The photo is art. The lighting is golden. The caption is "Homemade with love ❤️." The reality? The delivery bag is buried under yesterday's newspapers, and the "homemade" came from that new restaurant on Instagram. The Nigerian food performance is Olympic-level. We don't just eat. We curate. We stage. We filter. The jollof that came from Mama Put becomes "Sunday family recipe." The soup that was delivered becomes "experimenting in the kitchen." The Indomie becomes "elevated ramen with a Nigerian twist." And the props! The wooden cutting board that only appears in photos. The fresh herbs that are never actually used. The apron that still has the price tag. The kitchen that was cleaned specifically for the photo, then returned to chaos immediately after. The comments feed the fiction. "Wife material!" "Whoever marries you is blessed!" "Please teach me!" The praise is addictive. The performance becomes mandatory. The actual cooking becomes optional. But the guilt! The person who genuinely cooks daily and never posts. Their jollof is better. Their kitchen is functional. Their life is real. But the algorithm doesn't reward reality. The algorithm rewards performance. So the performer performs, and the cooker cooks in silence. Have you ever staged a "homemade" post? And what's the most elaborate food lie you've told online?
