Why are we continually fascinated by age-gap relationships?
On social media, few topics get people as riled up as a relationship with a large age gap. The conversation usually goes something like this: younger users characterise these relationships as exploitative, arguing that they bring a built-in power imbalance (and often a financial imbalance, too). Older generations respond by accusing the youth of being overly sensitive “puriteens” who are too judgmental to admit that something being frowned upon — or even forbidden — can also be alluring. It’s a circular firing squad of discourse where everyone gets to point the finger of judgment somewhere — and isn’t that what being chronically online is all about?
But what about if a woman is the older one? How does that change — or intensify — our ethical judgments? These are the central questions of Babygirl, A24’s romance thriller about a tech CEO (Nicole Kidman) who is embroiled in a kinky affair with a young male intern (Harris Dickinson). In 2024, relationships with this particular set-up have appeared all over pop culture, from the fictional boardroom and the trading floor to a rom-com based on One Direction fan fiction and Sally Rooney’s latest novel. These stories suggest that culture is looking for a safer route toward more nuanced conversations about power dynamics in relationships — and that audiences are ready to have them.
In Babygirl, Romy Mathis (Kidman) is the epitome of everything that millennials like me have been taught to aspire to from the day we took our very first BuzzFeed quiz: she’s a #GirlBoss with an envy-inducing wardrobe, a hot husband, and children whose bags she still has time to pack before school. She gets Botox without numbing cream. She throws extravagant parties in her (several) immaculately decorated homes. Her staff idolise her.
Hate her yet? Don’t worry, because while she might “have it all” in public, behind closed doors something is missing: an orgasm. In the very first scene, we see Romy faking one in bed with her husband of 19 years (Antonio Banderas), only to masturbate afterwards while watching porn. She soon begins an affair with Samuel, a charismatic young intern at her work who, like a lot of young men, seems confused about what is expected from him. As his boss, Romy knows that what she’s doing is wrong, but the sense of danger only feeds her masochistic desires. Their unequal dynamic is complicated by the fact that, sexually, she is submissive to Samuel, who orders her around and treats her like a pet (or his “babygirl”).
In another popular corporate drama this year, the HBO series Industry, we saw a pairing where an older woman and a younger man explored scenarios that would give any HR manager heart palpitations. The third season kicks off with so-called “sad boy” banker Rob Spearing (Harry Lawtey) escaping his girlfriend’s bed at night to have sex with his middle-aged client Nicole Craig on her kitchen island. In previous seasons, Nicole — whose short fuse and foul mouth mean she’s in no way the archetypal workplace crush — has behaved inappropriately with younger finance workers. She and Rob are drawn together because they’re both from humble beginnings and now feel similarly unwelcome in elite circles. Nicole cares for Rob in a way that triggers his “mummy” issues, but she mocks him and uses his insecurities against him. Their wealth disparity gives her power over him, and they both seem to like it that way.
Sally Rooney’s latest novel, Intermezzo, explores two age-gap relationships in a non-work context. The story follows brothers Ivan and Peter in the aftermath of their father’s death. Ivan, a 22-year-old competitive chess player who struggles with social interaction, begins a relationship with Margaret, who is in her mid-30s and runs a small-town arts centre, while Peter, a 32-year-old lawyer, starts dating a 23-year-old university student, Naomi. Rooney purposefully compares these relationships, highlighting how normalised it is for a man to be older and in a position of power, whereas Margaret is consumed by fear and shame, convinced that she’ll become a pariah if anyone finds out that Ivan is only 22.
Intermezzo
These fears aren’t totally unfounded, because this is what happens on a global scale in The Idea of You, a rom-com based on the Robinne Lee novel of the same name. Here, single mother Solène Marchand (Anne Hathaway) starts a whirlwind romance with Hayes Campbell (Nicholas Galitzine), a Harry Styles–inspired singer in boy band August Moon. But when their relationship is discovered, her entire life is upended by abuse from jealous fans and misogynistic tabloid coverage that paints her, a successful gallerist, as some sort of joke.
The Idea of You
Most of 2024’s older-woman-younger-man stories play with this tension around danger and desire, while underscoring the fact that there is now something vaguely aspirational about a woman sleeping with a younger man – particularly when compared with the demeaning “cougar” (or worse, “MILF”) stereotype of the 2000s. In October, photos of Timothée Chalamet and Gwyneth Paltrow kissing while filming a scene from Marty Supreme, an upcoming film about a professional table-tennis player, went viral. The circumstances of the kiss are a mystery, but the pictures still inspired the collective response of “Get it, girl!”
