Tracee Ellis Ross once said that before you take a solo vacation, you should first take yourself on a solo date. The logic is simple: if you can’t stand being with yourself for a couple of hours, what makes you think you’ll survive days alone in another city?
I heard that and thought, ‘Okay, fair.’ I can do that. I mean, I’ve gone to the movies alone before. Back in 2022, I had a Filmhouse subscription (which I didn’t realise was cool at the time), and I’d sneak into late-night shows. Sometimes 10 p.m., sometimes 11. Just me and the screen. And it was so exciting. I even made a close friend that way. So, in my head, I thought, “If I can do that, then dinner? Easy.”
But the truth is, it wasn’t easy. At all.
One of my oldest fears about going out alone is being stared at by people. I still remember being seventeen, bumping into someone who was going to see a movie by themselves, and blurting out: “That’s sad?” It was the weirdest, saddest thing in the world. Fast-forward a few years, and there I was at twenty-two, going solo to the cinema like it was nothing, a mini treat at the end of the week.
Dinner, though, felt different. It wasn’t a movie that offered anonymity in the darkness or a screen to keep me engaged. Dinner meant being seen, sitting under the restaurant lights with a fork in hand, no buffer of friends or small talk to hide behind. I would have to face myself and other people’s imagined judgments.
The Build-Up to the Solo Date
So, the first time I decided to go? Cancelled. Just couldn’t do it.
Second time? Cancelled again. A friend came over, and it felt awkward to leave her behind. Asking her to join would have killed the whole point, so… postponed.
Third time? Same story. I even put on a dress that day, stood in front of the mirror, and froze. I felt ridiculous. Shaky. Scared. And the more I asked myself, what’s so scary about eating food alone? The more I spiraled.
It wasn’t until a random Wednesday, around noon, that I finally said: You know what? Fuck it. I’m going.
Except I didn’t. Not right away. From 12 p.m. until 6 p.m., I literally paced my room. Picked up my phone. Dropped it. Said “I’ll go.” Said, “I won’t go.” Sat down. Stood up again. Six whole hours of debating with myself over one simple dinner.
Finally, at 6 p.m., I dragged myself into the shower. And I decided something important: if this were a date with myself, then I should be comfortable. I didn’t need to force the dress. So I put on a silk shirt, black jeans, and heels – corporate casual, nothing fancy. I spritzed on perfume, looked in the mirror, and thought, “Okay. You look good. You can do this.
Mini tip: When I actually look good and smell so lovely, I genuinely feel I can conquer the world, so I had no fear at all.
The Restaurant
So I booked an Uber. Thirty minutes, maybe forty, of traffic and daydreams. Because that’s me, I daydream a lot, especially on car rides. I wasn’t thinking deeply, just drifting through imaginary scenarios, little scenes in my head. That actually helped calm me down.
Before I left, I had googled what to do on your first solo date, and although it was recommended to go to a cafe, I decided to go to an Indian restaurant on the mainland, which I had actually visited before. Because over the last couple of weeks, I had seriously been craving garlic naan and butter chicken.
Ridding that sudden dose of confidence. I mean, I walked into the restaurant, the waiter opened the door, and I boldly asked, “I am dining alone, do I have to sit in a specific spot, or anywhere is fine?” I mean, confident or not, I didn’t want to be displaced because I picked a seat for four, and then I had to be moved, that would literally ruin the whole night. He confirmed that I could sit anywhere I liked.
Okay, I’ll confess a bit: the business casual look was so that anyone staring at me would think I was just coming from the office and branching out to eat, not that I intentionally set out to eat alone. But I walked to the patio of the restaurant, and the waiter serving there recognised me from past visits and asked, “You are dining alone today.” I was excited, picked a seat I liked, and responded, Yes, I was craving good food.
I chose my favourite spot in the restaurant. It wasn’t crowded yet (thank God for Wednesdays). I ordered a Chapman because I’m on a no-alcohol journey, and when that first sip hit? Heaven. Cold, refreshing, sweet. For a moment, I forgot the stares I was bracing for. I flipped through the menu, ordered my appetizer, and while waiting, pulled out my notebook. I scribbled down my feelings: shaky, awkward, nervous. Then I switched to my phone and opened an eBook. Not a physical book, because honestly, I didn’t want to be reading in the restaurant, type, not that there’s anything wrong with it. But my phone? Easy to hide behind. So I did. Read a little. Sip Chapman. Look up. Read again. Take a bite. Look around.
The food arrived quicker than I expected. Too quick. I’d read online that solo dates should last at least 1 hour and 30 minutes, so I wanted to space things out. But there I was, halfway through my appetizer when my butter chicken and garlic naan arrived. Rookie mistake.
Still, I took my time. Ate slowly. Savoured everything.
The Intrusions
Just as I was easing into the rhythm, people began to arrive.
First, two men sat across from me. And I swear, it felt like my little solo bubble had been pierced. Like they’d caught me doing this weird, awkward thing. I froze, then realised they were too busy finding their seats even to notice me.
Then three more people came in — two men and a woman. Again, I braced for their stares, but none came. They were lost in their own conversations. It finally hit me: nobody was actually watching.
By the time the last two couples walked in, I was no longer hiding. In fact, I was watching them. One couple, especially, fascinated me. They sat down, ordered, and then… silence. Both on their phones. Eating in between, scrolling again, barely speaking. And I thought: So this is what “not-alone” looks like? Maybe my solo dinner is actually better than that.
