“I want to be in control of my body”: Florence Pugh, fertility, and the fight for autonomy

Florence Pugh has never played by the rules. Whether she’s staring down Hollywood executives who told her to lose weight, flipping the red carpet script with sheer Valentino gowns and her beloved Granzo Pat, or diving headfirst into emotionally brutal roles, she’s known for showing up unapologetically herself. And now, in a refreshingly candid new interview with Harper’s Bazaar, the 28-year-old is opening up about something far more personal: her fertility.

For many of us – especially Gen Z and younger millennials – conversations around fertility have become a lot more public, raw, and necessary. From egg freezing to hormone health to simply asking “do I even want kids?”, the landscape is shifting. Pugh is the latest high-profile woman to bring her own experience into the spotlight, and she’s doing it with the same disarming honesty we’ve come to expect from her.

Speaking ahead of her lead role in Thunderbolts, Marvel’s next female-fronted blockbuster, Pugh reflected on the emotional weight of her latest film, We Live in Time. In it, she plays a young chef navigating love, terminal illness, and motherhood. The themes of mortality and legacy left their mark on her.

“I’ve worked back-to-back since I started, and I’ve missed so much,” she says. But it’s not just burnout she’s confronting. The physical toll of her career – one that’s included stunts, extreme weight changes for roles, and even shaving her head on camera – has triggered deeper introspection about what her body has been through, and what it might still carry.

Pugh has confirmed that she’s dealing with fertility-related health issues – endometriosis and PCOS (Polycystic Ovary Syndrome). Both are common, often painful conditions that can affect fertility – yet they’re still under-researched, misunderstood, and too often dismissed. In response, she’s taken proactive steps, beginning the process of freezing her eggs – an experience she describes as “tiring and horrible”, though she acknowledges her privilege in being able to afford it.

“There was a clickbait article about me doing it,” she says. “I know you shouldn’t read the comments but… urgh. I wish there was a little more tenderness and understanding.”

And doesn’t that line – tenderness and understanding – feel like the emotional heart of this moment? Pugh is making space for the complexity of reproductive choices, especially when they’re made from a place of uncertainty, not urgency. We’re talking here about the right to pause, assess, and choose – not just react.

“I don’t want things to just happen to me anymore,” she says – an almost whispered rebellion in a world that often pushes women to sacrifice autonomy for success.

For someone so in control of her craft – shaping complex characters like Midsommar’s Dani, Oppenheimer’s Jean Tatlock, and Cathy Ames in the upcoming East of Eden – Pugh’s desire to reclaim control over her real self feels quietly revolutionary. She’s spoken before about giving so much of her body to her roles, describing the emotional trauma she induced for Midsommar by imagining her entire family dead just to access the depth of her character’s grief. It’s no wonder she’s now asking: what’s left for me?

Her story is part of a broader cultural shift where artists – especially women – are pulling the curtain back on fertility, hormones, and the unseen impact of their work. Think of Keke Palmer and Hailey Bieber speaking openly about PCOS and ovarian cysts, or Lea Michele sharing her endometriosis journey. In a post-Roe world, bodily autonomy is no longer just a personal issue – it’s political.

But Florence Pugh isn’t angling for sympathy. She’s not making fertility her brand. Instead, she’s offering space for nuance. For some of us, that means freezing our eggs. For others, it’s figuring out why our period disappeared mid-PhD or finally getting that hormone panel done. Whatever it looks like, Florence is part of a new wave of women refusing to be silent or shamed about their bodies.

The beauty of her approach is that it’s not polished or prescriptive. It’s messy, human, and recognisable. Florence Pugh doesn’t have it all figured out – and maybe that’s the point. She’s reminding us that fertility isn’t just a biological footnote. It’s part of how we navigate power, time, and identity. It’s as much about choice as it is about possibility.

As she prepares to head back to the desert for Dune: Part Three and flex her producing chops in East of Eden, Pugh is proving that vulnerability doesn’t weaken your star power – it deepens it. She may be a Guinness World Record-holding stunt queen, but in this chapter, she’s doing something even braver: pausing, reflecting, and demanding a future that works with her body, not against it.

And if that future includes cheese platters, radical honesty, and cinematic chaos? Even better.

Liked this? Put our guide to Natural Cycles – the non-hormonal birth control app our senior editor uses – on your read-up list.