Every week, Zikoko spotlights the unfiltered stories of women navigating life, love, identity and everything in between.
What She Said will give women the mic to speak freely, honestly and openly, without shame about sex, politics, family, survival, and everything else life throws our way.
Temi*, 27, always knew she looked like a model — tall, slim, with the kind of face scouts would stop her on the street for. But once she entered the industry, she quickly realised it wasn’t about skill or even hard work. In this week’s What She Said, she talks about being prioritised for her light skin, how agents exploit models, and why visibility in fashion often comes at the expense of fairness.
How did you first get into modelling?
In my first year at university, I’d be walking to class, and scouts kept stopping me. They’d ask my height, if I’d modelled before, or if I was signed. Most looked scruffy, so I said no. But one had an actual agency agreement form. Usually, girls pay to join, but he gave me mine for free. That’s when I knew my face was already an advantage. Face card, period.
Were you already considering modelling?
Kind of. People always said I looked like a model: tall, slim, fit. So when scouts kept approaching me, I thought maybe I should try. I didn’t join the first ones because they didn’t look professional: no website, nothing. But the agency I eventually joined had policies and training.
What was your first impression of the industry?
I was always half in, half out at first. Sometimes I’d even miss training. But the work culture was real: group photoshoots, training, and getting placed in shows for big designers. The agency pushed us everywhere. From early on, I noticed it wasn’t always about talent; a lot of it was about how you looked. It’s even worse in commercial modelling. After dabbling a little on the runway, I was more into brand and video shoots.
When did you first notice mixed-race girls were being prioritised over darker-skinned Nigerian models?
From the jump. One obvious example, I didn’t pay for my agency form, but darker-skinned girls usually had to. That was a clear sign: some faces get favours. At castings, agents would say, “Do you have any mixed friends? Send their pictures.” I sent pictures of a few friends, and they’d pick only the lightest. I once even saw a job notice that said: “If you’re mixed but dark-skinned, don’t apply.” They actually wrote that. Imagine being rejected before the casting happens.
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How does that play out during castings or when jobs are allocated?
Jobs often come via WhatsApp or Instagram. For big shoots, they want studio pictures, polaroids, or headshots. But usually it’s a quick look test, scrolling to see who fits the brand. I’ve been at castings with hundreds of people, only to find out the client had already promised the role to a select group of mixed girls. The rest of us were just filling space.
Do you have examples where looks beat experience or skill?
Yes! This happens all the time. As I mentioned earlier, there was a drop that said, “Do not apply if you’re dark-skinned.” Also, when agents tell me to send pictures of myself and some mixed friends or models, they’d ALWAYS, without fail, pick the lightest skin regardless of who had a better portfolio.
I saw a job where they asked for a “natural, fresh, mixed look” and then ignored resumes and portfolios and just picked from the same 4–5 light-skinned faces, regardless of skill. They want the Instagram-friendly, Eurocentric type.
When you say agents, you mean the people who represent you, right? How trustworthy are they?
Some are alright, some are thieves. Out of ten, maybe seven are bad. There are many loopholes now; people find ways to dupe models. Early in my career, I had one who was abusive, verbally and sometimes physically, to staff, and another who took money. A job supposedly paid ₦200k, but the agent, who was the client’s sister, gave us ₦15k each. You feel trapped because if you challenge them, you risk future work.
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Jeez. Do you get pressured to say yes to sketchy jobs as well?
At first, yes. I did take sketchy offers because I wanted to be seen. Later, I learned to say no. I’ll only do bikini or “shower video” gigs if it’s a credible brand and it makes sense. But some agents keep sending stupid jokes: pole-dancing jobs, lines like “can you dance?” when I never said I could. They try to push boundaries, and sometimes they don’t hide it. You learn to check the brands, ask who else is booked, and walk away if it feels off.
Tell me about the time they told you to leave. Walk me through that day.
Four of us were picked for a job. We arrived for training, waited hours, then were told the job was cancelled. Later, another model said the client was not satisfied with our looks and they wanted women with bigger behinds. I was so irritated. They just wasted my time when they could’ve requested side photos and videos. They should have said they were looking for curvy, thick models; I’d never have applied.
How did you process that afterwards?
I was stunned more than anything. I’d shown up, done my part. And to be dismissed purely on looks? It felt like—what do I even bring to the table? It’s one thing to be rejected because of skill, but another to be dismissed for something you can’t change. And then I’d think about the darker girls who don’t even get to step into the room. It pissed me off, but also made me see just how layered the discrimination is.
Does this mirror wider Nigerian society?
Totally. Our society has certain standards: you must be feminine, pretty in a particular way: slim waist, big butt trends, snatched face. People edit themselves to fit. The modelling industry is like a magnified version of that. It formalises who is “marketable” and who isn’t. Even families and social circles push light skin as a premium. So brands just play into that.
Has anything changed? Do you see progress?
Some things are shifting. Models are now building portfolios, learning their value, and demanding better. There’s more talk about representation. But structurally? Not much. Agents find new ways to cheat, clients still request superficial looks, and the same handful of faces keep getting reused. I think more change would happen if brands were held accountable and if there was transparency in pay.
Speaking of pay, how do models even know they’re being shortchanged?
You don’t usually. I once walked off a shoot thinking we were being paid fairly because the client told us so. Later, I found out the agent lied; they kept the money.
Another time, I was booked for a campaign that paid me ₦150k. Out of curiosity, I asked one of the darker-skinned girls on the same set how much she was getting. She said ₦20k for the same shoot. That broke me. It wasn’t just about agents stealing anymore; it was about a whole system that decided our value before we even walked into the room.
Early in my career, I asked straight up how much a job paid, and the person lied to me. They said ₦200k, but the agent’s sister gave us ₦20K in cash. That’s theft, but models get scared to make noise because we need work.
What would you change about the industry if you had a magic wand?
Transparency. A trackable, fixed percentage for agents so they can’t skim. Clear contracts, actual receipts, and accountability. Brands must stop hiring based on colour-coded preferences. And there should be a safe place for models to report abuse without losing all future work. Real structures, not this “do whatever” system.
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What do you tell young girls who want to model now?
Start freelancing to build your portfolio: collaborating with makeup artists and small brands are good. Make a rate card from day one and stick to it. Don’t let family friends or anyone lowball you; send the rate card even if it’s awkward. Verify brands, ask who else is booked, and always bring someone along to meetings if you can. Protect yourself. Know your worth. If you’re getting invited to a shoot for 10k and you’ll spend 5k getting there, that’s not a job, it’s exploitation.
Anything else you want to say about being mixed in all this?
Being mixed opens doors, but it doesn’t make you safe from the nonsense. Even among mixed girls, they pick a specific look. And being chosen sometimes just made me complicit in a system that sidelines darker girls. That’s a heavy feeling. But I also learned to build my value outside of just being “the pretty one.” I learned to say no and to call people out when needed.
What keeps you in it?
Honestly? Seeing yourself in a campaign for the first time, it hits different. Walking down the street and seeing your face on a billboard reminds you of why you started. That feeling is addictive. But you also learn the price of that visibility. So you keep going, but with your eyes open.
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