That Night, My Wig Slid and So Did My Relationship

I didn’t think one outfit could change my life, but that was before last Saturday.

So, I had this rooftop event to attend—some Gen Z “beauty and style mixer” hosted by a rising fashion influencer. Naturally, I wanted to slay.

I’d just gotten my hair laid by a celebrity stylist in Lekki, my nails were fresh, and I’d spent three days curating my outfit on Pinterest. The final look? Corset crop top, high-waisted cargo pants, and knee-high boots. Hair? Layers with bounce. Makeup? Beat like rent was due.

But that wasn’t even the highlight.

I had bought this fire, limited-edition red matte lipstick from a new Nigerian beauty brand, and I swear, it made me feel like Rihanna post-Fenty launch. It was bold, it was sultry, it was me. I took selfies. I posted on IG. People DMed. One in particular caught my attention.

It was Tayo. THE Tayo. The one I used to cry over in 2022. The one who ghosted me after I sent him birthday Jollof. He messaged: “You look mad fine tonight. Still in town?”

Tell me why my heart did a somersault like I wasn’t just preaching self-love two weeks ago?

He offered to pick me up after the event, and I—against my entire healing journey—said yes. After the event, we drove around Lekki, played old Tems tracks, laughed about stuff we had no business laughing about, and ended up at his apartment “just to chill.”

I’ll spare you the details. But let’s just say the lipstick didn’t survive the night.

The next morning, I woke up before him. I panicked. Not because of guilt—well, maybe a little—but because I realized: my makeup bag was gone. My lashes were somewhere on his bedsheet. My wig was… tilting. But worst of all, that lipstick had left a whole mural on his white pillowcase.

My anxiety hit like a truck.

I scrambled out of bed, fixed my wig, grabbed my bag, and left a note that said: “Had to rush out for work. Text me.” I ordered a ride home and told myself I’d never speak to him again. That should have been the end of the story.

But the plot twist? Two days later, the beauty brand that made that lipstick reposted my selfie and tagged me. It went viral.

People were loving the look. Brands started sliding into my DMs for collaborations. Fashion blogs picked it up. One beauty site even called it “the red that launched an influencer.”

Tayo? He texted me that same day. Said he recognized the lipstick from the pillow. Said it reminded him of the night he finally saw me as more than a vibe. I was flattered… until I found out he reposted my photo too. With the caption: “She’s the red flag I couldn’t ignore.”

Imagine.

He turned my glow-up into a cautionary tale on his bro-podcast. Said something like, “If a girl wears lipstick that strong, she’s hiding something stronger.” The audacity.

But you know what? That lipstick did hide something. It hid the part of me that still wanted his validation.

Now, I work with beauty and fashion brands who respect me. My face is on billboards. The pillowcase? Probably still stained. But the lesson? Permanent.

I wear bold lipstick now—not to impress, but to express. And no matter who slides into my DMs again, I’ve made peace with the fact that beauty is power—but only when it’s owned, not borrowed.

Lagos taught me fashion. Tayo taught me boundaries. The red lipstick? It taught me everything else.