Scroll through the social media feed of any woman in her twenties or thirties, and you’ll find a carefully curated highlight reel of her life: brunch with friends, career milestones, solo travel adventures, and perfectly angled selfies. But in an increasing number of profiles, a key figure is conspicuously absent: her romantic partner. He may exist in tagged photos on other people’s pages or as a mysterious hand holding hers in an Instagram story, but his face remains a ghost on her main grid.
This phenomenon has sparked a fierce debate: in an age of oversharing, why are so many women choosing to keep their partners offline? Is it a strategic move to protect one’s peace, a trauma response from past heartbreaks, or simply a sign that the relationship isn’t “end game” material?
We spoke to a diverse group of 10 women to conduct a serious investigation into the multifaceted and deeply personal reasons behind the decision to post—or permanently privatize—their love lives.
Franky, 29, Lawyer
My life is my life, and I live it openly. When I’m with someone and I’m happy, it’s a natural thing for him to be on my page. We go out, we take nice pictures, I post it. It’s not that deep for me.
When the relationship ends, I’m not one of those people that will rush to delete pictures. Omo, if I looked good in that picture, that picture is staying! The memories were real at the time, right? It doesn’t mean I’m not over him. It just means I liked my fashion and aesthetic that day. I’ll only consider taking them down when someone new and serious comes into the picture. It’s more out of respect for his feelings. I wouldn’t want my new man scrolling and seeing a ten-part series of my last holiday with my ex. I don’t want him thinking I’m a weirdo who is still hung up on the past.
Rita, 29, Digital Marketer
Let me be brutally honest with you, I wouldn’t even post a ‘Missing Person’ flyer of my man if he disappeared. It has absolutely nothing to do with how much I love and adore him in private. My social media is my business my brand. It’s a carefully curated space that I have built to represent my work, my ambitions, and my identity as a woman who is self-made. I genuinely don’t play with it.
Chai, 27, Businesswoman
When you show off a man, they remind you why you should have kept them a secret. Also, many of the men I have dated are ugly, so there’s no need posting scary stuff on my Instagram.
Ada, 26, Lawyer
Five years ago, I met a man who was the definition of public display of affection. He would post my picture on his Instagram with long, poetic captions. My face was on his X header, his Facebook. He would post me on his Snapchat and his WhatsApp status… every single day! He took me everywhere—family weddings, boys’ night out, work meetings, you name it. I felt so seen and loved that I started doing the same.
You can’t imagine the shock, the complete and utter humiliation, when I found out this man was a serial cheat. Actively cheating, with multiple women. For months, I tortured myself wondering why he put on such a public show. Was it a performance? A cover-up? To this day, I don’t have the answer. The aftermath was even worse. Having to go through my entire social media, deleting every picture, every tagged memory, while people were in my DMs asking what happened. God punish him.
Now? God forbid. I am scarred. If a man I am talking to even tries to post my picture, I feel a panic attack coming. Never again. If I am going to chop breakfast, let me eat it in the privacy of my own kitchen, not in the middle of the market square for everyone to watch.
Jo, 24, Businesswoman
You will see a man on my social media on one condition and one condition only: if we are engaged and the wedding date is set. All Social Media is a dating app, believe me or not, even LinkedIn. When you post a man, you are essentially telling every other man, ‘This position has been filled.’ But what if the guy you’re with is not the ‘end game’? Don’t unknowingly block your future husband for your current boyfriend.
Fashing strategy, yeah, I am a very private person. I’m not an extrovert who enjoys sharing every detail of my life. I don’t need the unsolicited opinions of online in-laws on a relationship that might not even last till Christmas. The day you see a man’s face on my IG grid, just know the aso-ebi colour has been picked and the deposit for the hall has been paid. Until then, we are moving in private.
Jane, 30, Post-Graduate Student
People mistake privacy for secrecy, and they are not the same thing. My man isn’t a secret. My family knows him, my close friends know him, we go out and live our lives. But my relationship is private. I guard it fiercely because my peace of mind is my number one priority. The moment you put your relationship online, you invite the world in. You invite the experts who have baseless opinions on how he looks at you in a picture. You invite the internet in-laws and womb-watchers who ask ‘what are you waiting for?’ under every post. And the evil eye exists—God whening under my posts but waiting for the day he disapooints me (I have had a friend tell me this to my face)
Why would I expose something so precious to all that negativity? I’m not interested in performing love for likes and comments. I’m just protecting me and mine from unnecessary drama, evil eyes and comments I never asked for.
Favour, 26, Hair Stylist
I used to be a ‘post your man’ advocate. I thought it was a sign of love, of being proud. But then I understood a dark truth about human nature: some people only want a man because he belongs to you. Do with this information what you want.
Ngozi, 27, Fashion Designer
Honestly, I don’t understand this new culture of hiding the person you love like he’s contraband. I get especially irritated when a woman will post her love and blur his face. I need someone to explain it to me like I am five: why do women who do that, do that?
When I am in love, I am in love. My man is my happy place. In the past I have tried doing that whole mysterious persona thing and it didn’t come naturally to me. I found it so hard concealing the source of so much of my joy.
People talk about ‘evil eye,’ but I believe that the energy you put out is what you get back. I’m putting out love and joy. Hiding my partner feels like I’m anticipating failure or feeding into fear, and I refuse to build a relationship on that kind of shaky ground. If it ends, it ends. I will deal with it then. But while it’s here, while it’s beautiful? I am going to celebrate it
Ijeoma, 32, HR Manager
A relationship is a partnership. My man is so proud of me, and he’s not shy about it. He posts my accomplishments on his LinkedIn, he puts my pictures on his WhatsApp status with sweet captions, he celebrates my birthday on his Instagram. He makes me feel seen, valued, and cherished in public.
So, how can I now receive all that public affection and hide him away like he’s my little secret? It would be disrespectful. It would look like I’m ashamed of him or keeping my options open, and that’s not the case. Posting him is my way of reciprocating that energy. It’s doesn’t make sense not to post him. I don’t want him to feel like he is not enough.
Sade, 25, Corper
There’s so much involved in why women keep their relationships private. It’s a mix of things: to prevent potential embarrassment, he might be ugly and you are only there for the money, you might realise he’s cheap and is in everyone’s DMs but you still have some uses for him. You might have better options that have not clicked yet, your family doesn’t approve of him. Sometimes it’s more than the possibility of him embarrassing you.
The decision to reveal a partner on social media is clearly not a simple one. The diverse testimonies reveal a complex tapestry of strategy, self-preservation, and personal philosophy. For every woman like Ngozi or Ijeoma who views posting as an authentic celebration of joy and a necessary act of reciprocity, there is an Ada, scarred by public humiliation and now guarding her heart with online privacy. There are the pragmatists like Rita, for whom a relationship doesn’t align with a professional brand, and the strategists like Jo, who see the entire internet as a dating pool not to be limited prematurely.
Ultimately, what emerges is a powerful narrative on modern-day boundary setting in romantic relatonships. The question is no longer just “Are you happy?” but “How much of that happiness are you willing to expose to public consumption?” In the end, the debate over posting a partner is a potent reflection of how women are navigating love, identity, and vulnerability in a world that is always watching.