That was the moment the awkwardness flipped. I wasn’t lonely. In fact, I felt great. I looked good. I smelled good, and I was eating food I loved, and for once, I didn’t have to cover anyone’s bill or explain my cravings. Because in the past, when I wanted to do something and the other person said they didn’t have money or didn’t want to, I’d cover the bill even though I myself was dead broke. But at least I was finally breaking that pattern today. So you don’t want to go out, fine, I’m going anyway because I can enjoy my own company!
The Shift
From then on, I relaxed completely.
I alternated between bites, reading, journaling, and people-watching. As I settled in, I noticed how cozy the restaurant felt, the buzz of chatter rising as more tables filled. I even started making up little storylines about strangers at other tables.
At one point, the manager came to check if I was fine. Twice, actually. The waiter, too, kept smiling at me, making sure I had what I needed. Instead of feeling pitied, I felt… taken care of like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
I also did what I always do: replied to a few messages. One friend texted me good news, and I laughed out loud at the table. That was another small win, proof that I wasn’t drowning in silence. I was enjoying myself.
When I was done, I asked them to pack the leftovers (because yes, I’m a leftover person, and part of me loves knowing I’ll get to eat good food again at home). They gave me a mint freshener, and I thought, ‘Okay, I want to come back just for this mint.‘
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The Ride Home
By the time I left, it was raining. Lagos rain at night — soft, steady, with streetlights blurred in the puddles. I leaned against the Uber window, watching, daydreaming again. And for the first time all day, I felt full. Not just from the butter chicken, but from the whole experience.
I put my leftovers in the fridge, peeled off my clothes, and thought, “Okay.” I did it – I really did it.
Without watching the time, I successfully spent 1 hour and 32 minutes at the restaurant. I made it. I survived. More than that: I enjoyed it.
And then I laughed to myself: If I can survive a restaurant alone, can I survive a concert alone? Okay, I am curious to try that.
What to Do on Your First Solo Date
Your first solo date may feel awkward, nerve-racking, and even a little scary. That’s normal. The good news? With a bit of preparation, it can also turn out surprisingly fun and freeing. Here are some things that actually help:
- Start small and low-pressure. If the thought of fine dining alone makes you sweat, begin with something lighter. A café, brunch, or even a casual movie is less intimidating. Once you’ve done that, you can work your way up to fancier restaurants, concerts, or even day trips.
- Begin with intention, not perfection: Ask yourself why you’re doing this. To learn to enjoy your own company? To try something new? That intention anchors you when doubts creep in.
- Plan ahead: Don’t choose a venue that makes you feel exposed (too loud, crowded, very unfamiliar), and don’t overload your schedule. The idea is to treat yourself and spend time in your own company.
- Time it right: Quieter hours (like a Wednesday evening or a Sunday afternoon) make the experience less overwhelming. Crowded Friday nights are not the ideal environment for a first solo date.
- Dress for yourself: Wear what makes you feel good — not what looks impressive to others. Confidence on a solo date comes from comfort, not from forcing an outfit that doesn’t feel like you.
- Set a budget: Know how much you’re willing to spend before you step out. It keeps you from second-guessing every decision on the menu, allowing you to focus on enjoying yourself.
- Order in stages: Don’t rush. Get a drink first, then an appetizer, and then the main course. Pacing your meal allows the experience to unfold and gives you space to settle into the moment.
- Set a flexible time boundary: Promise yourself you’ll stay for “at least X time,” but allow yourself the freedom to leave earlier if it feels too much. That pressure to “stick it out” can kill the experience.
- Bring a small anchor: This could be a notebook, a book, your journal, or even just your headphones. It’s not about hiding; it’s about having something to lean on when you need to pause.
- Pay attention to your surroundings: Solo dates are the perfect time to notice things you usually miss. The flavours in your food, the background music, and the conversations at the next table. Being alone makes those details sharper. Don’t just “sit there and scroll.” Eat mindfully. Notice the smells, textures, and sounds around you. Sensory awareness pulls you into the moment.
- Expect nerves — and let them pass: You’ll probably feel self-conscious at first, and you may even want to leave. Stay with it. The awkwardness usually fades once you’ve settled into your seat.
- Disconnect (or at least limit phone use): Use your phone mindfully (journal, take photos, listen to music) instead of scrolling aimlessly. The goal is to be with you, not lost in feeds.
- Don’t compare yourself: It’s tempting to look at couples or groups and assume they’re having a better time. Often, they’re not. Your solo date is about you, not them.
- End with a little treat: Plan a sweet ending: take leftovers home, grab dessert, or stop for a walk afterward. Closing the date on a small high note makes it feel intentional and complete.
- Reflect afterward: Take 5–10 minutes after you’re done to journal or think about how it felt, what surprised you, and what you want to try next.
Pro tip: if you’re nervous about being alone, try a structured solo date. Something like a cooking class, pottery workshop, or gallery tour provides an activity to do and takes the pressure off.
Why You Need To Go On A Solo Date
Solo dates aren’t glamorous. They’re awkward, drawn-out battles with your nerves, punctuated by small jolts of freedom. But that’s the art of it. You walk in, convinced everyone is staring, and you walk out, realising nobody even noticed. You start the evening asking yourself if you can survive sitting alone at a table, and end it asking what else you might survive — a concert, a trip, maybe even a life where you don’t wait for company to do the things you want.
That’s why the first one matters, not because of the activity or the dressing up. It matters because you prove to yourself that your own company is enough. And once you’ve tasted that kind of freedom, it’s tough to go back to postponing your life until someone else says yes.
