The WhatsApp notification pings at 2:37 AM: “You up?” For 22-year-old Lagosian, Damilola, this is romance in 2025 – no labels, no timelines, just undefined intimacy with her “person” of 11 months, with whom she has been sleeping with for 8 months. This is the reality of Nigerian Gen Z situationships.
They say ‘I love you.’ But when friends ask, she insists: ‘We’re just… something.’ This is the new romance playbook for Nigeria’s largest generation.
According to the West African Youth Survey in 2024, 68% of Nigerian Gen Zs (18-26) now prefer situationships to traditional relationships.
But this isn’t just youthful rebellion, it’s a seismic cultural shift driven by brutal economics, digital disruption, the quiet unraveling of marital expectations and the unfair patriarchal system. This generation is questioning and rejecting everything.
The new romantic contract
The modern situationship comes with unwritten but ironclad rules:
- No mandatory family introductions
- Financial independence maintained at all costs
- Sexual exclusivity often negotiable
- Digital intimacy (24/7 messaging) without labels
Relationship therapist Dr. Maymunah Kadiri observes: “We’ve moved from ‘When are you getting married?’ to ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell.’ The smartphone generation has created romantic connections that look like marriages but feel like casual hangouts.
Economic realities dictate love
The romantic ideals of previous Nigerian generations, such as courtships, bride prices, and eventual marriage, are buckling under the weight of economic realities.
With 72% of Nigerian graduates under 25 earning less than ₦150,000 monthly (NBS 2023 data), the financial burden of traditional relationships has become unsustainable.
The ‘Laptop Boyfriend’ phenomenon is filling the financial disparity gap nicely. This is a term coined by young Nigerians to describe relationships sustained primarily through digital means.
These connections thrive on shared Netflix passwords, split data subscriptions, and the unspoken agreement that physical dates are a luxury rather than an expectation.
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“Why spend ₦20,000 on dinner when we can video call for free?” asks 23-year-old marketing associate, Bimpe, who has been in a situationship for over a year without ever meeting her partner’s family.
For many young women, the economic strain is compounded by lingering patriarchal expectations. Take 25-year-old architect, Amaka, who ended a three-year relationship after repeated pressure from her boyfriend’s family to perform domestic duties during visits.
“I was working 80-hour weeks, yet his mother still expected me to cook for him,” she recalls. “How is that fair when I’m also paying bills?”
Financial analyst Kalu Aja frames it bluntly: “When inflation makes plantain a luxury, love languages become pragmatic.”
Romantic gestures have shifted from grand displays of affection to practical support. “I’ll pay for your Uber” has replaced “Let me buy you jewelry.” In a country where the cost of living has outpaced income growth, emotional connections are being recalibrated to fit financial limitations.
Digital native intimacy
Dating apps have not only normalised situationships but actively incentivised them. Tinder’s “Situationship” badge – a feature that allows users to publicly declare their preference for undefined connections – is now the most-selected relationship type in Lagos.
The rules of engagement are: more DMs than dates, “good morning” texts as a substitute for emotional labour, and social media following serving as the new benchmark for commitment.
For 23-year-old content creator, Tolu, the boundaries are carefully curated. “We’ll post each other on Close Friends but never on our main feed,” she explains. “That’s our generation’s version of ‘taking things slow.’”
The performative aspect of relationships has migrated online, where likes and story replies serve as silent affirmations of affection. Yet, this digital intimacy often lacks depth.
As relationship coach Ezioma Okafor notes, “Many young people mistake constant messaging for emotional connection. They’re drowning in notifications but starving for real companionship.”
The rise of “situationship influencers” on TikTok and Instagram has further entrenched this model, offering tutorials on how to “keep it casual” while still enjoying the perks of romantic attachment. The result? A generation fluent in the language of undefined love but increasingly ill-equipped for long-term commitment.
It comes at a cost
The freedom of situationships comes with hidden tolls. A 2023 study by Lagos University Teaching Hospital (LUTH) found that six-month undefined relationships trigger cortisol spikes comparable to those seen in divorces.
“The brain doesn’t distinguish between a breakup and a situationship fade-out,” explains clinical psychologist Dr. Yemi Adeleke. “The emotional whiplash is the same.”
Gynecologists are also sounding alarms. Dr. Folake Martins, a reproductive health specialist, reports a noticeable delay in fertility timelines among her Gen Z patients. “Many assume they have unlimited time, but biological realities haven’t changed,” she warns.
Perhaps the most poignant consequence is the erosion of family structures. Grandparents whisper about “strange friends” at gatherings, while wills are drafted without knowledge of who might truly matter in their grandchildren’s lives.
“My grandmother keeps asking when I’ll bring someone home,” laughs 27-year-old engineer Tunde. “I don’t have the heart to tell her I’ve had the same ‘friend’ for two years.”
The future of Nigerian love
Sociologists predict that marriage may soon become a midlife event rather than a youthful milestone. Dr. Ngozi Okonjo, a cultural researcher, observes: “We’re seeing the rise of ‘vow renewal’ ceremonies for situationship partners who’ve been together for a decade without labels.”
The market has already adapted. Elite matchmakers now offer ₦250,000 “label negotiation” services to help couples define or avoid defining their relationships.
Meanwhile, younger Nigerians remain unfazed. As 26-year-old engineer Seun shrugs, “My parents had marriages. We have options.”
In Nigeria’s situationship economy, love hasn’t disappeared, t’s simply waiting for the right market conditions.
