Aunty Shakira TikTok: Entertainment Or evidence that many young Tiktokers have lost it?

Let's address the elephant in the room. If you spent the last two weeks perfecting your "Aunty Shakira" dance moves, recording takes in different outfits, editing transitions with the "Aunty Shakira, dance shakiti wo" sound bite, and arguing in comment sections about who nailed it better, you need to sit down and have an honest conversation with yourself about where your life is headed.

This isn't an attack on fun. This is a wake-up call disguised as commentary on a dance trend. Because what we're witnessing with the Aunty Shakira TikTok challenge isn't just harmless entertainment, it's a symptom of a much deeper crisis affecting youths: too much time, zero direction, and a dangerous addiction to validation from strangers who will forget your name in 48 hours.

The trend that resurrected a 2017 song

For context, the "Aunty Shakira" challenge is built around Olamide's 2017 hit song "WO," which features the catchy line "Aunty Shakira, dance shakiti wo". The track remained relatively quiet for years until late 2025, when a TikTok creator introduced a new dance template using that specific verse. By January 2026, the challenge had exploded across Nigerian TikTok, with thousands of young people filming themselves gyrating to the beat, competing for views, and flooding timelines with nearly identical content.

The dance itself is simple, energetic hip movements, spins, and exaggerated gestures that match the percussive beat of the song. It requires no special skill, no creativity beyond choosing an outfit, and certainly no thought beyond "will this go viral?". And that's precisely the problem.

When "Just having fun" Becomes a full-time occupation

The most common defense whenever anyone criticizes these trends is predictable: "Why can't people just have fun?" or "Stop being a hater, let people enjoy things!". This is the rallying cry of people who know, deep in their gut, that they're wasting time but refuse to admit it.

Having fun is not the problem. Obsession is. When participating in a dance challenge becomes your primary activity for days, when you're filming multiple takes, studying other people's videos for "inspiration," engaging in comment wars, and refreshing your notifications every five minutes to see how many likes you got, that's not leisure. That's addiction.

And the data backs this up. A 2024 study on TikTok's effect on Nigerian tertiary students found that students spend an average of two hours daily on the platform, which directly cuts into study time and leads to procrastination, lack of focus, and poor time management. Students at the University of Lagos reported feeling fatigued during lectures after binge-watching TikTok videos late into the night. The research concluded that TikTok addiction is a growing problem causing measurable declines in academic performance across Nigerian institutions.

So when you tell me you're "just having fun" while filming your tenth take of the Aunty Shakira challenge at 2 AM instead of preparing for that exam or working on that side business you keep talking about, forgive me for not celebrating your recreational choices.

The uncomfortable truth about idle time

Here's the part that will make people angry, but it needs to be said: the reason the Aunty Shakira challenge spread so rapidly among young Nigerians is because millions of them have nothing better to do.

Every year, 1.7 million graduates leave Nigerian universities and polytechnics, yet the economy lacks the capacity to absorb them into the labour market.

The official unemployment rate for youth stood at 6.5% in Q2 2024, but that statistic is misleading because 93% of employed Nigerians work in the informal sector, precarious, unprotected jobs that offer little income security. In practical terms, this means millions of young people have flexible schedules, irregular work, or no professional obligations filling their hours.

And what do idle minds do? They scroll. They create content for validation. They participate in every trend that promises a few seconds of attention. They spend two, three, four hours a day on TikTok because the alternative, confronting the reality that their lives lack purpose and direction, is too painful.

The Aunty Shakira challenge didn't go viral because it's particularly creative or entertaining. It went viral because there's a massive population of young people with smartphones, internet access, and nothing meaningful demanding their time and energy.

You have capacity, you're just directing it at the wrong things

The young people pouring hours into perfecting TikTok dances are not lazy. They're not stupid. They're not incapable. In fact, they're demonstrating significant capacity.

Think about what goes into creating a viral TikTok video. You need to understand trends, timing, and audience psychology. You need basic editing skills, an eye for framing and lighting, an understanding of music and rhythm. You need persistence, filming multiple takes until you get it right. You need the confidence to put yourself on camera and the resilience to handle negative comments. These are valuable skills.

The tragedy is that all this talent, creativity, and drive is being funneled into content that vanishes in 24 hours, generates zero income, builds no lasting value, and advances you nowhere professionally.

Imagine if the same energy spent memorizing dance moves went into learning a marketable skill. Imagine if the hours spent editing TikTok videos went into building a portfolio, writing a book, developing a business plan, or mastering graphic design. Imagine if the persistence you show in filming take after take until your dance is perfect translated into persistence in job applications, networking, or entrepreneurship.

You have capacity. You're just using it to entertain strangers for free while your future slips away.

The validation economy is not an economy

Let me be brutally honest: likes are not income. Views are not stability. Going viral is not a career plan.

For every one person who successfully monetizes social media attention, there are ten thousand who pour years into content creation and end up with nothing to show for it except a phone full of old videos and a nagging sense that they wasted their youth chasing something that was never real.

The TikTok algorithm doesn't care about you. The people double-tapping your Aunty Shakira video don't know you, won't remember you, and will not help you when you need a job, money for rent, or references for a professional opportunity. You're performing for an audience that offers applause but no support.

And yet, millions of young Nigerians are addicted to this validation cycle, checking their phones compulsively, feeling a dopamine hit with every notification, and mistaking temporary attention for real achievement. This is not entertainment. This is escapism from the uncomfortable truth that your life lacks substance.

It's not too late, but the clock is ticking

Time moves faster than TikTok trends, and one day, sooner than you think, you'll wake up and realize you've spent years performing for strangers who never cared whether you succeeded or failed in real life.

You are not as young as you think. Every hour you spend on any challenge is an hour you didn't spend building skills, making connections, creating value, or positioning yourself for the future. And unlike TikTok videos, lost time doesn't get a second take.

The internet has convinced an entire generation that visibility equals value, that attention equals accomplishment, and that going viral is the same as going somewhere. It's a lie. And the sooner you recognize it, the sooner you can redirect your considerable energy toward things that actually matter.

The choice is yours

I'm not your enemy for saying this. I'm the voice you need to hear before it's too late.

You can continue participating in every trend, chasing every viral moment, scrolling until 3 AM, and telling yourself you're just having fun. Or you can wake up, acknowledge that you've been using entertainment as an escape from the hard work of building a real life, and start making different choices.

The challenge will be forgotten in two weeks. Another trend will replace it. And another after that. The question is whether you'll still be dancing when the music stops, or whether you'll have built something solid enough to stand on when the applause fades.

Stop playing. Start building. Your future depends on it.