At first glance, Dying for Sex might seem like another quirky, shock-value dramedy with a sex-positive edge. But underneath its NSFW hilarity and dominatrix scenes (yes, there’s a man in a puppy costume), it’s something much more profound: a gut-wrenching, tender, and deeply honest meditation on what it means to be a woman fighting for bodily autonomy – not just from disease, but from a lifetime of socialized repression.
Adapted from the hit podcast and memoir by Molly Kochan, Dying for Sex tells the real-life story of a woman diagnosed with Stage IV cancer who decides she’s no longer willing to live a life that doesn’t include joy or orgasms. The Hulu series dramatizes this story with Michelle Williams delivering an unforgettable performance as Molly, a woman facing death who sets out to finally feel alive. What begins as a quest for pleasure becomes an existential deep dive into female sexuality, friendship, and freedom.
Molly’s journey kicks off with a revelation that’s as heartbreaking as it is relatable: she’s never had an orgasm with another person. Her solution? Leave her long-term partner Steve (Jay Duplass) and move out as her best friend Nikki (played to perfection by Jenny Slate) takes over the caretaker role. While the show takes creative liberties, the emotional truths – especially the bond between Molly and Nikki – are pulled directly from real life. Kochan’s real best friend, Nikki Boyer, was by her side throughout her final years, and their connection is the beating heart of both the podcast and this adaptation.
This isn’t a sanitized, Instagram-filter version of bestie energy. It’s complicated. Nikki loves Molly, but she’s exhausted. She’s scared. And when someone you love is dying and also dragging you on their personal eat-pray-fuck journey, it’s hard to know where your boundaries should begin. And yet, they ride it out together. Because that’s what friendship looks like when life gets unbearably human.
As Molly explores kink, domination, and intimacy with strangers, the sex isn’t played for cheap thrills. These scenes are often uncomfortable – not because they’re graphic, but because they’re honest. There’s a vulnerability in how Molly seeks control in her dominatrix persona and in the way she confesses she doesn’t even know what turns her on. The sex is emotional. It’s logistical. It’s bad sometimes. It’s lonely sometimes. And it’s funny, so, so funny.
One standout scene features Molly walking a man around her apartment on a leash, fully in his puppy play persona. It’s surreal, absurd, and yet somehow moving. Through every encounter, the show refuses to make a joke out of the people Molly meets. Instead, it embraces the full spectrum of human sexual expression and the very real desire for connection that lives underneath all the roleplay.
The show also makes a bold feminist statement by allowing Molly to be difficult. She’s not always likable. She ghosts people. She says the wrong thing. She demands too much or not enough. She’s selfish and self-aware. She’s exhausted and inspiring. And that’s exactly the point. She’s a full human being with a sex drive, a diagnosis, and a will to live on her own terms.
Michelle Williams brings Molly to life with such nuance that you never forget she was a real person, complex, hilarious, brave, and deeply human. Williams moves fluidly from biting sarcasm to brutal honesty, capturing the duality of a woman who is both falling apart and coming into herself for the first time. Jenny Slate is a revelation as Nikki, delivering a performance that balances emotional chaos with a kind of radiant loyalty. Together, they portray a female friendship that refuses to be defined by caretaking or sacrifice alone – it’s about showing up, laughing through the pain, and refusing to let each other fade away.
But what makes Dying for Sex feel revolutionary is how it tackles a cultural truth so many women know but rarely say aloud: that female pleasure is often treated as optional. Secondary. A bonus, if there’s time. Molly’s crisis is not just about sex. It’s about feeling alive in a body that’s constantly under threat. It’s about asking, “How can I own my life, my desire, my joy, when everything feels like it’s being taken from me?”
By the final episode, I was crying, big, messy, mascara-running tears. Not because of what happens (though yes, bring tissues), but because Molly gets something so rare: the freedom to be fully herself. She doesn’t die feeling empty. She dies seen. Loved. Desired. Free. Dying for Sex is a bold, unflinching story about what it means to take control when you have nothing left to lose. It’s not just about dying – it’s about finally learning how to live.
