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The hidden face of « Xeesal«
In the streets of Dakar, Abidjan or Lagos, the stalls are full of creams promising skin « light », « Shining », « unified ». Under these flattering words lies a darker reality: that of « Xeesal« This voluntary depigmentation of the skin has become, over the decades, a mass phenomenon. What once appeared to be a simple artifice of beauty turned into a real fact of society, revealing the deep wounds of a colonial memory, the diktats of the male gaze and the hypnotic power of the globalized media.
The phenomenon is old, but it has taken on worrying proportions. In Dakar, studies estimate that more than one in every two women have already used depigmenting products, often composed dihydroquinone, strong corticosteroids or mercury salts. All these substances that, by altering melanin, destroy the skin's natural protective barrier and pose serious risks: stretch marks, inflammatory acne, infections, kidney damage, sometimes even skin cancers. The skin thinns, of course, but it damages, weakens, degrades. Ephemeral beauty is paid at the price of health.
The roots of a complex inherited from history
Why do so many women, and now men in some countries, impose this chemical torture?
The answer is not only in the jars of cream, but in society's view of colour.
The « Xeesal » It's not just a shell: it's a recognition strategy. In the collective imagination, inherited centuries of racial hierarchy and colonial domination, clear skin remains associated with success, modernity, refinement. It would be a sign of better education, a higher social position, easier access to employment or marriage.
In some commonplace conversations, we still hear this perfidious compliment: « She's pretty, she's clear. »As if the clarity of the skin was enough to illuminate the whole beauty.
The male look, an invisible and formidable standard
Men's eyes play a central role here. In many African societies, men, consciously or not, maintain this preference for women with a clear complexion. They make it a criterion of distinction, a symbol of emotional success. This look acts as a silent norm to which women seek to conform.
Paradoxically, these same men denounce depigmentation as an artificial practice while continuing to plebiscite the effects it produces.
Thus a vicious circle is set up: women lighten up to please, and the clearer they become, the more clarity becomes the norm.
Tyranny of the media and television
But the gaze court is no longer limited to the neighbourhood or family circle. It's globalized.
Through television, advertising and cinema, the beauty model has been standardized: a bright, golden, smooth, almost translucent skin.
The featured presenters, the successful singers, the influencers of the digital platforms all display the same "glow" calibrated. Studio lighting filters enhance clarity, and viewers unconsciously integrate this model as a standard of universal beauty.
Advertising, on the other hand, has perfected the language of chromatic seduction. Under cover of "care of the complexion" or "lightening cream", they convey the same promise: that of a lighter complexion, synonymous with beauty, success and desire.
Social networks: the world's distorted mirror
Platforms like Instagram, TikTok or Snapchat amplified this cult of clear skin.
The beautification filters lighten, refine, smooth. The skin becomes uniform, almost unreal. But when the girl looks in the mirror, she doesn't recognize herself anymore. His natural skin seems dull, imperfect. Then begins the quest: to find in real life this idealized digital reflection.
The filter becomes the model, and the reality, a mistake to correct.
The influence of great African-American stars is not neutral. Beyoncé, Rihanna, Nicki Minaj or Kim Kardashian, without explicitly advocating depigmentation, embody an ideal of "caramel" or "dorée" skin that erases the deep black hues of the dominant beauty standards. These models, ubiquitous in African media, unconsciously nourish the idea that success and seduction go through a clarity of the complexion.
The clear complexion trade: a flourishing economy
Behind this globalized aesthetic is a prosperous industry. Millions of dollars circulate every year in the trade, often illegal, of whitening creams. Major brands have learned to hide the word "whitening" behind seductive euphemisms: radiance, Brightening, glow.
Packaging is attractive, sweet smells, infinite promises. But the result is the same: progressive destruction of the skin and identity alienation.
Because the xeesal is not only a cosmetic gesture: it is an act of symbolic submission. An unconscious attempt to erase the dark trace that history has charged with negative connotations. With each application of cream, it's a part of self that is clarified, a part of history that is erased.
Consequences: damaged bodies, injured identities
The cost of this quest is heavy.
Side effects are devastating: steroidal acne, purple stretch marks, cutaneous atrophy, exogenous ocronose, sometimes irreversible renal damage. Some women develop chronic infections, others become psychologically dependent on these products.
