As a native Londoner, I’m not accustomed to seeing clean streets. Blackened chewing gum, a discarded McDonald’s takeaway bag and mouldy cigarette butts are a common sight; London is a glorious city but it’s undeniably gross. When I travelled to Copenhagen, Denmark, for the first time as a fledgling 23-year-old journalist attending Copenhagen Fashion Week, the state of the streets was the first thing I noticed.
Here, workmen are tasked with burning away the weeds that break through the cracks in the pavement. I realised that if a city has money to address such a minor inconvenience, then why on earth was I still living in a place where thick bathroom mould is customary?
Trademarked as the land of “hygge”, which roughly translates to cosiness, Denmark is often touted as one of the happiest places to live in the world. In fact, a study last year highlighted Copenhagen as the best city to move to for British expats. Although it’s a little harder now thanks to post-Brexit rules, I’m fortunate to have a large group of British friends that have made a home for themselves here.
We get to cycle to work without worrying about oncoming traffic; clock off early during summer to go for early afternoon dips; and relax in our ergonomically designed homes with high ceilings, sizeable courtyards, and no unsightly bathroom mould.
However, moving from London to Copenhagen six years ago was no fairytale. When I landed my first job at a women’s sneaker company here in 2019, I thought I’d found my dream position. But the currency difference and bureaucratic system I had to navigate in the first four months meant that I was living on 50 per cent of my wages – that’s £600 a month for all of my living expenses.
In my first year here, I cried on the phone to my dad just before Christmas because I had 10kr (£1.13) left in my bank account and was having pasta with gravy for dinner. When I asked for a pay rise one and a half years into the job, I was told that £100 extra a month was out of the question. Less than a month later, I was told my role was being dissolved and found myself unemployed in the middle of a global pandemic.
This may sound like an anomaly but in a city where a flat hierarchy (where “people relate to one another as equals regardless of job titles and formal positions” explains the University of Southern Denmark on the country’s working culture) is lauded, my experience and that of my friends is that it’s all too commonplace for companies to underpay, overwork and stifle their employees.
In 2020, while working at a large business, I transparently informed management that I was having a miscarriage and was put on probation the week I returned. In a subsequent job, the CEO attempted to dupe me into a zero-hours contract to save money because the business was rapidly going under due to mismanagement at the top.
At another company, I was told that the Danish classes I was taking to try and assimilate as the only non-Dane in the office were more of a “hobby” that I needed to partake in on my own time – despite meetings exclusively being held in Danish.
Fellow expat friends of mine have expressed a yearning for the meritocracy of their home countries, suggesting that the Danes arguably have a great work-life balance because they simply leave the bulk of their tasks for the foreigners who are accustomed to the rat race style of working.
The cultural divide between the Danes and the non-Danes is also felt acutely when it comes to making friends. Luckily for me, I have a lot of wonderful Danish friends who have welcomed me into their inner circles. However, many people find they’re a difficult bunch to build intimacy with. “I’ve been here for four years and I don’t have a single Danish friend,” said one of my mates, who even has a parent that hails from another Scandinavian country. It’s endearing that most Danes develop friendships in gymnasium (secondary school) that continue into adulthood but there’s a tangible reluctance to expand an invitation to any newcomers.
This could partially be due to language difference. I’ve been the sheepish English speaker countless times, where a kind Dane has taken pity on me and reminded the rest of the group to switch to English. Comfortingly, most younger Danes in Copenhagen speak the language at near-native level. Although I’m persistent in trying to learn Danish, it’s a hard language that looks wildly different from how it sounds. Therefore, “rød grød med flød” (a tongue-twister meaning “red pudding with cream”) is still a huge mouthful.
Unsurprisingly, if friendships can prove hard to form, so can romantic relationships. I’m part of a Facebook group called ‘Expats in Copenhagen‘ that often sees people post asking for advice on salary expectations, housing opportunities and unfamiliar Danish customs. At one point, however, it became an Agony Aunt column with women posting about their bizarre experiences with non-committal Danish men.
I will say, if you’re looking looking for a blonde, blue-eyed, 6’5” guy in finance, hang around Copenhagen Business School for long enough and I’m sure you’ll find one. I have had my fair share of tall, handsome men who have been fantastic lovers, but I have also endured blindsiding heartbreak on more occasions than I’d care to count.
As a Black woman, dating unfortunately always comes with an extra set of hurdles. Although I still faced ignorant remarks when I lived in multicultural London, while predominantly dating white men in Denmark, I’ve heard memorable gems such as: “Would you say you date more Black guys or white guys?”, “Did he have an African dong?” and “What was the name of your slave owner? Just kidding!” However, I have both Danish and British friends with amazing Danish partners, so it would be reductive to tar all of them with the same brush.
For those who have found a partner – Danish or otherwise – and decided to have children, Copenhagen is an incredible city for families. Earlier this year, the Global Peace Index ranked Denmark as the second safest place in the world, making Copenhagen an alluring place to raise kids. Expectant parents (mothers and fathers/co-mothers) who are employed in Denmark full-time are able to take 24 weeks of paid leave each. In the UK, for comparison, paid paternity leave is fixed at two weeks. Once a couple’s child is born in Denmark, the government also pays a sum every quarter to the parents until their 18th birthday.
My friend recently moved here from Bath with her partner and toddler son, who was delighted to find an entire garden complete with a sandpit and swing in their courtyard. Most Danish apartment buildings include courtyard space with playground equipment, BBQs and picnic benches for communal gatherings. There are child-friendly museums, the planetarium and the Frederiksberg Zoo for family days out. Though the majority of my friends here don’t have children, the ones that do feel that they’re still able to engage in active social lives without having to make too many sacrifices.
As the average age for first-time mothers in Denmark in 2023 was 31.5, I undoubtedly feel pressure to settle down and have kids but know I’m simply not ready yet. Back in 2020, a study by the Office for National Statistics found that over half of women aged 30 in the UK were entering the decade without having any children – the highest number since records began. For the time being, at least, I’m sticking with the British ladies on this one.
If I had 1kr for every time a Dane has said “Why would you move from London to live in Copenhagen?!” I’d probably have enough to rebrand as affluent Scandi fashion influencer Pernille Teisbæk. Despite common misconceptions, I didn’t move for a partner or a job – I moved here because I love the city. My friend Elom, a fellow expat from South London who recently relocated back to Copenhagen, once said to me: “You just love Copenhagen, don’t you?” I adore the fact that I can walk home alone in the early hours in summer, revelling in the inky blue sky because the sun never really sets. When I’m feeling too lazy to bike, it takes me 15 minutes to get to work on the metro in the morning. I can sit in a smoky bodega with my friends any day of the week, drink Tuborg Classic beers and engage in a conversation in my broken Danish with raucous locals.
Like anywhere in the world, Copenhagen has its setbacks. Danish people are markedly homogenous: usually of the same racial background and wealth. In that sense, it’s easy to build a utopia when there’s little to challenge the status quo. My friend Emma humorously refers to them as “non-playable characters” because the Danes can oftentimes come across like a glass of tepid water – inoffensive but not wholly palatable. As a pre-Brexit expat myself, I’m delighted that a Labour government is now in power in the UK, but I think I’ll stick to my safe, sustainable city for now. One where a McDonald’s takeaway bag is efficiently recycled quicker than you can say “tak”.
