In a world where love is said to be blind, skin tone still seems to wear the veil. In a society that aspires for young adults to marry, there are striking standards on what is fair and what is not. For many women, beauty isn’t defined by character or intellect, but by how fair their skin appears in a photo. This unspoken ranking of complexion has become ingrained in the fabric of our culture, quietly dictating who gets praised, who gets chosen, and who gets overlooked. This is not about aesthetics — it’s about identity, self-worth, and the silent price women pay in a society obsessed with “fair and lovely.”

This topic has been rooted within me for ages, as long as I can remember. As a child, I may not have had the words for it, but I felt it — in the comments, in the comparisons, and the useless advice: “Don’t play under the sun,” “Try this cream,” as if a home remedy could lift my worth. This surfaced as a tide, quietly retreating, just to rise again, and flooding my thought with the same questions. What’s worse is that this society is holding tightly to this belief, passing it down like a tradition.

This was not so long ago, when I attended a family gathering full of women and aunties who went from discussing favored wedding hairstyles to discussing skin complexion and marriage proposals in the blink of an eye. And it was a heated discussion. I laughed as I watched how some women, fair or not, still believe that a white-toned woman is the perfect match for her “eligible” son because melanin blocks marriage proposals now. Who knew?

Ironically, while many lie under the sun for hours chasing the perfect tan, some of us are still being told to hide our natural shade as if it’s something to be ashamed of. Imagine being born with what others pay to achieve, only to be told it’s not good enough. I recall the moment I first became engaged. My mom shared the news with some relatives, expecting the usual excitement. But instead, one of the very most surprising first reactions she got was a blunt and pressing question: “Is he white? Is he white?”

Another story comes from a close friend of mine. Instead of letting fate or genuine connection guide her path, she was handed a shortlist of “acceptable” suitors — One of whom, notably, was white. The implication wasn’t subtle: perhaps his family might agree to meet despite her darker skin, especially if they highlighted her medical degree and intellectual achievements. As if her brilliance might help overlook the fact that she was a brown. Tanned. Dark. Pick your label — it was all seen as something to “overcome.”

The shock here is not about them — it’s us. The unspoken message was clear: they expected someone within our league. Someone more accepting of us. It’s like our complexion automatically disqualifies us from being “chosen” by someone fair, as if your shade came with its boundaries — preset, approved, and limited to only certain types of suiters. And I couldn’t help but wonder: When did skin tone become a factor in matchmaking restrictions?

Those moments didn’t break us, but they made us painfully aware of the boxes people try to place us in. And we’ve never been the type to stay in a box.

Your color is the root of your nature. It’s part of who you are. It’s something you should be proud of, despite the upsetting society we live in, and the ridiculous list of standards to which they hold you, but what you believe your true essence is. Because at the end of the day, it was never about love, compatibility, or character — it was about color. And until we stop treating skin tone like a social status, women will keep having to prove their worth in shades. But here’s the truth, we are not tones to be tolerated — we are people to be respected. Fully. Unconditionally. Deservedly.

Period.