‘Relationship Allowance’ Is a Bad Joke in Modern Dating

Imagine you are a young man in Nigeria, trying to assemble a life that makes sense. You work, study, and steadily invest in yourself; not extravagantly, but just enough to stay afloat and remain functional. Money leaves your account for predictable reasons: transport, food, and rent. These comprise the basic costs of participation in modern life. Then you start dating, and you discover an expense for which you never budgeted.

Suddenly, affection comes with a price tag. A monthly expectation, quietly but firmly introduced, suggests that you must send money to your partner simply to keep the relationship stable. It is not for rent or for emergencies. It exists merely to maintain peace, loyalty, and emotional access. Miss a payment, and the tone shifts. She suddenly remembers it is best she ‘chooses herself,’ or she hits you with the classics: ‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ or ‘It’s not working, and I think I need space.’ Love, it turns out, has a billing cycle.

This is what dating has become for many young Nigerians. It is not romance or connection, but an unspoken subscription model where emotional continuity depends on regular transfers. Women often present the idea casually, even confidently, as normal. Refuse it, and 'people' dub you a ‘brokie’; they label you stingy, unserious, or unprepared for a relationship. Accept it, and you become the definition of the ‘most intentional man’ to walk the earth, at least for the time being. However, you will slowly realise you are simply funding a situation with no guarantees, no structure, and no end date.

This is what many commonly refer to as a ‘relationship allowance.’ It is not a gift in the traditional sense, nor is it support in moments of need. It is a standing payment whose absence people interpret as disinterest and whose presence they treat as proof of seriousness. In urban Nigeria, particularly among young adults, the practice has become less a personal choice and more a social expectation.

What makes the practice worth examining is not that money changes hands. Let us be honest, money has always moved through relationships. But the bone of contention in this case involves the logic behind it. Relationship allowance rarely connects to shared goals or mutual growth. It functions instead as a stabiliser: a financial buffer placed between affection and abandonment.

At its core, relationship allowance is a routine payment a man makes to his partner for general upkeep: hair, food, data, and lifestyle. No one provides receipts and no one defines limits. The figures vary, but the principle remains the same: if you are serious, you must pay. People frame the payment not as generosity, but as an obligation.

The crucial distinction is that the allowance does not deepen intimacy; it replaces it. Emotional commitment becomes secondary to financial consistency. The relationship no longer rests on compatibility or effort, but on the reliability of transfers. You miss one cycle and the atmosphere shifts; conversations shorten, and the idea of love quietly renegotiates itself.

Users share endless examples on Social Media. Men pay allowances while also covering tuition, family emergencies, sibling ventures, and household needs that do not belong to them. The outcomes remain strikingly consistent: withdrawal and replacement. People no longer treat these stories as cautionary tales; they view them as the standard occupational hazards of dating.

This culture did not emerge in isolation. It results from antiquated provider expectations colliding with modern economic pressure. Nigerian men still learn that provision provides proof of value, even as the economy makes that provision increasingly difficult. Simultaneously, Social Media has normalised lifestyles funded by ‘fast money,’ inflating expectations and compressing patience.

The result is a dating environment where financial performance stands in for emotional availability. Social Media encourages women to demand more as a form of self-preservation. Men comply, not necessarily because they agree, but because people interpret refusal as inadequacy. Over time, this dynamic reshapes the relationship. Dating begins to resemble a negotiation, where men measure emotional effort strictly against financial input.

Some men note being asked for money immediately following intimacy, not always explicitly, but always pointedly. When payments slow, emotional distance follows. When they stop entirely, the relationship often ends. Like clockwork. To justify this, Social Media users flood platforms with endless 'think pieces' and threads designed to back up this transactional logic. You see the posts everywhere: ‘Maturing is realising that a girl billing you at the talking stage is just a test,’ or ‘She’s feasting to see if you’re a good provider.’

This structure produces predictable outcomes. Men grow financially exhausted and emotionally guarded. Women grow dissatisfied, constantly adjusting their expectations. Because trust erodes and commitment is delayed, marriage starts to feel risky. Everyone remains in motion, but no one feels secure.

The burden falls disproportionately on men. Before dating even begins, society expects a man to arrive already established, stable, and able to add significant value. Self-improvement costs money. Living costs money. Simply existing costs money. Adding a relationship allowance on top of that creates a recurring expense with no long-term return. Unlike other investments, this one depreciates immediately. It offers no security, no equity, and no guarantee of continuity. It is a financial output whose emotional output no one can audit. When it ends, nothing remains except the brutal truth that affection was conditional.

To be clear, financial support itself is not the enemy. Context matters. In marriage, allowances often serve a functional purpose. When a partner forgoes paid work to manage a household or raise children, personal financial access becomes necessary. In that context, an allowance restores autonomy and balance within a shared life.

Dating does not operate under the same structure. Dating is exploratory. It should test compatibility, not create dependency. Funding another person’s lifestyle during this phase distorts incentives. It replaces curiosity with expectation and effort with entitlement. As economic pressure mounts and the cost of living outpaces stagnant incomes, this arrangement becomes unsustainable. Yet, rather than expectations adjusting to reality, people actually dial them up. To give this trend a sense of legitimacy, many women on Social Media have popularised the phrase ‘the bare minimum.’

Originally, ‘the bare minimum’ described fundamental character traits like honesty, punctuality, and mutual respect. But today, the definition has shifted. Now, if a man does not provide a regular allowance, people accuse him of failing to meet the ‘basics.’ By rebranding a financial transfer as the ‘bare minimum,’ modern culture shames the man and strips his effort of any merit. You do not thank someone for doing the ‘minimum’; you only penalise them when they fall short. The result is a total disconnect: men opt out, and women are left increasingly frustrated.

The issue is not morality; it is structure. Relationship allowance introduces leverage where intimacy should exist. It turns emotional continuity into a paid service and converts affection into a recurring obligation. At scale, it reflects a society under pressure, using money to replace trust and performance to replace connection. It promises stability but delivers strain. Unlike other personal investments, this one depreciates immediately. You cannot resell it or recover it. You can only hope it was worth it. Oftentimes, it is not.

The solution is not outrage or online gender wars. It is honesty. Couples must have clear conversations about money before emotions deepen, and show a willingness to walk away from arrangements that feel transactional.

In the end, the relationship allowance is the worst joke of modern dating culture. And like most bad jokes, it lingers long after everyone has stopped laughing. It is not offensive because it exists, but because everyone treats it as normal. It pretends to be love while behaving like a contract. It may not need outrage to disappear; it may simply need people to see it clearly for what it is.