Globally, beauty has been consciously, subconsciously, or unconsciously perceived as a feminine-coded domain, and the industry across Africa is no different. However, in recent times, Africa’s beauty industry has been experiencing a quiet but seismic shift, led in part by men. A new generation of male founders is not only disrupting norms, they’re also building brands that are reframing Africa’s contribution to global beauty. These entrepreneurs are reclaiming ownership of ingredients, building ethical supply chains, and reimagining what it means to lead in a space historically dominated by women.

This shift is timely and significant. The global male grooming market is expected to surpass $115 billion by 2028, growing at a CAGR of 6.1% from 2022. Simultaneously, Statista predicts that the revenue generated by Africa’s beauty and personal care market is projected to reach $69.53 billion by 2025, powered by its youthful population, growing middle class, and digital-savvy consumers. Yet, what makes the emergence of male African skincare founders especially intriguing is how their presence reshapes narratives, both on the continent and in global luxury circles.

Among these male founders are Ghanaian Julian Boaitey, founder of UK-based skincare brand Yendy Skin, and Togolese Olowo-n’djo Tchala, founder of the two globally recognized brands, Alaffia and Ayéya—each offering a different but equally radical vision for African beauty. Their presence reflects an overdue recalibration—one that signals Africa’s male founders are not here to compete with women, but to contribute to the complete rewrite of the beauty playbook.

A New Kind of Entry Point: Purpose-Driven and Personal

Boaitey’s journey into beauty didn’t begin with a business plan, but with curiosity. “My initial interest in beauty, skincare, and ingredients really came from an initial interest in supply chain,” he explained to BeautyMatter. In 2017, while traveling frequently to Ghana, Boaitey became fascinated with raw materials—especially shea butter, a major export not only for Ghana but across West Africa.

“Our customers really loved the idea of transparency,” Boaitey said. “They wanted to know exactly where their ingredients were coming from.” That insight laid the foundation for Yendy Skin, a skincare brand that not only traces its ingredients to their origin but also celebrates the female farmers behind them. Yendy Skin is named after a district in Northern Ghana close to where its ingredients are sourced. Each product contains at least one Yendy-approved African superfood—shea butter, moringa oil, jojoba oil, hibiscus, or baobab—ethically procured from women-led farming cooperatives. “You’ll always see an embossed gold stamp of approval on our products,” Boaitey noted.

For Tchala, who was born and raised in Togo, the road into beauty was both political and deeply personal. “I grew up as a farmer. My mother was an indentured servant in Benin and came back to my village to farm and raise all eight of us. My father had 42 children,” he recalled to BeautyMatter.

After studying organizational theory at UC Davis in California, Tchala began to ask difficult questions about post-colonial systems and economic injustice. “Why is it that the shea nuts we collected were worth so little to us but sold for so much abroad?” he questioned. “Why is it that Africa produces raw materials but remains poor?”

These reflections led him to create an ecosystem, not just a brand. Through Alaffia and Ayéya, Tchala mobilized over 230,000 women across West Africa to participate in ethical production, education, and infrastructure development. “We are vertically integrated—from the shea trees on the ground all the way to the bottle and the shelf. One organization manages all of it,” he said.

Manhood, Masculinity, and Market Realities

Founding a beauty brand as a man in Africa—or anywhere—doesn’t come without challenges. “It’s a very interesting space to be in as a six-foot-tall heterosexual man with more beard on my face than skin,” Boaitey quipped. “There are always raised eyebrows. It’s still something I’m trying to navigate,” he added.

For Boaitey, founder-product fit was an early concern. “I didn’t feel like the best ambassador for the brand,” he admitted. “My approach was never going to be, ‘Hey, come and get ready with me.’ That’s not me,” he said. However, over time, he came to see his difference as a strength. “It’s a different lens from which to look at beauty.” His strategy now is simple—transparency and organic storytelling. “I don’t need to be an expert in everything,” he said. “I’m just honest about what I know—supply chains, ingredients, world-building. That resonates.”

Tchala, meanwhile, doesn’t see himself as a skincare entrepreneur in the conventional sense. “I don’t see myself as selling personal care. What I’m doing is building a model—a system that works for both the West and for our villages,” he said. “We must move from just producing raw materials to owning the brand side. That’s where the value is,” he added.

Against the backdrop of building a renowned and community-driven brand, both men agree on one thing—women remain at the center of their work. “When you make shea butter, it’s not men who have maintained that skill set for generations—it’s women,” Tchala noted. “Even 90% of our leadership is women. Maybe they’re the ones running everything anyway. And that’s okay,” he said.

Reclaiming Narrative and Market Share

Boaitey and Tchala aren’t merely disrupting gender stereotypes—they’re also reclaiming Africa’s narrative within the global luxury beauty industry. Their approach to ethical sourcing, community building, and cultural representation sets them apart from multinational competitors.

“Our story isn’t about poverty,” said Boaitey. “It’s about joy, empowerment, and independence. The more time I’ve spent with small-scale female farmers, the more I realized this was a story of strength—not struggle.” Tchala echoed the sentiment. “We need to build our own communities and stop waiting for someone else to do it. We can’t break the cycle of poverty if we only continue to produce raw materials. We must own the brand, the story, and the shelf,” he said.

Yet, both founders face practical challenges—especially in logistics and market access. Boaitey handles ingredient imports himself, and while the bulk of Yendy Skin’s production is done in the UK, the complexity of scaling ethically remains. “Retailers want to see how well you’re doing direct-to-consumer before they take a chance on you,” he said. “We’re still young. We’ve only just launched our full range.”

Tchala adds that regional trade is nearly impossible without stress. “The tariffs between Togo and Ghana are unimaginable. It’s easier to wire money from Ghana to America than next door,” he shared. “We have to remove borders—not physically, but for the movement of goods and services,” he continued.

In many ways, Boaitey and Tchala are not just founders—they are cultural disruptors. They’re ushering in a future where African beauty brands are self-authored, vertically integrated, and globally respected. “We’re still a start-up, and the market is saturated,” said Boaitey. “But we’re building something rooted. This isn’t just skincare—it’s heritage, identity, and self-expression.”

For Tchala, the end goal isn’t profit—it’s legacy. “We want to open the market on our own terms and show that African knowledge can compete globally,” he said. “And we want to prove that investment back into our communities isn’t charity—it’s a moral obligation.”

What both founders underscore is that the rise of male beauty entrepreneurs in Africa is not a trend, but a reflection of something far deeper—a long-overdue reckoning with who gets to tell the story of beauty, and who gets to benefit from it.