Unpacking Babygirl: Exploring Sexuality, Womens Roles, and Midlife Awakenings
Her inability to articulate what she wanted + the clumsy way she navigated her desires felt uncomfortably familiar. I was reminded of myself & the first time I stepped into the role expected to submit
this is the first part of at least two. most of this post is my opinion of Babygirl(I am not a movie reviewer, y’all). the next part(s) are me inserting my uncensored, unsolicited experience because this is unf*cking midlife and we’re gonna talk about it. but behind the paywall because privacy and support for myself and anyone else who wants to share is what we are prioritizing this year. xx ash
I woke up last Sunday to my boyfriend giving me forehead kisses and bringing me coffee in bed. Unlike most mornings, the ones where we get up and begin our usual practice, he asked me if I wanted extra time to lie in bed to—get ready for it—read.
I let out a loud, long, and hard YESSSSS, grabbed my phone, opened Substack, and dove into my inbox. The day before, I had noticed an email from (HONEY STAY SUPER) titled Ok Babygirls, Now Let's Get in Formation, and my interest was piqued.
Not because I was particularly excited about seeing Babygirl. Faith had asked me earlier if I wanted to see it while she was home on break from college, and I said Sure. But honestly, the few previews I watched and tidbits I read left me feeling like the movie might cheapen, sexualize, commercialize or exploit the dom/sub dynamic in a way that would leave me feeling put off.
But the email hooked me because
opened her post with a fascinating discussion about the movie's director—Halina Reijn—who happens to be Dutch—and the differences between sex education in the Netherlands and America.Years ago, I overheard Peggy Orenstein on NPR discussing the Dutch approach to sex education. They start teaching around age four with messages rooted in positivity and health. Kimberly's post dove even deeper, which opened my mind and made me grab tickets for Faith and me to see the movie later that day.
What I didn't expect—though perhaps I should have—was the audience. I had imagined being the only mother there with her daughter, judged for bringing her. Wrong. The theater was filled with mother-daughter pairs, groups of girlfriends, and even more surprising (to me)—middle-aged couples and gray-haired attendees who looked like they might have just come from a lecture at the local library. Given I’m middle aged and grey haired, this should not have come as a surprise. If this is me being wrong, I don’t want to be right.
Back to Babygirl. Yes, the movie follows the story of a high-powered CEO who finds herself submitting to her younger male mentee. But that's not the actual thread of the story.
It's about a woman's sexual desires and fantasies—how they've been repressed and denied thanks to conditioning, societal expectations, and the exhausting pursuit of being everything for everyone.
And if that's not relatable to some Midlife women's experience, I don't know what it is.
I have to say I found the relationship between Romy (Kidman) and her daughter, Isabel (McGregor) to be the most informative to Kidman's understanding of and exploration of her own (limited) sexuality, individuality and place in life.
It's a relationship that reminds you, at nearly every intersection, that once a woman becomes a mother, she will never have the freedom, autonomy, or individuality she may have otherwise thought she was entitled to.
There’s no turning away when her daughter mocks her for getting work done on her face by calling her a fish. When Isabel responds to her Romy’s question, ‘but what about your girlfriend?’ her daughter tells her (not verbatim); I can have fun with one person and still love someone else.
The most sobering moment is her walking in the door after being out all night only to be confronted by her daughter who is concerned and worried.
Her daughter senses something is off before anyone else does.
I can see why those who went to see Babygirl to watch some kink play out would be disappointed. It also doesn’t help that it’s being marketed as a ‘psychological thriller.’
I can also understand why you might feel a particular sort of ick or scoff at watching Kidman cover her face and clench her fists in certain scenes.
For example, Samual (Dickinson) demands that she say the words to establish consent. She begs him to tell her what they are— she doesn’t know. Or another scene with her husband Jacob (Banderas) where we see Romy hiding under a sheet and giggling while trying to communicate her desires to her husband, but unable to.
She comes off as inexperienced and awkward.
There is a visceral breakdown between her wanting and having when it comes to her sexual desires and fantasies; it's as if she cannot form the words or take the actions despite everything in her wanting to.
It's where she loses her power.
It's in those scenes I found myself captured; her experience was almost mine to a T.
Her inability to articulate what she wanted and the clumsy way she navigated her desires felt uncomfortably familiar. It reminded me of a version of myself in the bedroom and the first time I stepped into a dynamic where I was expected to submit.
We really see the peak of all this repressed energy manifest into a rage one night when her husband starts touching her for sex. Years of lying there and not saying anything erupt from her fists. She goes from not knowing how to communicate clearly to clearing any confusion with, I've never had an orgasm with you. In 19 years. Never.
If that won’t get someone’s attention, I don’t know what will.
The next day, she tried to backtrack and said she had just been tired and overworked. They began to get into it, and I'm 99.99999% positive she said, 'I'm not normal,' first. After a few more interactions, he agreed with her by saying, 'You're not normal!' and walked out.
Most reviews I've read take issue with Him saying, 'You're not normal.'
"In human sexuality, kinkiness is the use of sexual practices, concepts or fantasies that are not conventional." Wikipedia
Not conventional implies not normal. However, it does not mean wrong (or right).
Kidman’s statement or definition that what she desires or how she is wired is not normal was never a negative moment but a very potent one.
I’m not like you. I’m not like others.
Whatever internalized shame she may have had about not being ‘normal’ lost its hold on her the moment she owned that denied part of herself.
Was his response rooted in judgment? Sure. But only because he felt insecure knowing he had never pleased her and didn’t feel competent in being able to meet her where she wanted.
(As I type this I can honestly say I’ve also experienced being in his shoes.)
Of course, his response is shaped by conditioning, which unfolds and evolves as the story progresses.
Watching Babygirl, I couldn’t help but see myself in Romy’s awkwardness and hesitation. Her inability to articulate what she wanted, the shame she carried, and the clumsy way she navigated her desires felt uncomfortably familiar. It reminded me of the first time I stepped into a dynamic where I was expected to relinquish control—not just in the physical sense but emotionally, mentally, and sexually.
Being submissive didn’t come naturally to me, at least not at first. Like Romy, I had spent so much of my life hiding what I wanted or downplaying it to make others comfortable.
Unlike Romy, I hadn't yet uncovered some of my desires and fantasies; they lingered just below the surface, waiting for the right moment.
That moment arrived in my mid to late thirties when a friend introduced me to his friend, who boldly announced, "I'm really good at tying people up. So good, in fact, you'll be begging me to fuck you."
