File photo: The writer is asking Ghanaian celebrities to stop bleaching
There is a kind of bleaching that doesn’t begin with skin but always ends beneath it.
It starts quietly, not with a cream but with a comparison. Not with a burn but with a belief; “As I am is not enough.”
We see it in literal skin bleaching. The creams, the injections, the stinging need to trade depth for lightness, history for a look, dignity for perception.
But deeper still, we see it in how we live.
We bleach our values to blend in.
We bleach our dreams to match society’s filters.
We bleach the truth for quicker applause.
We bleach the process, cut it short, in hopes of arriving without evolving.
And though the results may look polished, something inside knows:
These are bleach marks on the soul.
What do we really gain when we lighten the outside while the inside decays?
Bleaching promises brilliance but delivers pale promises and hollow gains. Fast results without firm roots. Success with no soul and beauty with no peace.
We bleach our ethics in business, dilute discipline in education, tone down truth in media and lighten our convictions in relationships all to keep up with the illusion of progress and beauty.
But progress without integrity is just rot with a ring light.
And every time we cut corners, we leave new bleach marks on the soul.
We want light, light skin, light schedules and light struggle.
But in chasing light too fast, we begin to lose layers.
We lose patience. We lose substance.
We lose our original glow, the one that comes from depth and time and effort and truth.
That’s the danger of shortcut culture: it promises shine but it can’t sustain warmth.
We end up hollow, shiny, tired, glowing on the outside yet cracking underneath.
Literal bleaching burns. It thins the skin. It scars what it was supposed to beautify.
Figurative bleaching does the same; it scars our character, our societies, our systems.
We don’t fix broken things anymore, we bleach them.
We don’t heal slowly; we filter quickly.
We don’t wrestle with truth; we erase what’s uncomfortable.
And so, what began as a harmless desire for betterment becomes a harmful habit of erasure.
We begin to fear our real shade, our true pace and our honest story.
We start hiding who we are in order to sell who we think people want us to be.
There’s a deeper mirror.
It doesn’t reflect skin, it reflects soul.
And that mirror reveals what the filter won’t:
That the bleached life is brittle.
That the shortcut path leaves wounds no cream can heal.
That sometimes, the more we bleach, the more lost we feel.
Because what the mirror never shows is the quiet decay, the compromise, the self-denial, the exhaustion of pretending.
Still Beautiful, Still Becoming
You don’t need to bleach what’s still becoming.
You need to fine-tune.
Fine-tuning says: “I am in process.”
It says: “There is beauty here, raw, real and in motion.”
It honours growth over gloss.
To fine-tune is to nourish your skin, your character, your craft.
To bleach is to abandon the process in favour of the product.
And here’s the truth: The finest glow comes not from erasing what you are but from refining it.
So no, don’t colour me lighter.
Don’t make me quicker.
Don’t bleach my struggle, my rhythm and my roots.
Colour me real.
Let me be my own shade, in my own time and on my own terms, healthy, whole and honest.
Because I’ve learned:
It’s better to arrive with truth than to rush there with lies.
It’s better to become than to bleach.
It’s better to carry scars from the journey than bleach marks on the soul.
So, to the person tempted to take the shortcut:
To the system tempted to erase the long road:
To the culture tempted to polish over pain:
To the black queen tempted to change her housing:
Stop bleaching.
Let the process refine you.
Let truth rebuild you.
Let realness restore your glow.
Let your skin shine and tell your story.
Because there is still something beautiful in becoming.
And no bleach can outshine a soul at peace.
