The Fashion In Babygirl Unpacks Power

In the movie Babygirl, Romy Mathis (played by Nicole Kidman) is introduced as a woman who has it all. An extensive lineup of skincare products that she applies with ritualistic devotion. A handsome, sensitive husband (Antonio Banderas) who’s just as in love with her as ever. And, crucially, a polished wardrobe that helps her slip seamlessly into her daily roles as a doting mom, attentive wife and high-powered CEO.

When she goes to work at the helm of a tech company, her clothes exude effortless authority. She’s swathed in supple cashmeres, pussy-bow blouses and pencil skirts. Her beige, grey and dusty pink palettes complement the sanitized aesthetic of her airy corner office. In bed with her husband, she dons creamy satin slips with sexy lace trim. While making her kids breakfast, she wears cozy cardigans. Like the robotics company she leads, Romy’s life is optimized for peak poductivity. She’s glued to her phone’s newsfeed, she’s propelled by seven coffees a day and she regularly cold plunges to keep a plump Goop-y glow. By all accounts, Romy is a woman in utter control. And that’s the problem.

Romy is unsatisfied with the romantic heteronormative love-making she has going with her husband. She wants to be taken, “told what to do,” and entirely exempt from calling the shots. When a new intern Samuel (Harris Dickinson) enters her life, she embarks on a dalliance that allows her to be dominated.

On paper, Romy and Samuel are mismatched. She comes from a background of measured professionalism; his Gen Z irreverence seems immune to authority. Her tailored Max Mara trenches are completely at odds with his oversized water-repellent jacket. Her structured leather purse contrasts his rundown, limp backpack. Her neatly tied bows are the opposite of his sloppily fastened neckties. Once they both realize they’re attracted to their dynamic — him taking charge, her doing what he says — her fashion facade (orchestrated by costume designers Bart Mueller and Kurt Swanson) begins to fade.

This is perhaps the most obvious in their first clandestine rendez-vous. Showing up to a motel room of Samuel’s choosing, Romy walks in looking comically out of place. Her tight-fitting pencil skirt, mesh black blouse and towering high heels clash with the grimy carpet and orange lighting. Samuel, though, is just as blasé as ever, wearing beat-up Adidas, baggy black pants, a half-zipped hoodie and a white tank. There’s something visually wrong about this set up. But as she eats a candy out of his hand on all fours, she realizes it’s just what she needs.

In moments of deep vulnerability, Romy’s appearance becomes a less perfect (read: more human). After their sexual encounter in the motel, she breaks down in tears, overwhelmed by new levels of vulnerability and pleasure. When Samuel wraps her in his hoodie and holds her, we see some of her sartorial performativity melt away.

As their dynamic intensifies, so too does the visual tension. Take the infamous milk encounter — a Babygirl scene so viral Nicole Kidman recreated it while accepting an award earlier this month. At a post-work drinks outing, Romy is seated at a table with executives; Samuel is standing at the bar with other interns. A mysterious glass of milk is sent to her. Amusingly appalled, she drinks it in front of all her colleagues while he watches with a smirk from across the room. The image of her gulping down this drink (with all its symbolism of child-like obedience) is equal-parts humiliating and exhilarating. Her meticulously crafted aesthetic is disrupted; she’s surrendering to her desires.

As their trysts continue, we see Romy break away from her office-wear norm. During her first night with Samuel at a swanky hotel, she sits in a white bathrobe while he dances to George Micheal’s “Father Figure.” When she meets him at an after-hours rave, she strips out of her corporate outfit as she snakes through the sweaty crowd. Each new endeavour shows her relinquishing control.

To be clear, Romy knows the relationship is wrong; there’s a through-line of shame wrapped up in her experiences. When she tearfully comes clean to her husband, she frames her sexual preferences as “dark, dark thoughts” that revolt her. But in her relationship with Samuel, she gets to interrogate that disgust and liberate herself from judgement. She talks back, rolls her eyes, and antagonizes Samuel for his demands. But when she does them — whether she’s standing to face a corner or cleaning broken glass off the floor — she is tapping into a new realm of pleasure.

After confessing to her husband and moving temporarily into her country house, she’s surprised by one more visit from Samuel. She looks out the window to find him wading nonchalantly in her pool. When she goes out to confront him, he pulls her in — showing her coming undone once more while submerged in her desires.

Unlike other erotic thrillers, Halina Reijn’s Babygirl doesn’t punish the female protagonist for her self-exploration. When her time with Samuel inevitably ends, we see Romy return to her life as an aspirational woman. Her maternal domesticity stays in tact. She’s as powerful as ever at work. She resumes love-making with her husband. She’s still dressing for the job, but she also entertains flashbacks to her time with Samuel. Ultimately, Babygirl isn’t about deciphering right from wrong. It’s about about knowing how to — sartorially and otherwise — submit.