Colourism and Classism

It starts early, but I realized it is late or so. Maybe, it’s a neighbour joking that your skin is “too dark.” Or a relative recommending a cream to “tone” you a bit. You don’t even realize it’s a problem yet—you’re just a child, soaking in silent lessons about what’s beautiful and what’s not.

In Nigeria, colourism hides in everyday conversations, buried in jokes and compliments. It’s the subtle way people praise light-skinned babies a little louder. Or how the girl with fair skin is always “more attractive,” even when no one says it directly. It’s how people look at you, then look past you because your skin didn’t meet the invisible standard.

I remember once, in secondary school, a classmate casually said I was “too dark to be fine.” She said it with a laugh, and everyone moved on—but I didn’t. That moment stuck. I started to see myself the way the world seemed to.
But who set the standard?
We never paused to ask. Somehow, lighter skin became the shortcut to beauty, class, and even respect. It’s not just about looking “fine”—it’s about being chosen, being seen, being treated better.

Then, you grow up and realize there’s more—classism. Classism in Nigeria isn’t just about money. It’s about where you come from, how you speak, what you wear, and sometimes even how you carry your bag. You could be brilliant, hardworking, and driven—but if your English isn’t “polished” enough or your address isn’t in the right part of town, society might still look at you sideways.

Even with money, some doors stay shut. You could bleach your skin, fix your accent, wear designer clothes—still, someone will remind you that you’re not quite “there.”

And this thing? It doesn’t only affect women. Dark-skinned men are sometimes called “rugged” or “local,” while fair-skinned men are seen as “neater,” more desirable, even more successful—whether or not it’s true.

Colourism and classism don’t just live in movies or media,they live in us. In the way we compliment the way we love, the way we hire, the way we stare. It’s in the bleaching creams lining shop shelves, in the way people smile wider at the “yellow girl,” in how we measure someone’s worth based on appearance and background. It’s exhausting. It’s unfair. But it’s real.

So, maybe, change starts small. Maybe it starts when we question those old compliments. When we stop praising “yellow” as the prize. When we teach our children that every shade is beautiful. When we stop mistaking polished accents for intelligence or assuming wealth means wisdom.

When was the last time you caught yourself judging someone because of how they looked or spoke?
The truth is: there’s nothing wrong with your skin. There’s nothing wrong with your story.
Let the world adjust—not you.

published on August 2, 2025