Nicole Asinugo's Many Lives: Reinvention, Alchemy, & the Power of the Pivot
Nicole’s Lemon: Body Image Battles, Releasing the Need for Validation & Turning Heartbreak into Creative Fire.
“You have to pray to catch the bus and then you run as fast as you can. You can’t pray to catch the bus and then stroll down the street.”- Kerry Washington
Nicole has mastered reinvention. From starting out in advertising at DDB Worldwide to shaping culture at Ndani TV and crafting narratives for powerhouses like Global Citizen and Elie Saab, her career is a blueprint for fearless pivots. An award-winning screenwriter and founder of Write Good Stories, a writing development lab in Lagos, she’s never followed the expected path—she’s written her own.
But beyond the résumé, Nicole’s story is about something deeper: self-evolution, the battle between perception and truth, and the courage to own her narrative. In this intimate conversation, she gets real about body image, the weight of validation, grief as a creative spark, and learning to trust life’s timing.
Getting to Know Nicole:
What’s your Zodiac sign? Aquarius/Pisces cusp
Do you believe in love at first sight? No, haha.
What turns you on? Really intense eye contact, locked in.
What turns you off? People talking about things they have–basically, most Nigerian men’s chat
Do you have a mantra or quote that you live by? Luke 12:24. I have it tattooed and it says, “Look at the ravens. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for God feeds them. And you are far more valuable to him than any birds!”
What’s the most influential book you’ve ever read? “The Artist Way” by Julia Cameron
Early Wounds:
Growing up, when did you first become aware of your body in a way that made you feel different? Was there a specific moment that shifted how you saw yourself?
Nicole: I don't know if I can pinpoint the exact moment, but I know I was young, and it definitely came from the aunties. I remember a specific event when I was 11, spending Christmas in the village with my family. We had visitors over, and in a room full of people, an auntie called me "ALAKUKU"—which means giant. Then she added, "Ah, and you’re too big and tall, too!"
You’re expected to just sit in your shame...you can’t walk out, you can’t say anything, you just have to shut up and take it. I remember sitting there, unable to hear anything else that was going on, just feeling deeply ashamed of how big and tall I was. I know there were more comments before that, but that one really stuck with me.
I remember little things too, like being very aware of how different my body looked from my friends as early as six years old. At that time, I went to a mostly white primary school before moving back to Nigeria, and there's this picture of me from ballet class standing among tiny white British girls. I'm the only one wearing a pink cardigan over my outfit because I was already so aware of being uncomfortable with the size of my body.
So the emotion that surfaced was shame, and my next question is connected to that. You've mentioned hiding food and eating in secret. What did that secrecy represent for you at the time?
Nicole: It started with my mom policing my food. Even when she didn’t say anything, I felt her watching, so I’d eat less at the table but sneak sweets later. My hypnotherapist later told me that craving sugar often means craving sweetness in life, and for me, chocolate and ice cream felt like comfort.
Through those sessions, I realized no one ever gave me the tools, just rules. No one taught me about nutrition or my body, I was just expected to understand discipline at ten. But hypnotherapy shifted that. Yes, I wasn’t given the tools, but now I have them, and I own my well-being.
Even before I fully understood it, I knew I couldn’t control how people saw my body. The scrutiny was always there. But if I couldn’t change that, I could control the version of myself I presented to the world.
The Weight of Perception:
So since you couldn’t control how people saw your body, you focused on shaping how they perceived you. When did you first realize you had that power?
Nicole: Honestly, it was Instagram and the power of social media. When I began working at DDB, I started sharing work projects and events, and people thought it was so cool. Comments like “You’re so creative!” and “Your job looks amazing!” made me realize I could shape how people saw me.
I mean, everyone else had these boring desk jobs, and I was out here looking like the creative ‘It Girl.’ But I also noticed something else. When someone took a picture of me, I’d instinctively think about how I wanted my body to look and pose accordingly. I realized that Instagram was this place where I had control over how my body was perceived. And suddenly, the compliments rolled in—“Have you lost weight? You look amazing!” It created this cycle. Growing up, I never heard those things about my body, so I leaned into it because it made me feel desirable.
