In the not-so-distant past, dating was relatively straightforward—at least in theory. You liked someone, you asked them out, and you either became a couple, or you didn’t. Today, that simplicity has been replaced by a kaleidoscope of blurry boundaries, emotionally confusing labels, and relationship statuses that can’t quite fit into a Facebook dropdown.
It starts with a “Hey” in the DMs. Maybe on Instagram. Or X (formerly Twitter). Or perhaps, as is becoming more common these days, on WhatsApp thanks to a mutual friend who “just knew you two would get along.” It’s slow at first. Light likes. A few memes. One or two “just checking on you” messages at 11:49 p.m. The type of conversations that drip-feed hope into your chest like an IV drip. Then, before you know it, you’re emotionally invested in someone you’ve never even defined anything with. Welcome to the labyrinth of modern romance—where everything is something, but nothing is exactly clear.
In 2025, dating in Nigeria feels like entering an uncharted forest where everyone is using Google Maps, but no one has a network. The language has changed, the expectations have shifted, and navigating intimacy feels more like decoding an algorithm than forming a human connection. “Are we dating?” “Are we vibing?” “Are we just friends that send each other voice notes at midnight and talk about our future kids?” These are the questions that fill our group chats now. What used to be clear is now murky. What used to be labelled is now left deliberately undefined.
Situationships have become the preferred way to fall in love without saying you’re falling in love. They offer the thrill of emotional intimacy and the safety of zero commitment. You talk every day, maybe even meet each other’s friends. You fight like lovers but apologise like strangers. You celebrate birthdays with personalised playlists and customised cakes, but no one dares ask, “So, what are we?” because we’ve all internalised one dangerous truth: asking for clarity might ruin the whole thing.
Blame it on trauma, or our collective fear of vulnerability, or perhaps the rise of hyper-independence disguised as self-awareness. But it’s clear that dating now—especially for young Nigerians in cities like Lagos, Abuja, and Port Harcourt—has become a careful performance of affection where no one wants to be caught caring too much.
Social media hasn’t helped. If anything, it’s made us all romantic hoarders. With endless access to new people, we’ve started treating relationships like tabs in a browser—always open, never fully loaded. The dating pool isn’t even a pool anymore. It’s an ocean of options, filtered through thirst traps, tweets about red flags, and weekend soft-life photoshoots. And somewhere between all this curated perfection, we’ve become emotionally unavailable… but still deeply lonely.
Slow dating is the rebellion, or at least that’s what we tell ourselves. We romanticise taking it slow—emphasising “vibes first,” convincing ourselves that ease is better than effort. So, we ghost our traumas by not defining anything. We tell ourselves, “Let’s see how it goes,” but we’re secretly hoping the other person will be bold enough to bring up the talk we’re too afraid to have. We play cool, pretending not to care, but then spiral when they post someone else on their story.
And then there’s soft ghosting—the gentler, more passive-aggressive cousin of full-blown ghosting. It’s when the replies slow down like a bad internet connection. They still view your stories. They still “lol” at your jokes. But suddenly your midnight chats turn into blue ticks. You rationalise it: “Maybe they’re just busy,” “Maybe they’re going through something,” “Maybe Mercury is in retrograde.” But deep down, you know. The connection is fading. They’re no longer emotionally available, but they haven’t left either. And because they haven’t left, you don’t feel like you have the right to either.
We’ve all become experts in maintaining pseudo-relationships—just enough to feel something, but not enough to build anything. And it’s exhausting. There’s a quiet grief that comes with these types of entanglements. The kind where you mourn someone who never officially belonged to you. The kind where your heartbreak doesn’t come with closure, only unanswered texts and an Instagram post that lets you know they’ve “moved on.”
In truth, modern dating in Nigeria is reflective of a bigger cultural shift. Our generation has watched marriages crumble and seen long-term love fail. We’ve been taught that love is sacrifice, but we’ve also been warned not to lose ourselves. We’re trying to find a new language for connection that doesn’t cost us our mental health. And sometimes that means keeping things undefined. Sometimes that means choosing “vibes” over vulnerability. But at what cost?
The rise of therapy culture has also made us more self-aware, but also more self-protective. We’re afraid of messy love, even though the most beautiful things are born from chaos. We want our lovers to be emotionally intelligent, consistent, romantic, funny, rich, healed, and available—but only on our terms. We want the Instagrammable parts of love without the messy, confronting, vulnerable bits. We want to be seen, but not too deeply. We want to love, but without the risk.
Still, despite all of this, we crave connection. We’re not as detached as we pretend to be. Behind every “I’m just going with the flow” is someone silently hoping for a good morning text that actually comes. Behind every “let’s not label it” is someone secretly planning anniversary outfits in their head. We’ve mastered the art of casual affection, but we’re still learning how to stay. How to choose. How to be chosen.
So maybe the real challenge of dating today isn’t just finding someone—but finding the courage to say, “I like you, and I want this to be something.” Maybe it’s about learning that vulnerability isn’t weakness. That commitment isn’t a trap. That slow dating doesn’t have to mean emotional stagnancy. That the only way to avoid soft ghosting is to be honest—even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts.
Until then, we’ll keep decoding “wyd?” texts, reading meaning into emojis, and screenshotting conversations for our group chats. Love in the time of DMs may be complex, but if there’s one thing we all still believe in—whether we admit it or not—it’s that one day, maybe, hopefully, someone will finally text back: “Let’s define this.”