Partly, this is because it’s now more common for stories to not only star older women but be told from their perspective — a shift that Kidman herself has helped normalise. In Babygirl, we can feel the presence of its female director, Halina Reijn, behind the camera, in the way that the film foregrounds Romy’s sexual desires, the vulnerability with which Kidman’s naked body is treated, and the intricacies of Romy’s shifts between different roles of performed femininity, from doting mother to powerful CEO and supportive wife.
At the start of Babygirl, I wondered whether Samuel was just another accessory that Romy needed to “have it all” — a modern update of the “toyboys” we used to see in 2000s dramas like Desperate Housewives. But the politics of their relationship are much more complex. By bringing sub-dom role-play into the corporate world, the film feels like a deliberately post-MeToo work of cinema.
When the movement began in 2017 — after an exposé on Harvey Weinstein put the professional dynamics of Hollywood front and centre — there was a trend toward sex scenes being celebrated for their tenderness or viewed through the prism of responsibly navigating issues like consent and trauma. There was also a newfound awareness of the role of on-set intimacy coordinators like Ita O’Brien, who was praised for her work on the 2020 TV adaptation of Rooney’s Normal People. When sex was portrayed in the workplace, it was usually in situations that were not morally ambiguous — and straight-up abusive — such as in Bombshell, the 2019 film dramatisation of widespread sexual harassment at Fox News.
While that era was a necessary corrective, audiences now seem hungry for more nuance. This year, sex returned to the fictional office, with films like Babygirl reflecting a readiness for more complex depictions of desire. From the outset, Romy’s womanhood feels designed to challenge us, making it harder to immediately write her off as a creep or an abuser — even when she weaponises her pristine image as a “woman at the top” to cover her tracks, or when she hypocritically lectures her unknowing assistant about the dangers of workplace relationships. And far from being the stereotypical innocent victim, Samuel often comes across as petulant and manipulative, like when he pressures Romy into doing what he wants, and threatening to expose her. Then, in a long and sensual scene where the pair dance together in a hotel room to George Michael’s “Father Figure,” we see that he can be caring and tender. As Reijn told The New Yorker, Dickinson plays “someone who is incredibly vulnerable and also confused about what is expected of him, as a lot of men are right now”.
These conflicts mirror the maddening contradictions of attraction. As a CEO, Romy is very well-versed in “correct” jargon and inclusive language. She keeps acknowledging that she is in a “position of power” over Samuel, which causes her much anguish but also propels her towards him. She frequently tells him how worried she is about hurting him, to which he responds, “Hurt me? I think I have power over you. I could make one call and you lose everything.” Samuel tests these boundaries by showing up at her home unannounced, ordering a glass of milk for her to drink in public, and leaving incriminating notes on her desk. This only arouses Romy more, because for her to be turned on, “there has to be danger – things have to be at stake”.
The secrecy of this relationship reminds me of Succession, specifically the HBO drama’s final season, when the entanglement between nepo baby Roman Roy (Kieran Culkin) and his mentor Gerri Kellman (J. Smith-Cameron) is finally exposed. Although Gerri tells Roman to stop his advances toward her, he keeps sending her unwanted nude pictures, ultimately sending a shot of his penis to a room full of their colleagues (and his family members) by accident during a meeting.
Roman’s behaviour is clearly inappropriate, but his father, Logan Roy (Brian Cox), seems more disgusted by Gerri. Even after Logan’s death, she never regains her standing within the company. In Babygirl, we see these dynamics play out when the affair is eventually discovered by Romy’s inner circle. “I genuinely thought women in power would behave differently,” says Esme, her formerly adoring assistant, before becoming one of several colleagues who try to blackmail her. It’s a reminder of how high the stakes really are. Even the most wealthy and powerful women can still be easily diminished, while men can have decades of sexual misconduct allegations against them and still be elected president — twice.
Despite these glaring double standards, part of the reason why Babygirl is so confronting is that neither Romy nor Samuel is morally pure. Their relationship reflects our cultural anxieties about sex and the gendered roles we’re still expected to play in our day-to-day lives. The same applies to the characters in a show like Industry – but of course that’s what makes them so captivating.
These stories feel worlds away from the discourse on social media, where discussions of sex and power can become so simplified and righteous that they feel infantilising. If this year saw a spate of older-woman-younger-men films, shows, and books, perhaps it’s because audiences are seeking something more complex, something that feels more like art than like content. After all, culture doesn’t always have to reflect our ethical codes; at its best, it can help us to interrogate them.
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