And that’s powerful, but it’s also so dangerous. What really struck me was how people started treating me. People I thought were cool suddenly gave me attention, like, Oh, now I’m worth noticing?
How did Instagram allow you to hide parts of yourself while also revealing your most vulnerable side?
Nicole: Instagram used to be just a place to express myself—share visuals, write freely, and engage. Even with my newsletter, I’m more vulnerable online than in real life. In-person, I’ll say, “I’m good,” but on Instagram, I feel safe to be open. Writing honestly comes naturally, but I avoid talking about certain things like body image or self-worth. So while I seem open, I’m only sharing what I’m comfortable with.
Online, I present as confident, even though I’ve always struggled with body image. Years ago, my cousin suggested I start a plus-size style blog because I looked confident. And in my head, I was like, You mean to admit that I’m plus-sized? How? That felt like calling the monster into daylight. I was never that girl who could just say, Yeah, I’m big, I’m tall, I’m fabulous. What now? That wasn’t part of the image I had curated. That was the part that needed to stay hidden.
You said you didn’t go into topics around body image previously. Why have you decided to address the subject now?
Nicole: When we met, I remember feeling like I could be completely honest, like I didn’t need to put on a facade. You were so much yourself, and it felt safe. Even when I told you how much I live in my head, I was thinking, Wow, she’s so herself. She owns it.
What struck me most was how you had already reclaimed your narrative through your blog. You took what people might whisper about and said, This is my story, and this is how it shaped me. That’s true freedom—no pretence. I’m at a place now where I can’t pretend anymore.
I remember posting about pitching myself to be a producer for Elie Saab after initially being selected as a writer. A friend in the industry called and said, Nicole, don’t admit that. Keep some things for yourself. Let people think it was always your price, not luck. But I thought, God forbid. That’s my testimony. I pitched myself, not knowing what I was doing, and it worked.
For me, there’s always been this split. The words I write have never been about me—they’ve been to lift others up, to let them know they’re not alone. My words have always been pure and authentic. But the visual? That’s different. The way I present myself has been tied to ego and insecurities. It’s two sides of the same coin: the image I show versus the truth I tell.
Was there a specific moment when you realized the person you’d been hiding, the one outside the curated image, was actually more worthy of being seen?
Nicole: The moment I realized it was during my first bout of hypnotherapy. Over the course of 12 weeks, I began to come to terms with the person I feel like I’ve curated and the little girl I trapped—and realizing they’re the same person. I’m still in the process of accepting all the parts of me. I’m still that teenage girl who only wears oversized clothes to hide her body. Just the other day, I went shopping for workout clothes and bought a t-shirt so oversized that the sales assistant told me not to. I still bought it, and when I wore it, I caught myself wondering why I was in a size 24 when I had no business wearing it. These are the things I still grapple with.
Embracing Pivots:
I think the work you've done on your insecurities has given you the courage to embrace change. A lot of women wait for complete confidence before making a move. What advice do you have for taking action while still dealing with self-doubt?
Nicole: I think it’s realizing that nobody has it all together. We all have insecurities, fear, imposter syndrome, body issues— we’re all dealing with something. You’re not the only one going through it. So, ask yourself: “What if I just do it?” What’s the worst that can happen? If you try and fail, will you die? No. But if you never try, you’ll never know. Take the leap, pitch yourself, send that email, ask to shadow someone. If you don’t ask, you’ll never be in the room. Don’t live your life thinking about the could’ve, would’ve, should’ve.
I heard this woman in her 80s say her biggest regret was not realizing life wasn’t a rehearsal when the curtain call came. Once you realize that we don’t get to do this again, it’s such an awakening moment. People see regret as negative, but when you’re in your 30s, 40s, or 50s, it’s a reminder that you still have time to do something about it. F*ck it, go for it!
So many women still fear being seen and failing because they’re worried about what others will say, even though those opinions don’t really matter. What do you think fuels that fear, and how can they move past it?
