Gillian Anderson knows, firsthand, how stigma and embarrassment can inhibit desire.
“I know from experience that when one is locked in shame, it’s very difficult to experience pleasure,” the celebrated actress, 54, recently told The New York Times. “There’s no crack in the door for it to come through.”
Her new book aims to liberate women from those shackles. “Want: Sexual Fantasies by Anonymous,” available this week, is a collection of, you guessed it, sexual fantasies written and submitted anonymously to Anderson, herself, by women around the world. (She, too, wrote an entry, and also omitted her name from the finished product.) The short stories run the gamut from the relatively mundane (if still somewhat taboo), such as an exploration of desire with a woman therapist, to the more fantastical, including sex with a robot.
Her reasoning for embarking upon this bold project was simple: Anderson wants her fellow women to experience self love, self care – and yes, the fun and freedom of eroticism – without concern for what negative internal or external voices might say. “We think of pleasure as being frivolous,” she said to The Times. But “what is the point of this complex, torturous existence that we find ourselves in as human beings, if there can’t be an element of joy and pleasure?”
For women, those experiences remain sadly elusive. A June 2024 study revealed that, across all age groups, men experience orgasms far more frequently than women – as much as 30% more, to put a number on it. Not that orgasms are the defining characteristic of a positive sexual experience, but that chasm of difference does indicate a broader problem. “This study revealed enduring disparities in orgasm rates from sexual intercourse, likely resulting from many factors, including sociocultural norms and inadequate sex education,” researchers wrote in conclusion.
Our collective reluctance to talk about sex, even privately, does indeed contribute significantly to a widespread problem, other studies prove. For example, nearly a third of all women experience discomfort, if not outright pain, when engaging in sexual activity – but the vast majority of them are not comfortable discussing these experiences with doctors or partners. But then, when we do talk about it openly, joyfully, the sex we have is more enjoyable in every measurable regard.
However, if we don’t even feel freedom to discuss what is wrong in our sex lives, how can we ever hope to articulate what makes us feel excited and alive?
This is the social trend that Anderson hopes to erode with her book, which is the latest in a series of efforts on her part to do away with society’s sexual shame. It’s a goal she began pursuing in earnest after starring in 2010s Netflix crime thriller “The Fall.” Her character’s empowered nature inspired Anderson to pursue her own sense of inner strength and understanding, she says – and to help others do the same. Her turn as a sex therapist on the more recent Netflix drama “Sex Education” furthered her interest in this campaign, as did launching a line of sexual-energy drinks called G Spot last year.
Beyond helping women explore their innermost desires, she also wants us to find comfort in articulating our needs outside of the bedroom. “I do wonder,” she told The Times, “whether there’s a correlation between being afraid to ask for what we want from our most intimate relationships, and asking for what we want in other areas of our lives.”
This feels extremely relatable: The perceived ease of hiding what we want, so we don’t risk rocking the boat by articulating our needs. This certainly applies in our professional lives, a potent example of how the personal and the political can be one in the same.
It’s an idea she also addressed in the introduction of the book itself. “I think there are two sides to me, as perhaps there are to many women: The side that is good at asking for what I want, and the side that will concede to my partner’s desires – that is happy to share my innermost urges, but only if my partner starts the conversation (and then not all of them),” she wrote. “Is that due to shame? Or an indication that I wouldn’t trust anyone with that level of intimacy? Or, is it that I think it’s somehow better to be, in part, unknowable?”
Even this consideration of our motives and hesitations feels indulgent, though – the act of sitting with how our minds work, as well as our bodies, with no other goal in mind than our own improved happiness. It feels thrilling and rare, anyway, to be given an invitation to explore ourselves in such detail, with such intention.