Because the « Xeesal » creates an addiction: skin, weakened, becomes dependent on chemistry to appear "belle".
Discontinuation of the treatment causes stains, itching, loss of uniformity of the complexion. We must therefore continue, over and over again, in a destructive spiral where each solution worsens the problem.
A cultural and identity injury
Behind the apparent vanity, there is a deep suffering: that of a people that has never been fully reconciled with its colour. Since colonization, black skin has been associated with servitude, poverty, and backwardness.
Postcolonial generations, bathed in Western models of beauty, inherited this biased look.
In soap operas, advertisements, political campaigns, clear faces still dominate. Even African cinema struggles to offer leading roles to women with a dark complexion.
Thus, the chromatic hierarchy has become internalized: clarity remains a symbolic privilege, a social passport.
Voices of Resistance: Rehabilitating Black Beauty
Faced with this aesthetic domination, a counterculture emerges.
Artists, activists, African intellectuals give black skin back its nobility. Campaigns like "Black is Beautiful", "Black is beautiful", "My skin, my pride" multiplies.
Public figures such as Lupita Nyong
In schools, associations raise awareness among girls about the dangers of bleaching products and the value of their natural carnation.
A new generation of Africans is beginning to understand that their beauty does not need clarification, but recognition.
Changing eyes to change standards
For this cultural revolution to take root, we must go beyond slogans.
It is first and foremost for men to talk, because their gaze remains an instrument of social validation. As long as they continue to glorify the clarity of the complexion as a symbol of beauty or prestige, women will continue to burn their skin to please.
Media must also be questioned: chromatic diversity must become a rule, not an exception. Advertisers, filmmakers, influencers have a moral duty to represent all the nuances of African beauty.
Towards reconciliation with oneself
Learning to love your skin again is much more than an aesthetic act: it is a political, cultural and spiritual act. It is refusing to submit to a foreign ideal, to reject its own light.
Black is not lacking in colour: it is the sum of all colors, the density of the world, the memory of the sun.
Maybe one day, on African screens, dark faces will no longer be a minority.
Maybe a little black girl, looking in the ice, will never think that her skin is an obstacle, but a treasure. On that day, the whitening cream jars will disappear themselves, swept away by an obvious finding:
beauty has no tint — Only nuances.
And among them the black will remain eternal.
The role of public authorities: between prohibitions and inaction
Senegal, like several West African countries, has long legislated against the sale of dangerous depigmenting products. As early as 1979, a decree prohibited the marketing of cosmetics containing mercury, and more recently, government campaigns had recalled the dangerousness of these products.
But in fact, the reality of the field denies the letter of the law. Informal markets are full of creams, milks and thinning soaps sold at low prices. The products come from Asia, Europe or neighbouring countries, transit through smuggling channels, escape customs controls and flow freely into popular neighbourhoods as well as on the Internet.
Health authorities are alerting, but their resources are limited. Controls are rare, underequipped laboratories, and sanctions are often symbolic. Advertising for these products is theoretically prohibited, but it pulls on social networks where influencers and resellers boast their "fast results" with before/after retouched photos.
This state failure reinforces the idea that the danger is relative, that everyone does it, that "if it were really serious, it would be forbidden". Impunity maintains normalization.
And yet, the collective cost is enormous. Hospitals see the influx of patients with serious skin complications. Care is expensive, scars remain, psychological distress is immense.
At the national level, it is a matter of public health. At the continental level, it is a matter of collective dignity. The « Xeesal » is not just a matter of skin: it is a matter of cultural sovereignty.
Shared responsibility of the media and brands
African media also bear a heavy share of responsibility.
For decades, they have participated in the glorification of the clear skin by placing uniform faces in the foreground, lightened by excessive lights and makeup to "correct" the dark shades. Music clips, advertisements, entertainment programs often continue to promote this implicit standard: the beautiful woman is clear.
International cosmetic brands have not been left behind. Some have built fortunes on the myth of the "perfect clear tint". Under tangled names like White Glow, Fair & Lovely or Light Radiance, they have spread a formidable message on a large scale: to be beautiful, one must be clearer. This message, subliminal or explicit, has infiltrated the minds to the point of becoming aesthetic evidence.