Nicole: That "ick"– sometimes we need to dig deeper into what’s really holding us back. When you say you're insecure or scared, it can sound like you're playing the victim, but really, it’s your ego at play. You don’t want to look stupid or be seen as a failure. Everyone needs to do the work, be honest with themselves, and ask, why am I afraid of looking foolish? Who are the people I’m worried will judge me? The haters will move on, unless they're unwell.
What advice would you give to women who are scared to pivot or take risks because they feel they don’t “look the part” or meet societal expectations?
Nicole: People think life is supposed to be linear, but it’s not. A pivot is always non-linear. God doesn’t make things in a straight line, something will happen to shift you and present new opportunities, but you have to be bold enough to follow those signs. If I had stayed on the path as a lawyer with a third-class degree, relying on family connections, I’d probably still be practicing law. But I accepted my failure, pivoted, and shifted my life into a completely different direction. Then, I pivoted again, I moved to Dubai, and it opened incredible doors. While I was there, someone broke my heart, and life was tough, but that led to another opportunity, and before I knew it, I was writing screenplays, working for Elie Saab, and opening my dream studio.
People ask if I’m here permanently [in Lagos], and I’m like, what does that even mean? Life moves me in so many directions, and I stay open to it. You have to be flexible, adaptable, and ready for the amazing pivots God has in store for you or you might miss your calling. Life shouldn’t be a straight line, so get that idea out of your head! If you feel a desire to pivot, lean into it and see where it leads—it’s probably a message.
Can you talk about your career pivots and how to recognize when it’s time to make a change?
Early Career
While in law school, I launched a travel magazine, which sparked my interest in journalism. During NYSC at Channels TV, I quickly realized news reporting was too restrictive. Then Mad Men changed everything. I became obsessed with advertising, discovered DDB had a Lagos office, landed a two-week unpaid internship, and turned it into a four-year career, leaving as a senior copywriter.
Transitions
That led me to Ndani TV (owned by GTBank), where my blogging experience made me the perfect fit to launch their lifestyle platform. They doubled my salary, and it became my first leadership role. Then, during a meeting, the CEO of the bank chose me on the spot to host their leading talk show. It started off rocky due to a difficult producer, but when she left, I took over and gained both hosting and producing experience.
Leap of Faith
As my work gained recognition, a summer trip to Dubai changed everything. My ex and I visited a friend thriving there, and I knew I wanted that for myself. While he secured an internal transfer immediately, I was still searching. Around that time, I underwent back surgery that left me bedridden and mentally drained. One day, a Dubai Expo recruitment ad popped up on YouTube. The roles weren’t in my field, but something told me to upload my CV anyway. Months later, I woke up to an email calling me a unicorn—they had been searching for a storyteller from Africa and hadn’t known where to look. The opportunity increased my salary by over 1,000% and opened doors I never imagined.
New Chapters
Dubai was incredible—I worked on global projects, using storytelling to build partnerships between the Middle East and Africa. But then my relationship ended, and I was devestated. I needed to pour back into myself, so when a government worker bonus was announced on Sheikh Zayed’s 100th posthumous birthday, I used it to fund a writing retreat in the Tuscan hills that cost the exact amount I had received. That retreat changed my life—it was the moment I became a writer, not just a copywriter or blogger, but a writer in my own right.
When I returned to Dubai, my contract had been extended, and I started writing Nigerian films, eventually winning an award. I kept asking myself: If I’ve done this much with one foot in, what could I do with both feet on the ground? But I knew I had to wait for a sign and not just walk away from a blessing too soon.
Starting Over, Again
That sign came as a contract with Global Citizen in Ghana. The experience reaffirmed I was on the right path. After that, I took my time—I went to film school in LA, traveled, reflected, and sat in the uncertainty. By the time I returned to Dubai, I knew I was done. I moved back to Nigeria, prayed for clarity, and trusted what came next.
Even during that period of figuring things out, the work kept finding me—additional Global Citizen projects in Paris and New York, freelance gigs back in Dubai, and more. Last year, I was chosen to write and produce the Elie Saab fashion show in Saudi Arabia, an opportunity that came through the same production company I worked with at Global Citizen. Now, I’ve fully invested in my writer’s lab, developing stories for film and telling the ones I was meant to tell.
