In a world where skin color has been weaponized against us, it’s essential to take a step back and examine how these forces continue to divide us as a people. As a Black community, we must address the scars left by colonialism, slavery, and the ongoing effects of white supremacy, especially the internal battles we face regarding skin tone. This conversation is not just about beauty; it’s about identity, power, and the subconscious messages passed down through generations.
For too long, dark-skinned Black women have been marginalized, erased, and made to feel invisible, both within our communities and by external forces. It’s not just about being ignored—it’s about the systematic way dark skin has been vilified, while lighter skin has been exalted. This isn’t a new phenomenon. The roots of colorism stretch deep into our history, rooted in the same systems that divided us to maintain control over us.
But today, I want to honor and uplift the beauty of dark-skinned Black women, not just superficially, but in a way that recognizes their resilience, strength, and inherent power. We need to acknowledge that this battle is more than just a matter of aesthetics—it’s an attack on our African identity, one that continues to affect how we see ourselves and each other.
The Weaponization of Skin Color
It’s important to understand that skin color has been used as a tool to divide and conquer us. The reality is, the lighter your skin, the closer you are to being accepted by society’s Eurocentric beauty standards. This has led to generations of internal conflict within the Black community. We’ve been trained to associate lighter skin with beauty, worth, and even opportunity, while darker skin is seen as less desirable.
This isn’t to say that I hold any ill will toward my light-skinned sisters. I recognize that they too are victims of this system. Many of them face their own struggles with identity, constantly placed on pedestals they never asked to be on. But the harsh truth remains: when white supremacy weaponized skin color, dark-skinned women bore the brunt of it.
Look at the media, look at the music videos, and you’ll see it. Whether it’s the Nigerian music industry or even mainstream American culture, the preference for lighter-skinned or racially ambiguous women is glaring. It sends a message that dark-skinned women aren’t enough, that they don’t fit the mold of beauty that these industries—and society at large—have established.
Beauty Beyond the Superficial
But here’s the reality that I want to emphasize: dark-skinned Black women are beautiful—inside and out. And that beauty isn’t simply a superficial one, it runs deep, rooted in history, culture, and an undeniable strength. It’s time we stop letting society dictate who is beautiful and reclaim that narrative for ourselves.
Your skin is a reflection of your ancestry, your roots, and your connection to Africa. It’s the very thing that white supremacy sought to erase because they knew that our power as a people lies in our connection to our African heritage. What better way to disconnect us from that power than by attacking the very features that make us distinctly African—our dark skin, our kinky hair, and our bold features?
To my dark-skinned sisters: You are more than enough. Your beauty is not just a symbol; it is a powerful force that stands in direct defiance of a system designed to make you question your worth. I see you, and I recognize what has been done to you, beyond the surface level. I see the strength it takes to navigate a world that tries to convince you that you are less than.
It’s Deeper Than Skin Color
Let’s not get caught up in just the superficial argument about skin color. This isn’t about one shade of skin being more beautiful than another. The deeper issue here is that this system is trying to erase our Africanness, and one of the easiest ways to do that is by attacking the outward characteristics that make us identifiable as African.
Skin color is just the surface. It’s what lies beneath—the shared experience, the history, the culture—that we need to protect. The focus needs to be on reclaiming what it means to be African, in every sense. The beauty of dark skin is a testament to the richness of our heritage, but we must also reclaim the deeper parts of ourselves that this system has tried to strip away.
The Strength of Dark-Skinned Women
What makes dark-skinned Black women so powerful is not just their beauty, but their resilience in the face of a world that constantly tries to diminish them. The strength to continue standing tall, despite everything that’s been thrown at them, is something that must be celebrated.
To my dark-skinned sisters, know this: you are not just beautiful, you are strong. Your strength is in your ability to thrive despite a world that is intent on tearing you down. And more than that, you are connected to something greater—a lineage of African women who have survived, resisted, and triumphed against forces far greater than skin color wars. You are the embodiment of that power.
Moving Beyond Superficial Divisions
It’s time to heal from these wounds. We need to move past the superficial divisions of skin color and recognize the true enemy: the systems of white supremacy and capitalism that benefit from keeping us divided. When we fight amongst ourselves about who is lighter or darker, we are playing into the hands of those who want to see us remain fractured.
I’m not here to pit light-skinned women against dark-skinned women. That’s not the point. What I’m here to do is call out the system that created this false division and to uplift those who have been most hurt by it—our dark-skinned sisters. The truth is, we are all victims of the same machine, and the sooner we realize that, the sooner we can begin to heal.
In closing, I want to leave this message for every dark-skinned Black woman reading this: You are beautiful, beyond what the eye can see. Your beauty lies not only in your rich melanin but in your soul, your history, and your unwavering strength. They’ve tried to erase you, but you are still here. Stand tall in your beauty, your power, and your African identity. No one can take that from you.
