Cork comedian Kyla Cobbler: 'A good girl when I was growing up was a quiet girl'
Kyla Cobbler performs at Cork Opera House.
Kyla Cobbler moved to Barcelona, on her own, to live in the city at an unusual moment – February 2020. Within a few weeks, the pandemic had engulfed Spain. She had to endure one of Europe’s harshest lockdowns, confined to her apartment for a couple of months except for trips to the pharmacy or for groceries.
“I had moved into an apartment for 10 people, but they were all students so they went home as their university closed,” she says. “I was left living with an Indian lady, who slept a lot. I invited an Australian journalist, who I met through a friend, to move in. She worked for the Financial Times, a really interesting lady. We spent our time drinking.
“It was insane. For exercise, I ran the stairs. I was maximum security prison fit – so fit I had an eight-pack, but because I was drinking a lot I was completely swollen. I looked ridiculous. I was just trying to get through it. Get up, exercise, do Instagram and then get on the booze.”
Cobbler was developing a knack for posting funny online content – sketches and stories about her life and humours. At the time of writing, she’s got a quarter of a million Instagram followers. Back in 2021, a combination of factors – including encouragement by Irish comedian Mike Rice, convincing her that she was properly a comedian, even if she didn’t see that in herself yet – led her to trying out her stand-up routine at an open-mic slot in Barcelona’s Comedy Clubhouse, a thriving hive for the city’s ex-pat community. It took a while for her to find her feet.
“I wish I could say for the sake of the story that it was instant and I loved it, but I didn't,” she says. “I found it tough. It wasn’t the jokes. That was easy. It was being on stage, in front of all these people, expecting people to listen. I come from a generation where women were shushed. A good girl when I was growing up was a quiet girl.
“It was an internal battle growing up for me: my personality is chatty and quite forward and outspoken versus trying to be put in this box of what a woman is or what a girl is. Doing comedy, I had to question myself and look internally, and ask: Why is this so difficult – being heard, using my voice and taking up space? It took time, but something kept pushing me on.”
Cobbler is carving an impressive niche for herself. She sold out the Cork Opera House last year, and returns this month to the venue for two gigs. It will be another triumphant homecoming for the Cork comedian. She’s loving the life she lives abroad. (See panel.) There are, however, elements she misses from home, particularly the fog (“I love fog; there’s no fog in Barcelona”) and the wisecracking.
“One time I was home recently,” she says. “I went swimming, I was down in Lough Hyne, the salt water lake in West Cork, close to Skibbereen. There were seals in the water and everyone was scared to get in. There was a lady in a wetsuit and another lady said to her: ‘He’ll try and ride you in that.’ All of us cracked up. It was so funny.”
Cobbler went full-time as a comedian last summer, leaving aside her day job as a barista. The hit American comedian Michelle Wolf, who has also been living in Barcelona, is a good friend of Cobbler’s. They’ve toured together. When she’s not gigging overseas, Cobbler keeps her comedy chops fit doing open-mic slots at Barcelona’s Comedy Clubhouse. Originally, she worked at the venue as a bartender. She loves nothing better than bantering with its audience members.
“A few weeks ago, I was in the Clubhouse,” she says. “There was this young fella in front of me. He was making severe eye contact. It was kind of creepy. I asked him: ‘How old are you?’ He said, ‘I’m 23.’
I asked: ‘Why you looking at me like that?’ I was messing with him. Then I asked: ‘Have you a girlfriend?’ He said he did, but that she was in Costa Rica. I asked how long they had been together. He told me about five years. I was like, ‘There's no way that will last. You’re five years together. You’re still only 23 years old. Did you lose your virginity to her?’ He went, ‘I did.’
“I said, ‘For God’s sake, she’s in Costa Rica now going balls to the wall riding everyone.’ He laughed, and then he looked over to his side. On the other side of the room, on the same row of seats, between the aisle, he pointed and said, ‘They're my parents.’ We cracked up.
"The parents were such legends. They were crying laughing. I asked his dad: ‘Did you lose your virginity to your wife?’ He said he didn’t. I said to his son: ‘There you go. Learn from your daddy.’”
- Kyla Cobbler will perform at Cork Opera House, 17-18 February. See: www.corkoperahouse.ie
Kyla Cobbler, 33, hit the road when she was 18, leaving her hometown Ballincollig, a suburb of Cork city, to walk the earth.
She’s lived the second half of her life so far in several countries. These include Australia, which she’s ambivalent about: “It’s amazing in certain respects, but I found it very empty. It's very young – it's still growing. I love castles and different languages and different foods and music. I found it all very samesy.”
She went to Italy for love, having hooked up with an Italian man: “We fell in love. As much as in love as one could be at 21. I lived there for seven years, a really long time. I loved it. I lived in Milan. I worked in fashion. I worked in pubs, always hustling and doing my thing. Made loads of money, paid off my credit union loan – a very exciting moment for a young Irish person!”
The comedian moved to Barcelona in 2020, keen to learn another language, being already fluent in Italian. The Catalan city, perched in the north-east corner of Spain, a couple of hours from the Pyrenees and the French border, wrestles with the problem of over-tourism. It’s an ideal base for Cobbler, however, because the cost of living is cheaper than, say, Cork or London, and it enjoys blue skies overhead.
“I love my daily ritual of being able to get up, have my coffee in the sunshine,” she says. “I go for a run by the beach. I swim often. I go to yoga all the time. Barcelona has two sides to it – you have your coked-up, party side and your healthy-living side.
"I love the city’s comedy scene, but I absolutely hate anything bureaucratic here – accountants, taxes, et cetera. It's like you go on a Tuesday to get an appointment for something and they're like, ‘I'm sorry you're wearing a red T-shirt, so you can’t do that today.’ I've never seen a place so nonfunctional, but I’m here for the lifestyle.”