Of course, under pressure from NGOs and public health campaigns, some multinationals have changed their discourse, deleting the words "whitening" or "fair" from their packaging. But the formulas have often changed little. And the new slogans, bright skin, radiant glow, Luminous tone, convey the same idea under a more acceptable lexical varnish.
Digital platforms further enhance this influence. A popular influencer on TikTok can, with a simple video of a few seconds, sell thousands of jars of lightening cream. Young girls see it as a shortcut to beauty, fame and even social success.
The algorithms, by valuing the smooth and luminous faces, mechanically reinforce the domination of this model. The image has become a merchant product, and the skin, a commodity.
The economy of the complexion: a market of several billions
Behind the individual dramas is a formidable economic machine.
Several studies suggest that the world market for thinning products would weigh more than $10 billion and would grow continuously, particularly in Africa, South Asia and the Middle East. In Senegal, exact figures are difficult to establish, but demand remains strong, fuelled by parallel channels and online sales.
Illicit products mix with legal cosmetics, street vendors are close to pharmacies, and influencers are ambassadors for a toxic trade.
For some women, this expenditure is a real investment. They see it as a social ascent strategy: a way to stand out, to please, to be respected.
The complexion becomes a symbolic capital that must be maintained at all costs.
But behind this economic logic lies a profound dispossession: that of a beauty that has become dependent on a foreign model, controlled by companies that profit from the cultural alienation of Africans.
Invisible injuries: psychology and addiction
The xeesal is not that a physical transformation is also a psychological fracture.
It reveals an intimate pain: that of a damaged relationship to oneself.
Many women explain that they do not feel "not pretty" with their natural color. Others say "men prefer the clear". Some recognize that they can no longer stop out of fear of the eyes of others, their companion or colleagues.
This need for social approval becomes an emotional dependence, a conditioned reflex. The mirror becomes a ruthless judge. Without a product, the skin looks "salty" or "fatigated". With, it looks beautiful, smooth, worthy of attention.
This mental shift is the most worrying sign: « Xeesal » is no longer merely an aesthetic act, but an act of symbolic survival in a society where the value of the body still depends on the eyes of others.
The new resistance: the new pride
Fortunately, a new wind blows over mentalities. Across the continent, identity re-appropriation movements flourish. Young women claim their black skin as an emblem of power and beauty.
Campaigns Black Girl Magic, Melanin Power or Black is beautiful Dakar, Nairobi, Bamako, Johannesburg.
Fashion designers, makeup artists and photographers give back their nobility letters to dark shades.
Black mannequins now sit on the covers of international magazines.
The message gradually changes: beauty is not a matter of colour, but of trust.
Contemporary African artists are actively participating in this aesthetic revolution.
Figures like Lupita Nyong, Adut Akech, Aya Nakamura or Fatou Ndiaye show that one can shine, seduce, succeed without denying any of its color.
In their speeches and public appearances, they celebrate the diversity of African hues.
They recall that elegance, grace and power do not need to be whitened.
Towards a new ideal of African beauty
Changing mentalities takes time, but the movement is underway. The media are beginning to open up to a more inclusive aesthetic. Make-up schools are now developing dark skins.
Public health campaigns are increasing, combining medical prevention and identity enhancement.
The committed influencers spread positive messages about natural beauty, self-acceptance and colour diversity.
However, if this change is to be sustainable, we must go further:
- Strengthening controls at borders to block prohibited products.
- Sanctions misleading advertisements and illegal sellers.
- Education from the earliest age to self-esteem and plurality of African beauties.
- Empowering Men, because without change in the male look, the battle will remain incomplete.
Black, color of the future
Relearning to love your skin is not a matter of fashion, it is a cultural victory. It is regaining the sense of dignity, pride and freedom. Black is not without light: it is depth, density, strength. It is the color of the roots, of the earth, of the night before dawn.
Maybe one day, on African screens, dark faces will no longer be a minority.
Maybe a little black girl, looking in the ice, won't want to change skin to feel beautiful.
On that day, the whitening cream jars will disappear themselves, swept away by the inner clarity of a generation reconciled with its image.
Then, finally, Africa can tell the world, and to itself, that beauty does not need to be clarified to shine.
Because black, far from being a defect, is the deepest light.
