On New Year’s Day, my gay best friend and I went to a packed cinema to watch Babygirl, a film by Halina Reijn—a well-known Dutch actress making her directorial debut in Hollywood.

From the moment the film begins, you’re thrust into an intense sex scene between Romy (Nicole Kidman) and Jacob (Antonio Banderas). What initially appears to be an erotic encounter quickly reveals itself to be something far more complicated—especially for Romy, for whom the experience seems less pleasurable than it appears.

As the story unfolds, we get to know Romy as a tech CEO, mother, and partner—someone striving to embody the “perfect woman,” arguably a product of the pressures of modern society. But things take a turn when a new group of interns joins the company. Romy’s attention is caught by Samuel, a confident and playful young intern. What follows is a growing tension between them—charged with curiosity and arousal—which eventually leads to an affair.

Through Samuel, Romy rediscovers parts of herself she may have long suppressed. Together, they create an exciting, unpredictable space—a playground where boundaries are both tested and redefined. Even though some of their experiences might feel shameful or morally questionable, there’s also a sense of pleasure and desire that keeps pulling them in. And above all, the risk and what is there to lose.

The film explores shifting power dynamics—sometimes uncomfortable, sometimes tender, and occasionally even humorous. It’s liberating to see a story that embraces flaws, fantasies, and desire without judgment. But for Romy—and perhaps for many viewers—it also raises deeper questions. What happens when we confront parts of ourselves we don’t fully accept? Can this lead to inner conflict, especially when it begins to affect our relationships?

While Babygirl sparked a range of reactions—including critical perspectives from feminists—I believe it opens an important conversation. It challenges us to ask what we truly want (and why), whether we can hold conflicting parts of ourselves, and whether we’re willing to be vulnerable—with both ourselves and others.

By Nynke Chin-A-Fat working as a healthcare psychologist and sexologist