Is it Guinness World Record that owns my p****?” Nigerian content creator Mandy Kiss vows to go ahead with plans to b£d 100 men in one day
The Nigerian internet is never short of controversy, but few stories have jolted the digital space in recent memory quite like Mandy Kiss’s latest announcement. The self-styled “sex goddess” and content creator has vowed to go ahead with her plan to sleep with one hundred men in a single day, framing the stunt as a record-breaking challenge worthy of global recognition.
On its face, the claim sounds outrageous, even absurd. Yet, for Mandy Kiss, provocation has long been her brand. This latest episode — amplified by Guinness World Records’ public disclaimer that it does not monitor such acts — has sparked debates far beyond her usual fan base. From morality to mental health, from internet fame to the commercialization of sexuality, the fallout of Mandy’s declaration has become a case study in the extremes of social media culture.
Mandy Kiss made her announcement in late September, unveiling a promotional poster that bore the Guinness World Records logo. The poster set October 30 as the date for her attempt and invited men willing to participate to apply. The inclusion of the Guinness branding gave the impression of legitimacy, though insiders quickly cast doubt on the claim.
Guinness World Records responded swiftly, clarifying that it does not recognize or monitor sexual feats of this nature. The organisation emphasised that it distances itself from attempts that are unsafe, illegal, or obscene. For Mandy Kiss, however, this rejection was only fuel for her defiance.
“Is it Guinness World Record that owns my p***y?” she retorted in a video. Her words went viral, shared across Instagram, X, TikTok, and gossip blogs. The statement crystallised her defiance: that her body is her property and she would not be dictated to by any institution, whether moral, cultural, or corporate.
To understand why this incident struck such a nerve, it is necessary to explore Mandy Kiss’s persona. Born and raised in Nigeria, she rose to prominence not through traditional entertainment or business ventures but through deliberate provocation on social media. Nicknamed the “President of Oloshos” (a slang for sex workers), she has built a following on the back of sexually explicit skits, suggestive commentary, and unabashed defiance of societal norms.
Her rise mirrors that of other internet personalities who thrive on the principle that controversy drives traffic. In a saturated attention economy, shock becomes currency, and Mandy has consistently proven adept at cashing in. The announcement of the 100-men challenge was merely an escalation of her established brand — larger in scale, sharper in provocation, and inevitably global in reach.
Nigeria has become something of a hotspot for Guinness World Record attempts in recent years. From marathon cooking sessions to extraordinary feats of dance and endurance, young Nigerians have embraced record-breaking as a pathway to fame and recognition. In 2023, chef Hilda Baci’s cook-a-thon set off a wave of imitators, with record attempts ranging from comic to dangerous.
Mandy’s stunt tapped into this cultural moment but twisted it toward the extreme. Where others sought records in cooking, dancing, or singing, she chose sex — a taboo subject in Nigeria’s conservative society. By framing her plan as a Guinness record attempt, she hitched her notoriety to the broader national obsession, ensuring instant virality.
The responses to Mandy’s announcement have been as diverse as they are intense. Comment sections exploded with insults, jokes, and moral denunciations. Many dismissed her as attention-seeking, accusing her of degrading herself and shaming her family. Others framed her plan as evidence of psychological instability, with calls for psychiatric evaluation.
Yet, amid the vitriol, a smaller chorus defended her autonomy. “It’s her body,” one commenter wrote, “and if she wants to use it this way, that’s her choice.” Feminist commentators have debated whether Mandy’s act should be seen as sexual liberation or simply the commodification of trauma. Some argue that in a patriarchal society where women’s bodies are policed, Mandy’s defiance is a radical assertion of agency — albeit in a form that many find distasteful.
Beyond morality, serious questions surround the legality and health implications of Mandy’s proposed challenge. Public sex acts and indecency remain criminal offences in Nigeria. Should Mandy attempt to organise such an event, law enforcement could intervene on grounds of obscenity or public health violations.
There are also medical concerns. Experts warn that attempting to sleep with 100 men in 24 hours would expose her and participants to extreme risks of sexually transmitted infections, even with protection. Physical exhaustion and potential injury add another layer of danger. The practical feasibility of such an attempt — 100 encounters in one day translates to just over 14 minutes per man — has also been questioned, with critics mocking the logistical absurdity.
Blogs like Linda Ikeji’s and gossip platforms across Nigeria amplified Mandy’s announcement, ensuring it reached audiences far beyond her own following. Mainstream media outlets debated whether they should cover the story at all, worried that giving her attention would legitimise the stunt.
But in the digital economy, traffic often trumps ethics. Outrage drives clicks, and Mandy’s declaration was irresistible fodder. By appearing on respected blogs, her stunt crossed the line from niche internet scandal to national talking point.
Nigeria is a country deeply shaped by religious values. Christianity and Islam both uphold conservative sexual norms, and public discourse on sex remains largely taboo. Mandy’s challenge, therefore, represents not just a personal stunt but a direct confrontation with Nigeria’s moral order.
Religious leaders have condemned the plan as demonic, with some framing it as evidence of moral collapse among the youth. Others, however, see the outrage as hypocritical. They point out that transactional sex is rampant, albeit hidden, in Nigerian society. Mandy, they argue, is simply vocalising what many prefer to keep in the shadows.
What motivates Mandy Kiss? Critics argue that she is chasing clout for clout’s sake, seeking attention at any cost. Yet, beneath the surface, there are economic incentives. In a world where social media monetisation depends on visibility, controversy becomes a business strategy.
By sparking outrage, Mandy drives traffic to her pages, increasing her earning potential through ads, endorsements, and paid subscriptions. What appears to be reckless self-exposure may in fact be a calculated gamble in the economy of attention.
At the heart of the controversy lies a deeper question: who controls women’s bodies? Mandy’s rhetorical question — “Is it Guinness World Record that owns my p***y?” — cut to the core of this debate. Critics may see her plan as immoral, but her assertion of ownership resonates in a society where women’s choices are often constrained.
Whether one agrees with her methods or not, Mandy has forced the public to confront uncomfortable questions about agency, sexuality, and the boundaries of personal freedom. Is she a victim of a toxic fame economy, or a rebel asserting control on her own terms? The answer may be both.
Mandy’s stunt is not unprecedented globally. In the past, performers in Europe and America have staged similar “record-breaking” sex marathons, often in the pornography industry. These acts, while shocking, did not typically attract the same moral panic because they occurred in societies with more permissive attitudes toward sex.
By attempting it in Nigeria, Mandy has ensured maximum controversy. The clash between globalised internet culture and local conservatism magnifies the scandal, making it simultaneously more dangerous and more attention-grabbing.
Whether Mandy actually goes through with her plan remains to be seen. Authorities may intervene, logistical challenges may derail the event, or she may decide that the publicity alone has already achieved her goal. Regardless, the impact is undeniable.
Mandy Kiss has ignited a national conversation about sex, morality, and agency in the digital age. She has highlighted the extremes of Nigeria’s record-breaking craze and exposed the contradictions of a society that condemns public immorality while tolerating private vice.
For Mandy, the gamble is clear: even if she does not succeed in her “record attempt,” she has already secured the currency of fame. For Nigeria, the challenge is deeper: how to navigate the collision of tradition, modernity, and the relentless pressures of an online world where outrage is monetised and morality is up for debate.