Desirability looks different around the world — and that’s why it’s time to expand the definition of beauty.
In the age of global mobility, we think of a passport as a key that opens borders. However, there is another passport we carry every day — one we cannot renew or replace. It is our skin, an outward marker that silently interacts with every culture it encounters, often shaping desirability in ways both subtle and stark.
You don’t have to circle the globe to notice it. Sometimes, it’s as simple as scrolling through your feed, walking past a beauty counter, or hearing someone say, “You’d be prettier if you were a little lighter… or a little darker.” Or maybe it’s the way foundation shades never seem to get your tone quite right — too warm, too cool, too beige for your brown.
For women everywhere, skin isn’t just skin. It’s a story. One that’s constantly being edited depending on where we are, what we look like, and what the world tells us is beautiful. From countries that prize porcelain to cultures obsessed with the “perfect tan,” the desirability of skin tone isn’t static. It travels and shifts. And whether or not we’ve physically crossed borders, we’ve all felt the pressure of beauty standards that weren’t written with us in mind.
This is beyond melanin. It’s about how geography, history, and centuries of power have quietly shaped whose skin is seen as desirable — and whose still isn’t.
The fair complexion fetish
In many parts of Asia, particularly in India, China, South Korea, and Japan, lighter skin has long been tethered to ideals of beauty and higher social standing. The origins lie in agrarian histories where tanned skin was associated with outdoor labour and poverty. Colonial legacies further ingrained the equation of fairness with power and modernity.
The global beauty industry eagerly feeds this narrative, resulting in pressure to bleach for dark-skinned women. Shelves brim with whitening creams, brightening serums, and advertisements that promise a radiant, fairer you — your desires conveniently sold in a jar. Here, the desirability of pale skin transcends mere fashion; it can subtly influence marriage prospects, job opportunities, and social capital.
Skin lightening is more than a beauty trend; it’s a powerful social force. For many women, lighter skin is seen as a way to improve marriage prospects and be considered more desirable partners. Beyond relationships, lighter-skinned individuals often receive better job opportunities and professional recognition, reinforcing harmful standards in the workplace.
Social capital is also affected, as those with fairer skin often enjoy more visibility, privilege, and validation in public spaces. In this context, skin lightening feels less like a personal choice and more like survival within a colourist society that rewards paleness.
Read also: Are the Kardashians to blame for today’s beauty standards?
The Western bronze age
Cross over to Europe and North America, and the desirability dial spins. This inversion began in the early 20th century when bronzed skin became a sign of vacation privilege — time to luxuriate under the sun rather than toil beneath it. For centuries, fair skin was the gold standard. Paleness wasn’t just a complexion; it was a class signifier. If your skin was untouched by the sun, it meant you were wealthy enough to stay indoors, away from hard labour. Tans, back then, were for field workers, then came Coco Chanel.
The style legend accidentally got sunburned while yachting in the French Riviera, and suddenly, bronzed skin wasn’t just acceptable — it was aspirational. Tanning transformed into a symbol of leisure, luxury, and jet-set freedom. If you were tan, it meant you had the time (and the money) to lounge in the sun, preferably somewhere glamorous.
View this post on Instagram
In today’s world, that aesthetic still lingers. People often equate a glowing tan with vitality and health. It gives the illusion of clearer skin, more defined muscles, and yes, that elusive post-holiday radiance. Social media only amplified this. Scroll through Instagram, and you’ll find countless influencers showcasing perfectly bronzed bodies paired with captions about “that golden hour glow.”
Sun-kissed selfies and tanning salons thrive in cities far from tropical beaches. Yet this golden ideal is complicated by another layer: for women of colour, achieving this ‘perfect tan’ often remains coded within limits, too dark, and admiration can turn to discrimination.
The Black continent with a light preference
Africa is often called the “Black Continent,” not just because of its rich skin tones, but also its deep cultural roots and proud heritage. However, even with this pride, there’s still a lingering preference for lighter skin; a preference that goes back to colonial times.
During colonialism, white skin was linked to power, status, and success. Over time, those ideas stuck. Today, in many African communities, people still call light-skinned women “clean” or oyinbo — a Yoruba word for “white person.” These words may sound like compliments, but they carry a hidden message: that lighter skin is somehow better.
Colonial rulers didn’t just take land; they took pride. They pushed the idea that whiteness meant beauty, intelligence, and civilisation. Slowly, those beliefs shaped the way many African societies see themselves. The closer someone looked to “white,” the more desirable.
This legacy still shows up in the way we talk and think. Society often praises light skin, while it overlooks darker-skinned women or even pressures them to brighten their appearance. Many turn to skin bleaching, trying to match a beauty standard that was never truly ours to begin with.
This isn’t part of African tradition; it’s a colonial mindset that still lingers.
Desire and distance
Meanwhile, a global reckoning with representation is shifting the landscape. Movements like #BlackGirlMagic, K-beauty’s embrace of dewy rather than pale skin, and campaigns celebrating diversity have begun to chip away at long-standing biases. Yet progress is uneven. In parts of Latin America and the Middle East, lighter skin still frequently correlates with higher status and desirability, even as younger generations push back through social media, proudly reclaiming their tones.
Ultimately, desirability — especially with skin — is never just about aesthetics. It reflects deeper societal currents: who holds power, whose beauty is centred, and whose is seen as aspirational or alluring. Geography shapes these currents, but they ripple far beyond borders in an era of digital culture.
As we travel more freely than ever before, we should always remember that our “passport skin” moves with us—welcomed, or marginalised, depending on where we land. The challenge is not to conform to these shifting ideals, but to broaden them until all shades are seen as inherently desirable.
