The wildest thing about Gillian Anderson’s book on women’s fantasies

...is that we’ve been told to stay silent about it for so long, writes Emma Clarke. It took a long time for me to finally discover what it is that I actually wanted

Actor Gillian Anderson is releasing a new book titled ‘Want’ (Getty)

Given that one of her most famous onscreen roles is that of therapist Jean Milburn in Netflix hit Sex Education, it seems only natural that Gillian Anderson would curate, write and edit a book about sex.

And even though she says she “struggled” at first to articulate her needs, she is now “very comfortable” discussing the topic – which is a huge service to the rest of us.

Want is a collection of sexual fantasies – all told from the perspective of women. In total, 1,800 individuals (including Anderson) have contributed to the book, exploring everything from motherhood and body confidence to their innermost sexual desires (including a wizard-themed fantasy – and a raunchy interaction with singer Harry Styles, of course).

Why did she create this body of work? Because women still feel the need to hide their desires and not voice their needs when it comes to sex.

Anderson has a point...

Despite the fact that the multi-billion-dollar porn industry is one of the most lucrative sectors in the world, the majority of X-rated content is from the perspective of the male gaze and is therefore tailored towards male desires. It’s also, more often than not, drenched in misogyny.

Pornhub’s 2023 Year in Review speaks to this, with the most searched-for terms including “mature”, “milf” and “cougar”. Searches for “uniform” also grew by 243 per cent last year – and while this encompasses things like “military uniform” or “police uniform”, it also – disturbingly – highlights the infantilisation of women; throwing up images and videos which feed a lurid, worrying desire for underage-looking girls in school kilts and ties.

That’s not to say that women don’t watch porn or aren’t searching for explicit terms (such as “dilf”) themselves, but the figures are significantly lower.

Interestingly, one of the case studies in the book touches on the fact that, while some women do engage with porn, they often struggle to disentangle what is their true fantasy and what they’re being told to fantasise about. It leads to a problem many women will recognise from intimate experiences: do we actually want this, or is there a performative element to it?

It’s certainly something I used to grapple with – especially when I was younger. If porn was to be believed, I was meant to orgasm in two seconds (despite minimal effort from a partner); love my hair being yanked from its roots (even though, in reality, it really hurt and I’d spend the whole time worrying I’d get bald patches as a result). I also had to groan throughout (just to reassure the man I was with that I was having fun).

The pressure to do all these things was (and still is, for many) intense – and it’s something most women internalise from a young age. After all, if you don’t do it like they do on screen, you must not be doing it right... right?

Then there were the teen movies I, like many women my age, grew up with. The popularity of American Pie proved to young girls like me that our needs – in terms of sex, aftercare and emotion – were secondary to men’s desire to get laid. If we didn’t “put out”, we were branded “teases” or “frigid”.

Even when one of the main characters, Kevin, read up on how to perform oral sex on a woman, it was with the goal of getting his girlfriend, Vicky, to sleep with him. It was never about her pleasure or satisfaction; only his personal gain.

Films like ‘American Pie’ made me believe that male desire was more important (Getty)

It took me a very long time to move away from this kind of perception of sex and prioritising men’s needs. Like a lot of women I’ve spoken to over the years, it took me getting to know my own body to show me that sex can be fun for women too, actually. And that was before I even got to exploring my fantasies, like the women in Anderson’s book...

Breaking the taboo of women talking openly about sex can only be enlightening. And when it hits the mainstream it can prove a particularly potent lesson. I find it heartening that shows like Sex Education and Bridgerton are putting female pleasure and body confidence first and thrusting these issues (pardon the pun) into the limelight.

TV can help to dispel common myths; in addition to teaching young people what consent looks like and feeling okay with your body at an age where you’ve likely not explored yours or someone else’s all that much. Even the fact that the men in Regency-era Britain are portrayed as emotionally intelligent, respectful – and genuinely caring about their partner’s pleasure and welfare – is pretty groundbreaking.

I’ve also recently discovered the “porn-dosing” trend, where women listen to audio porn while doing mundane tasks, such as their grocery shop or walking their dog. It’s less overtly sexual and more about injecting a bit of excitement into the everyday – it is believed to have positive impacts on mental health, with research showing seven in 10 women consider solo sexual pleasure to be key to their wellness and self-care.

But what also strikes me about these examples of how (and where) women seek out pleasure is that there is still a secretive nature to it all. Yes, Bridgerton is a massive hit – but women are still watching (and enjoying) it from behind closed doors.

Even Anderson’s book tells us something about the shame women carry around sex, as the entries are anonymous. While it’s great to get these stories and ideas out there, women are still hiding; too afraid to be loud and (panting) proud.

Still, the stigma can only disappear if we open up conversations about female desire in the first place. And if Want helps even just one reader feel more comfortable about expressing themselves in the bedroom when they put the book down, then that can only be a good thing.