Navigating Desire:
You seem to have a strong sense of desire when it comes to your career, but it’s a bit different when it comes to relationships. You’ve mentioned that after moving back to Nigeria, there was a shift in how men saw you and how you saw yourself. Can you talk more about that change and how it impacted your self-image?
Nicole: Before moving back in 2010, I had never really felt desired by men. But when I returned in my early 20s, I started attracting mostly older guys (late 30s - late 40s) that I’d typically meet at bars or clubs. I remember feeling so seen and sexy. By then, I had compartmentalized my weight; it no longer defined me. I let go of the old version of myself and stepped into this stylish, confident version of myself. Even now, I don’t wake up thinking I’m fat. My mindset is much healthier. I don’t engage in negative self-talk anymore. I love myself. Well, maybe not my tummy all the time, but we’ve gotten used to each other at this point.
The issue is more with how others see me. I don’t want comments that could hurt, like the ones I used to get. So I dress in a way that feels like it hides me a little but makes me feel good. I don’t criticize myself, so I don’t want others to either. When I go out, I’m not thinking, “I’m fat” or “He won’t like me.” I think I’m sexy. My confidence now is real, not fake. Sometimes a little alcohol boosts it, and I get even more flirty, but back then that attention from men made me feel beautiful and validated. It was like, “You guys have been lying to me all along, look—all these guys are chasing me!”
That’s really interesting. It sounds like a lot of the body image struggles you've faced have come more from outside influences than from how you feel about yourself. You’re born to feel good about yourself, but others teach us to feel insecure.
Nicole: Exactly. I was fine with my body, but it was everyone else who had a problem with it. So, when I started getting attention from men, it made me feel validated, but there was a danger in that, I confused desire with love. They desired me, so I thought that meant they loved me. I ended up in a lot of situations that didn’t go anywhere, thinking it was something special.
As a writer, I would romanticize these situations, creating entire stories in my head, but in reality, these men were completely unavailable. I started dating late at 22 and didn’t have the best guidance around me. My twenties were a mix of excitement and hurt. It felt exhilarating to finally have the experiences I missed in university, but it also came with never truly feeling chosen. You know when you’re watching a film and the guy does all these things to get the girl? I never felt like anybody did those things to get me. I never felt woo’d or pursued. It was always like, "Hey, you're pretty," and I’d just accept the bare minimum.
What did your first serious relationship teach you about your body and your worth?
Nicole: That relationship taught me that everything negative I’d heard about my body growing up was true, that my body wasn’t good enough. I’m still trying to unlearn that, but it sticks with me. I’ve always been a chameleon, adapting based on whether a man desires me. If he does, I feel great. If he doesn’t, I shrink. I’m working on getting to a place where, no matter what, I like me. Whether you do or don’t, that doesn’t change. With my most recent breakup, I felt rejected, but I realized it wasn’t about him, it was about old wounds being triggered. I had to sit with God, and I heard, “You loved him more than you loved Me.” That hit me. I thought about how much space my ex took up in my mind, how I prioritized him, the way I spoke about and centered him. I had to ask God to teach me how to give myself the love I so easily pour into others—to show me how to water my own garden.
You’ve mentioned to me that you’ve been on a celibacy journey, how has that helped you reclaim agency over your body and sense of self?
Nicole: It made me realize that I'm a prize and not just because someone told me I'm beautiful. It’s helped me decenter men and own my sexual energy. If a man’s not doing what he should, I’m not as bothered. After this guy broke my heart, I was SO happy I didn’t sleep with him, it would’ve made moving on so much harder. I didn't give away all of myself and I'm so proud of that. Because I started later than most of my friends, I used to think I needed to tick that box. But now, with celibacy, I’m in control. It’s not about what anyone else wants, it’s about what I want.
Alchemizing Grief Into Growth:
You’ve spoken about how desire once shaped your sense of self-worth and the work you did to shift that. But beyond relationships, you’ve also had to learn how to process and transform pain into something meaningful. When did you first realize that grief could be a catalyst for growth?
