Babygirl Is So Bad That I Need It

There are certain films that manage to land in a gray area between what we’re told we should hate and what, for reasons we can’t fully explain, we feel we need. Babygirl (2024) is one of those films. It’s flawed in ways that are impossible to ignore—the shallow handling of the SM themes, the overly simplisitic take on female desire, and the frustrating way it brushes past important dynamics of power, to say the least. But somehow, despite all its glaring issues, Babygirl ended up being exactly the kind of film I didn’t know I needed at this moment in my life.

Before I get into why this film hit me in an unexpected way, I should probably give you some background. I’m a woman almost thirty, and I grew up in a world where fear and restraint were imposed on me at every turn. From a very young age, I was taught to be “good”, to behave, to keep my desires and ambitions in check, because—God forbid—I stepped out of line and made a mistake. Growing up in a society that constantly told me that one single wrong move—just one— could be the end of me, I learned to fear making mistakes, no matter how big or small.

For quite a long time I didn’t understand it. I thought it was just me, that I was somehow more anxious, more cautious, or I was just “overthinking”. But as I started to explore feminism, I realized this fear was not just me. It was a collective experience ingrained us, about how women should be raised, and how we are expected to navigate the world. Society demands perfection from us, and it’s a burden that men just don’t have to bear. But women? We’re not allowed the same space to fail, to be imperfect.

So, when I watched Babygirl, a film about a powerful CEO, Romy (Nicole Kidman), who embarks on a risky affair with a much younger intern, Samuel (Harris Dickinson), I went in expecting yet another tired narrative about a woman who loses everything because of a mistake.

But I was wrong. After her affair is exposed by a subordinate, Romy feels a sense of relief and comes clean to her husband, but more importantly, to herself—acknowledging her desires and the frustrations she’s suppressed. She accepts the consequences of her actions, but most importantly, she stops living in fear. In the end, she doesn’t lose her job or her family—though this lacks a more reasonable explanation. That sense of liberation stayed with me long after the credits rolled, especially when she faces a colleague’s threat and says, “If I want someone to humiliate me, I’d rather pay someone.”

Most films that explore women’s infidelity focus on the disaster, namely the destruction of relationships, the moral fall from grace, the inevitable fallout. Babygirl could’ve gone down this same road, focusing on the “lesson” that infidelity and desire come at a steep cost. But it doesn't. Instead, the film’s ending caught me off guard, and I realized that this was the kind of narrative I needed to see as a woman who has lived in constant fear of making mistakes.

And that’s the part of Babygirl that I needed—the idea that you don't have to be defined by a mistake, even one as big as infidelity. You don’t need to live in fear of getting it wrong. Facing the consequences is far better than living in constant anxiety, and with time, you'll learn to handle it. This isn’t about encouraging infidelity or immoral behavior. It’s not even about infidelity. It’s about the idea that if we stop fearing mistakes, we’re less likely to make them. If Romy had been unafraid to embrace her desires and speak honestly about them when she was younger—she might never have ended up in the affair at all.

Just as I mention at the very beginning, whether from an SM or feminist perspective, Babygirl is certainly not a good film. But there was something oddly healing about watching Romy break free from that cycle of fear. It delivered something I didn’t expect—a kind of catharsis. In a world where women are told to fear making mistakes and living fully, this film’s message was refreshing. Romy didn’t let her mistakes destroy her. She wasn’t punished for her desires. She simply faced them, accepted the consequences, and kept moving forward.

And in a world where women’s choices are often under intense scrutiny, where fear is often the dominant emotion in decision-making, that kind of ending feels good. And for that, I guess I’m thankful.