Why Getting Stood Up For A Date Hurts So Bad & What I Did About It
The surprising reason why I deserved to be stood up for that date (it's not what you think)
Why That Date Led Me Here
I woke up ready for the day.
The boy I had messaged with on Jack’d lived in Buckhead, five minutes away from my barbershop. I’m a regular for Saturdays at 10am in Booney’s chair so I suggested, on Jack’d, that we meet up for brunch around 11:00. I’d pick up some flowers, roll by his place following my fresh cut and prepare to knock my next boyfriend’s socks off.
I texted Jack on my way to the barbershop. “See you shortly. Looking forward to meeting you.” Booney cut me nicely as he always does. I had just a little extra pep in my step because I got a date.
The stairs drifted under my feet as I left the barbershop. I dialed Jack’s number…no answer. It was still early. Maybe he was in the shower or just laid his phone down in the other room—wherever that “other room” could be.
I texted, “send me your address. I’ll pick you up,” reaffirming our plans that had been set the night before.
10:45.
10:50.
10:55.
11:15 a.m
Finally, I got a message back that read, “I’m still in the shop with my car. I can’t make it today.” He couldn’t have told me about his auto shop appointment before we made these plans? Or maybe there is no car trouble and this was his way of letting me down easy?
Either way, I got stood up. Instead of commiserating and drifting into my “niggas ain’t shit” phase, I went home, fresh hair cut and all, set up my mic and camera and said, “Dear Black Gay Men, you’re worth of his effort so respect when he gives it to you.”
Unpacking Love, Faith, and Intimacy for Black Gay Men
Sometimes, our head tells us to move on long before our heart allows it.
Why I'm Building a Home for Black Gay Voices
Dear Black Gay Men started as my love letter to any man out there dealing with the same woes I was in the dating pool. For every fuck boy and picture whore, there was an eligible bachelor wading—drowning—in the dating pool. I wanted that episode to be a clarion call to all the good men that there are those of us that appreciate your goodness.
It started as one conversation with myself one time. It’s become a weekly conversation with thousands of viewers and listeners across the globe sharing their stories of the emotional ups and downs along their journey to happiness.
When I came out, there was BGCLive and chatlines before that. Places where Black men could go to read our stories and see our culture in full display, one swipe at a time. But what started as community opportunity has been relegated to constant swipes. We’ve lost our artful and colorful dialogue as a culture.
White gays have them, or
, or any number of publications, but we all know what it feels like when our gay muscle is massaged at the cost of our Blackness. Or BET or Black Love feel very Black but definitely not gay enough. Dear Black Gay Men is intended to be the best of both: commentary on navigating these, sometimes murky, Black gay dating waters at the intersection of all of our identities.
Every good writer on Substack has a couple hallmarks that distinguish their columns from the rest: namely authenticity, voice, and passion.
of says they right about what they want to read, not what their credentials say they should.My bachelor’s in communication says I should probably be a hard-hitting journalist. Or my years as an HIV-prevention counselor say that I should probably lend my talents to talk about health and wellness. yet here I am, passionate about sex and love and relationships, with a microphone and a winning smile. Hence, Dear Black Gay Men Podcast.
My 50,000 Subscriber Promise to Us
I just had a conversation with my boyfriend about our future. I told him that the job of our relationship is to help us achieve our desires. We built this union so that it could support who we are to become in this world.
For me, that’s a husband and partner, a business owner and cultural commentator. I truly believe our relationship is the mechanism by which I will realize my dreams. But the key isn’t the relationship; it starts with having a dream. A goal that is so big in front of you that it takes daily work and consistency to achieve.
Which brings me to Dear Black Gay Men on Substack. I had talked a big game about Kevonta and my relaitonship, but the honest truth is I needed to hear that message myself. DBGM doesn’t have a dream in front of us, until now. I want 50.3K Substack subscribers.
My goal is to be the best possible resource for content for and from Black gay people. In order to do that, I have to prove this concept: prove that our content is worthy of your attention. That proof, I believe, is 50,300. That’s our magic number. That is our true north and that this the goal that is big enough to demand the work and execution Black gay culture deserves. We will become the first and best at the content we create, demonstrating a commitment to quality, depth, diversity of voices, and consistent engagement.
Starting today, July 1, Team DBGM is committing to bringing you content that solves our problems in the dating pool, that appeals to our highest expression of what it means to be Black gay men who love Black gay men, and might make you queef a little bit. It’s about moving from passively being represented to actively owning and driving our own stories.
Every day, new content here on Substack until we reach 50.3K. And I believe we can do it. I’m asking that you
Subscribe to our Substack. Every single subscriber counts towards our bigger vision.
Comment and share posts that spark your curiosity, mirror your experience, or show you your own opportunities for growth and self-actualization.
Consider becoming a paid subscriber. Your subscription doesn’t just support our growth; you are investing in the future of Black gay representation and culture.
I’m excited for this goal. 50.3K subs is big enough to know that, when we get there, I know exactly who to thank. Come on the journey with us.
I realize, as a white gay male, I’m not the target audience, but I do always enjoy your candid approach to topics that, despite our experiences being different, I still find much to relate. You’re a fantastic writer and your vulnerability is beautiful.