Women Who Buy Men: Unmasking sugar mummies, by Stephanie Shaakaa

There is a conversation we have deliberately avoided for too long. Not because it does not exist, but because it thrives best in silence. Not because it is rare, but because it is discreet. Not because it lacks victims, but because those victims are ashamed to speak.

We talk endlessly about sugar daddies. We dissect them. We condemn them. We meme them. We parade them as symbols of male excess and moral decay. But there is another side of this economy of flesh and favours, one that operates quietly, elegantly, almost invisibly.

Sugar mummies.

They sit in executive offices and gated estates. They attend charity galas and church thanksgiving services. They fund startups and sponsor degrees. They are respected women. Pillars of society. Role models. And they are rarely named.

The young men they keep are even more silent.

Because how does a man admit that he is being bought?

In a society where masculinity is tied to provision, dominance, and control, the young man who is funded by an older woman is stripped of language. There is no safe vocabulary for his experience. If he speaks, he is mocked. If he complains, he is dismissed. If he suffers, he is told to enjoy it.

After all, is he not lucky?

This is how exploitation hides in plain sight.

The sugar mummy phenomenon is not simply about sex. It is about power. It is about access. It is about survival in a brutal economy where youth unemployment is weaponised and dignity is negotiable. It is about older women who have climbed ladders in a system that rewarded silence and sacrifice, only to recreate that same imbalance with younger men who are desperate for footing.

Beneath the glamour and discretion lies a hidden economy. Wealth flows from older women to young men like quiet rivers of influence, survival, and social leverage. In a nation where youth unemployment is rampant and opportunities are scarce, this exchange is not merely transactional, it is a lifeline. A lifeline with strings attached.

Many of these relationships begin innocently. A job offer. A mentorship. A favour. Then expectations shift. Boundaries blur. Gratitude becomes obligation. And suddenly, the help has a price.

A body,

Time,

Loyalty,

Exclusivity.

The transaction is never written, but it is always understood.

And because society refuses to see men as potential victims of sexual and emotional exploitation, these young men are abandoned to navigate shame alone. No advocacy groups. No sympathetic headlines. No moral outrage.

Just laughter.

We assume men cannot be coerced if sex is involved. We assume men cannot be abused if money is flowing. We assume men should be grateful for access to comfort, even if it costs them autonomy.

That assumption is violence.

Some of these young men are not merely beneficiaries. They are controlled. Their phones monitored. Their friendships dictated. Their futures negotiated without consent. Their bodies summoned at will.

And when they try to leave, the cost is steep. Withdrawn support. Blacklisting. Threats. Emotional manipulation. Sometimes public humiliation. Sometimes quiet ruin.

Yet we clap.

We say, He is enjoying.

We say, That is how the world works.

But exploitation does not become empowerment because the victim is male.

What makes this phenomenon even more disturbing is how well it is protected by respectability. Sugar mummies are rarely crude. They are polished. They do not loiter. They do not catcall. They do not boast. They operate behind closed doors, under the cover of generosity and mentorship. Their discretion is their shield.

And because they are women, society hesitates to interrogate them. We are afraid of appearing sexist. Afraid of complicating feminism. Afraid of acknowledging that power, when unchecked, corrupts regardless of gender.

But feminism was never meant to excuse exploitation. Empowerment was never meant to become predation.

Equality means accountability too.

Psychologically, the cost is immense. Dependency breeds anxiety. Loyalty breeds shame. Gratitude becomes guilt. Young men navigate an emotional labyrinth they did not ask to enter. Older women, wielding wealth and influence, may feel entitled, justified, or oblivious to the damage they leave behind.

Culturally, the silence is deafening. A young woman with an older man is mocked. A young man with an older woman is invisible. Peer pressure normalises transactional relationships and teaches ambition through compromise. Families rarely intervene because the transactions are subtle, respectable, and hidden in plain sight.

Globally, sugar mummies exist in every culture. But in Nigeria, this economy is unique, shaped by social expectations, economic scarcity, and generational power gaps. It thrives because it is discreet, because it is socially protected, and because it exploits a vulnerability that no one is allowed to name.

This is not a call to demonise older women or infantilise young men. It is a call to tell the truth. To admit that abuse wears many faces. That power dynamics are dangerous no matter who holds the cheque. That silence is not consent, and provision is not permission.

If we truly care about justice, we must be brave enough to interrogate every corner of intimacy where power and desperation meet.

We must create space for young men to speak without ridicule. We must expand our moral vocabulary. We must stop laughing at pain simply because it does not fit our stereotypes.

The sugar mummy economy thrives because it is hidden behind shame and applause at the same time. It survives because we have refused to look directly at it.

But silence does not make it harmless. It only makes it permanent.

What begins as survival can easily become dependency. What begins as generosity can easily become control. And the true cost is not just financial, it is social, emotional, and moral.

Until we are willing to talk about the women who buy access to young men the same way we talk about the men who do the same to young women, we are not having an honest conversation about power, sex, or society.

We are just choosing which predators we are comfortable with.

And history has never been kind to societies that pick and choose their outrage.

Vanguard News

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