How Detty December shifted from sharing joyful moments with our community to excluding people based on their class.
Detty December was not always complicated. It once meant coming home, reconnecting with family and friends, attending local concerts, eating good food, and sharing laughter after a long year. It was cultural, communal, and largely inclusive. Today, however, the season has taken on a different meaning. Beneath the lights, music, and endless social media highlights lies a growing trend that is becoming harder to ignore. There is so much classism rooted in Detty December celebrations.
What used to be a shared cultural moment is now increasingly defined by wealth, or more accurately, the performance of wealth. Participation feels conditional, visibility feels expensive, and enjoyment often seems reserved for those who can afford to spend extravagantly. As a result, Detty December is no longer just a celebration. It is a mirror reflecting Nigeria’s widening social divide.
How cost has redefined participation
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One of the clearest signs of classism in Detty December is the rising cost of participation. Concert tickets, festival passes, club entry fees, and exclusive parties now cost money that rivals a significant portion of an average worker’s monthly income. Events that were once accessible to many have quietly become luxury experiences.
Beyond entertainment, everyday social activities also become more expensive in December. Transportation costs rise, restaurants increase prices, accommodation becomes scarce and overpriced, and even beauty services follow the same pattern.
Here’s a breakdown
This isn’t just hearsay. Longtime Lagos residents routinely complain that hair, nails, and grooming become unusually expensive in December, partly because salons know they can charge higher rates when diaspora Nigerians are willing to pay more. Simple braiding styles, such as medium-length knotless braids, can cost around ₦60,000, while longer or more intricate styles often run into six figures.
Nail services follow a similar pattern, with prices commonly ranging between ₦30,000 and ₦60,000, and elaborate designs pushing costs even higher. Facials, waxing, lash extensions, and other beauty treatments at popular salons also spike sharply, turning festive grooming into a major financial commitment.
Makeup artists are no exception. A session that might cost ₦25,000 during regular months can rise to ₦50,000 to ₦150,000 in December. Top-tier makeup artists are often booked weeks in advance, sometimes handling three to four clients a day at premium rates, capitalising on the season’s demand.
Short-stay apartment owners perhaps experience the most dramatic profit surge of all. An apartment that typically rents for ₦150,000 per month can suddenly command ₦80,000 to ₦120,000 per night in December. Over the course of a month, that translates to ₦2.4 million to ₦3.6 million, compared to ₦150,000 at any other time of the year.
This inflation is often justified by demand, particularly from returnees and visitors earning in foreign currencies who are willing and able to pay premium prices.
As a result, many locals are priced out of the very season that is supposed to belong to them. Detty December becomes something to endure rather than enjoy. For those earning in naira, participation requires sacrifice, debt, or complete withdrawal. Over time, this dynamic reinforces the idea that celebration is no longer the norm but a privilege.
When enjoyment turns into a performance of wealth
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Closely tied to cost is the culture of public spending that now dominates Detty December. Nightlife spaces, in particular, have become arenas for wealth display. Bottle service, VIP tables, luxury designer outfits, and extravagant spending are not just optional features. They are central to the experience and often determine one’s social visibility.
This culture sends a clear message. If you cannot spend excessively, you do not belong at the centre of the celebration. What should be fun starts to feel intimidating. Instead of simply enjoying the moment, people are constantly performing. Fun becomes something to prove social status and is measured in receipts.
Social media only makes it worse. Your timeline fills up with club videos, concert clips, luxury outfits, and endless highlights. Slowly, a new rule is formed. Detty December is not about how much you enjoyed yourself, but how expensive it looks online. The more visible your spending, the more relevant you become. If you are quiet, if you stay home, if you cannot keep up, you disappear from the conversation. In this kind of environment, classism in Detty December is not hidden at all. It shows up every day, loud, unapologetic and bearing down on the holiday season.
Who really gets to party and who gets left behind
Another uncomfortable truth about classism in Detty December is the question of who actually gets to participate. It is sold as a national celebration, something for everyone. In reality, access is far from equal. Working-class Nigerians often experience Detty December in a completely different way from wealthier locals and diaspora returnees.
For many residents, December does not feel festive at all. It means heavy traffic, higher prices, longer queues, and constant financial pressure. We spend hours stuck on the road, pay more for everyday necessities, and stretch already tight budgets, all while watching others move freely through premium spaces. At the same time, high spenders glide through curated experiences designed for comfort, exclusivity, and visibility.
That contrast breeds quiet resentment and emotional distance. A season that should bring people together ends up highlighting who has access and who does not. There is less shared joy and more silent observation. Less participation and more watching from the sidelines. Over time, Detty December stops feeling like a collective celebration and starts to feel like a spectacle designed for a few.
Read also: Is Detty December in Lagos overrated?
The psychological pressure beyond money
Classism in Detty December is not only about who can afford to participate. It is also about the pressure to appear as though you can. Even for those who manage to attend events or go out occasionally, there is an intense social expectation to keep up with trends, appearances, and experiences.
This pressure manifests as anxiety, comparison, and emotional exhaustion. People feel compelled to attend events they cannot afford, dress beyond their means, or present curated versions of enjoyment that do not reflect their reality. The fear of missing out becomes a powerful force, pushing individuals into financial and emotional strain.
In this sense, Detty December reinforces class distinctions in behaviour, not just income. It teaches people how to perform belonging and punishes those who cannot. Over time, this erodes the joy that the celebration during this season is meant to bring to the community.
Reclaiming Detty December from exclusion
At its core, classism in Detty December raises important questions about whose culture is being celebrated and who benefits from it. If Detty December thrives on local music, local energy, and local creativity, yet systematically excludes locals from full participation, then something is fundamentally wrong. Over time, this damages the very fabric that makes shared traditions meaningful.
Addressing this issue does not mean eliminating luxury or enjoyment. It means restoring balance. It means creating space for celebration that does not rely on excessive spending or social hierarchy. Affordable events, community-centred activities, and intentional inclusivity can coexist with premium experiences. Detty December should offer joy across economic lines, not amplify inequality under the guise of festivity.
Ultimately, the question is whether enjoyment should come at the cost of exclusion. Until that question is honestly confronted, Detty December will continue to evolve into a symbol of class division rather than collective celebration.
Celebration should unite, not divide. It should remind people of shared humanity, not highlight economic distance. If Detty December is to remain meaningful, it must return to its roots of togetherness and joy. Otherwise, it risks becoming a yearly reminder that in Nigeria, even celebration has a price tag.