Nicole: I stayed an extra year in university after failing a core module. Since I couldn’t retake the class until the next exam cycle, I had a full year off in my Nottingham apartment. My dad kept insisting I spend my days in the library—hah!—but that unexpected pause became one of the most defining periods of my life.
That’s when I started blogging. ‘Confessions of a Naijaholic’ was my first blog, where I wrote about Nigerian art and fashion, spotlighting creatives. It was the beginning of my writing journey, helping me find my voice. I also got into interior decor, curating my space with vintage finds and experimenting with my style. That year taught me how much I love doing things on my own. I don’t need company to explore new interests, I just go for it. Even though I was processing a certain level of grief, I emerged stronger. I’ve noticed that every time I go through grief, I have a creative breakthrough that takes me to the next level.
What were you grieving that year?
Nicole: I was grieving the fact that my friends graduated before me and the image my parents had of me being this successful law student in the UK. But every time I faced a failure or something that made me stop, something creative would burst out of me. Even this December, I went through a breakup that really hurt, and I was upset because he didn’t deserve to break my heart. I went to Ghana, spent 5 days by a river in Volta, crying, determined not to carry those emotions into 2025.
Even after I came back, I was still overwhelmed, but I realized I needed to sit with my sadness instead of numbing it. I didn’t even wear mascara that week! Then I went to a panel and heard a story that inspired me, and the next morning, I wrote a short film in a day. I knew it was something special—it blew my business partner away, and we’re shooting it next month. That creativity came from the pain I had to sit with, which also brought me closer to God. This isn’t the first time grief or failure has pushed me to reset and tap into creativity. When I had the back surgery and was at my lowest, I still managed to get the job at the Dubai Expo that ended up changing the course of my career and unlocking a deeper layer of myself. Those tough moments always bring me back to who I am and reignite my creativity.
Looking back at all the ways you’ve turned pain into purpose, what would you tell someone who’s in the middle of their own difficult season, struggling to see what’s on the other side?
It’s impossible to see past the pain when you’re in it. I remember my first heartbreak when my cousin said, “In a year, you’ll feel so much better.” I thought, A YEAR?! It felt unbearable, but she was right.
The only way through is to feel it. Let the pain speak, cry, scream—do whatever it takes. Too often, we rush to move on, but real healing happens when you sit with it, bring it to God, and let it run its course.
Ultimately, it’s about accepting that you’re not supposed to know what’s next. Your job is to learn the lesson. And don’t let it swallow you. Lean on your people and find small joys. If you ever see me at Jazz Hole or buying candles, that’s me making sure the pain doesn’t consume me.
Looking Ahead:
How does taking care of your body now tie into your future goals, both personally and professionally?
Taking care of my body is essential to my work. As a writer, I’m often sedentary, and living with chronic back pain means I have to be intentional about movement—stretching, walking, swimming, and ideally, working out more. My focus has shifted from losing fat to recognizing that feeling good physically makes me a better writer, boss, and mentor. When I’m in pain, sluggish, or drained, I can’t show up for my purpose the way I’m supposed to. It’s all connected. I’ve also come to realize that it’s not just about success, it’s an act of self-love.
I remember my mom snarkily asking, “Did the hypnotherapy even work?” It seemed innocent, but knowing her, the subtext was clear: “You’re still fat, so how exactly did it help?” Normally, I’d respond with irritation, but instead, I answered from a place of truth: Yes, just not in the way I expected, but in a way that I appreciate.
One day, after several hypnotherapy sessions, I woke up in pain, as I often do. Normally, my first thought would be, “Ugh, today’s going to be a long day.” But this time, my instinct was different: “I’m in pain, let me go for a swim. It’ll make me feel better.” It was the first time I associated movement with self-care rather than personal appearance. That’s the mindset I want to carry forward—taking care of my body so I can show up fully, live better, and, ultimately, because I love myself enough to put myself first.
I loved reading this so much wow … Nicole, thank you ❤️