beth through Medical Assistance in Dying. I realized that my podiatrist had seen me through it all, and gave me some sage wisdom, disguised as medical advice.
How has the show evolved from its earliest idea to what audiences will see now?
The biggest challenge, once all the events of the play transpired, was to whittle them down into a clear story. One of my teachers said, “it’s a story from your life, not the story of your life”. Crying At My Podiatrist is autobiographical, but I wanted to avoid anything that felt like therapy on stage. I still talk about a lot of things that came up in actual therapy sessions, but the goal was to take a hyper-personal story and turn it into something universal. I feel really proud that our audiences have connected so deeply to the message, and even to the toe trauma. Turns out, everybody has a toe story.
It’s all in the title: Fringe has always been a place where the weird art kids can put on a show and find their people. People actually like the fact that I made a play about my big toe. I mean, I always had faith, but it’s nice to get validation too.
The timing feels important to me as well. Between the scenes at my podiatrist, I talk about a lot of hot button issues that are a part of my life. Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder is a serious, life-threatening menstrual disorder that has unfortunately not been given enough attention until now. Though actually, Scottish researchers just released a new suicide-prevention tool specifically designed for folks with PMDD. It’s also an interesting time to be both queer and Jewish, given the political landscape. And, the UK recently had a vote on what my country calls MAID, Medical Assistance in Dying. I never expected or intended for Crying At My Podiatrist to be so relevant, and sometimes it scares me to present a show at the center of so many emotional topics, but I also feel extremely grateful and privileged to share it.
What does bringing this particular show to the Fringe represent for you personally?
Maybe it sounds corny, but bringing a show to Fringe is a teenage dream come true. Fifteen years ago I came to Fringe for a few days on a family vacation, and fell in love. I never knew if I’d get the opportunity to come, and now that I’m here, it’s everything I imagined. I don’t actually care if that sounds corny, it’s true! I also imagine it’s a beautiful thing for my family to see, having brought me here all those years ago and seeing me actualize the dream. It feels like I’m able to make good on a promise to them, that their belief and investment in me has produced something real.
What has been the most unexpectedly challenging part of getting this show to Edinburgh?
I have so much respect for Fringe producers. I am self-producing while writing and performing and wow. It’s a high learning curve. The Fringe marketplace operates at a different speed and intensity that anything else I’ve experienced. It’s certainly part of what makes Fringe exhilarating. It can also be exhausting. I’ve learned to ride the waves I can catch and go under the ones that could pummel me. The reward is the people you meet here. I’m so inspired by all the incredible, passionate, kind artists I’ve met already.
If audiences leave the venue holding onto one thing, what do you hope it is?
Who knows how long you get this body for? Might as well work together, love each other, and do everything you possibly can before you have to part ways.
How do you think performing this show during a Fringe run will shape it?
Five shows down, and the play is already so much tighter. Solo shows love an audience like meat love salt. Audiences teach us so much about what works, what doesn’t, what feels on the money, what feels excessive. Their real-time feedback is the ultimate director, writer, and performer. It’s an ongoing, living, breathing script. We’ve got 18 more shows to learn everything we can, and then who knows? I hope to bring Crying At My Podiatrist to other cities, or back to Fringe!
Who do you hope this show finds at the Fringe?
I truly believe that Crying At My Podiatrist is a universal story, so everyone is welcome. (Maybe not kiddos.) If Crying At My Podiatrist finds one person, I hope it’s the person who feels a little stuck, frustrated, or even hopeless; people who are in a rough chapter of life, who need a foothold, who need someone to show them there’s a way through. Years ago, my friend Camille told me she had a vision of me: I was standing in a field, completely surrounded by fog, unable to see what was around me. But I carried a big flashlight, and worked my way through the fog anyway. She said she had a flashlight too, and was trying to show me the way out. Now I’m Camille, and we’re shining our Crying At My Podiatrist flashlight out for whoever else is stuck in the fog.
Finally, if this show came with a warning label, what would it say?
Ok…I’ve got to be honest. Ever since we started doing this show, the people around me have developed foot or toe issues, and have had to visit a podiatrist. My mom, my sister, my associate director, my writing group, my director’s Aunt. We’re collecting screenshots of all the text messages. I don’t know what witchery I’ve accidentally cast, but Crying At My Podiatrist’s got a curse. You’ve been warned!
Crying At My Podiatrist runs at The Edinburgh Festival Fringe from 8th – 30th August 2026 (Except 15th, 16th, 22nd & 23rd).