by Funke Babs-Kufeji
Let’s get one thing straight: dating in Lagos is not for the weak, the broke, or the overly hopeful. It’s a full-time sport where soft boys show up dressed like men of God, ghosting is a legitimate love language, and you’re never more than two phone calls away from discovering that your situationship just proposed to someone else in Abuja or London, no less. It’s chaos. Beautiful, baffling, cocktail-fueled chaos. And somehow, we keep going back.
From the girlies with “no time for nonsense” who still answer “wyd?” texts at midnight, to the men who swear they’re different but have a roster longer than the GT Bank queue, welcome to the Lagos love jungle. The streets are hot, the red flags are hotter, and the rizz. It’s spiritual warfare.
The Rules (That Nobody Admits To, But Everyone Follows)
Rule number one: If he invites you for shawarma on the first date, just know he does not fear God. Lagos girls didn’t beat their faces, glue down a 30-inch install, and risk their lives in Lekki traffic just to split Zobo. We want effort. Not extravagance, just intentionality. Book the dinner. Plan the vibe. Offer to pay for the ride. And if you utter the words “come over to mine” instead of doing all the above, consider yourself blocked in 4K.
For the men, hear this and know peace: Lagos babes are not impressed by vibes alone. You must have purpose. You must have Paystack. It’s not 2016 anymore, nobody is doing “let’s see where it goes.” If you’re not coming with peace, premium data, and properly articulated plans, please shift.
And yes, social media is your CV. If you’re soft-launching mystery women, zooming in on car selfies, or reposting every gym mirror boomerang, you’re walking a thin line, beloved. The girls are watching, and so are the guys. You say you’re “not dating right now,” but your Close Friends are giving a rom-com montage. Oya now. Continue. There is God.
Red Flags Lagos Has Normalised (And You Really Shouldn’t)
There are red flags, and then there are Lagos flags. The kind that comes with a soundtrack and backup dancers. He says he’s “not on social media”? Sweetie, he’s on Snapchat under a fake name, posting blurry club videos and tagging every woman as “my sis.” She says she’s “living a soft life”? Translation: monthly sponsored vacations and a mystery caller named “Uncle T.”
If you hear, “I’m still cool with my ex,” just know “cool” means emotionally handcuffed. Lagos men love the phrase “Let’s not rush this” but somehow manage to be emotionally unavailable and possessive. It’s giving confusion. And don’t get too comfortable in your playlists-and-Pinterest-board love story. One second, you’re baking banana bread with him; the next, BAM! a BellaNaija engagement post of him with the caption, “She said yes to her best friend.”
Heartbreak in this Tinubu economy? Be guided.
The Rizz Is Rizzing (Until It Isn’t)
Let’s talk about Lagos rizz. This city is the city of Yoruba demons and smooth talkers. One minute, you’re minding your business; the next, a beard and a baritone slide into your DMs with voice notes that feel like therapy. They know your birthday, your favourite cocktail, the way you like your jollof. They say things like, “Just wanted to hear your voice before I sleep,” and suddenly you’re thinking: This must be divine connection. Sis. Rest.
Because by the time you’re floating on cloud nine, he’s sending the same “Did you eat?” text to three other babes—one in Lekki, one in Accra, and one he’s not quite done with in PH. And let’s not act like the women are innocent, either. Lagos women will flirt, ghost, soft-reconnect, and somehow get you to pay for the date you weren’t even invited to.
Still, sometimes, rizz turns real. The banter deepens. The flirting hits feelings. A vibe becomes something more. It happens. Sometimes. Don’t hold your breath sha.
Love in Lagos Is a Luxury Sport
Dating here is not romantic; it’s a high-stakes economic arrangement. Uber rides alone can eat up your salary, and let’s not even start on those “casual” brunches in Ikoyi, where the mimosas are ₦ 18,000, and the waiter has an attitude for free.
Everyone’s feeling the pressure. People are talking about ROI like it’s a fintech pitch deck. Some are dating for content. Others, for clout. A few brave souls are still dating for love (bless them). The rest of us? We’re just trying to find someone who won’t disgrace us in the group chat.
So… Is There Hope?
Shockingly, yes. Because somehow, in all the madness, people do fall in love in Lagos. Deeply. Dramatically. Sometimes beautifully. They meet on Twitter, in fuel queues, and at bridal showers. They fall hard. They plan matching pyjama shoots. They get posted. They meet their mothers on the second date (alarming but adorable).
Because in this city where nothing is calm, love is another kind of hustle—and somehow, it keeps us hooked. Maybe it’s the gist. Perhaps it’s the drama. Maybe we’re all just hopeless romantics with trust issues and data plans. But if you’re going to risk it anywhere, it might as well be in Lagos.
