Some social media users have attacked Collins for using a surrogate, accusing her of being part of an “unethical trend”. But, Charlotte Cripps says, rather than judge her, should we be asking ourselves why this surrogacy story has hit such a raw nerve?. Lily Collins is dealing with a lot more than adjusting to sleepless nights as a new mum: she’s facing an uproar over using a surrogate for her new baby. The Emily in Paris actor, 35, and her film director husband Charlie McDowell, 41, announced the birth of their daughter, Tove, last Friday in a post on her official Instagram. They shared their “endless gratitude for our incredible surrogate”, along with a photo of their baby wrapped up in a soft name blanket.

As any new parent knows, the emotion and joy of welcoming a new baby into the world is unparalleled. But since their baby announcement news, hell has broken loose. Some social media users have attacked Collins, who is the daughter of musician Phil Collins, for using a surrogate, accusing her of being part of an “unethical trend” which, feminist and anti-surrogacy critics argue, involves “rich people renting women’s bodies” and is “akin to human trafficking”.

There is also speculation that Collins, along with other A-list celebrities, may have hired a surrogate to stay thin and preserve her body, in what is termed “social surrogacy”. This is when women choose not to be pregnant for non-medical reasons, often to stop any disruption to their career. Fertility experts have also weighed in on the debate, claiming that surrogacy is big business for celebrities who lack enough body fat needed for regular ovulation – and ask, could this have driven Collins’s decision to use a surrogate, as it perhaps has for countless other celebrities such as Nicole Kidman, Grimes, Paris Hilton, and Sarah Jessica Parker?.

Collins has candidly discussed her teenage struggles with bulimia in her 2017 memoir, Unfiltered: No Shame, No Regrets, Just Me, Lily. The result of her eating disorder was that her menstrual cycles stopped. “I was terrified I had ruined my chances of having kids,” she wrote. But whether this played a part in her decision to use a surrogate is impossible to know unless she tells us. Perhaps it’s none of our business. Her husband McDowell – the son of A Clockwork Orange star Malcolm McDowell, whom Collins married in 2021 – took to social media in the wake of the “unkind messages”. “It’s OK to not know why someone might need a surrogate to have a child. It’s OK to not know the motivations of a surrogate regardless of what you assume.” he wrote.

Rather than judge Collins for how she has a baby, we should be asking ourselves: why has this surrogacy story hit such a raw nerve? It isn’t so much about the moral grey area of surrogacy – it’s about money (or rather the lack of it). Given the current heated conversations about the average millennial and Gen Z woman not being able to afford children and plummeting birth rates, it’s easy to understand why hearing about rich celebrities paying surrogates to have cute babies might unleash deep-rooted resentment.

Although surrogacy has become more popular in the past decade for the wealthy, including infertile and gay couples, it’s still seen as “luxury childbirth” and the pinnacle of spending on kids. The going rate for surrogacy in America is between £80,000 to £100,000, with celebrities offering their carriers VIP perks including private chefs and personal trainers. Yet for the ordinary woman in 2025, having a baby is out of reach.

According to research, only a quarter of millennials who say they want children are actively trying to get pregnant, blaming financial pressure as the main reason. As a single working mother of two children, Lola, 8, and Liberty, 6, I can easily understand why these women are hesitating. You only need to take a look at the cost of nursery fees costing thousands of pounds a month when you exceed your 15 hours of free childcare to know it’s tough. The cost-of-living crisis, lack of housing security, and minimal infrastructure to support parents make having a child impossible for many people.

Lots of women are delaying pregnancy to focus on their careers, and leaving it too late to conceive naturally, or with IVF. Many others haven’t met the right person to have a baby with. If women do try for a baby later in life, as I did aged 40, when my biological clock was a ticking time bomb, it’s terrifying. I spent my entire life savings on IVF, even continuing after my partner died from suicide midway through our fertility journey, using his frozen sperm and travelling to clinics all over Europe to find the cheapest deals – before an old friend stepped in to fund the final four IVF rounds. I don’t know if I would have gone ahead had I sat down and considered the financial implications of my actions rather than follow my heart. But I don’t regret it – ever.

I’m not alone in attempting motherhood on my own. The number of single women undergoing fertility treatment in the UK has more than trebled in the last 10 years, according to the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority (HFEA). But it’s often too expensive for a single woman to embark on the journey to have a baby – donor sperm is around £1,630 per vial, on top of private IVF fees, which can be up to £10,000 a cycle, including medication and doctor consultations.