You Deserve: A Black Man's Guide To The Soft Life

Once upon a time (like, right now), the measure of a Black man was how much weight he could carry — not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually, and financially. We inherited this well-worn generational armor. We’ve donned it proudly. We held emotional restraint as a virtue and carried our many burdens like merit badges. You were expected to be hard, always. Hard at work, hard in your walk, hard in your voice. Too often, our manhood and our negritude have been intertwined, defined by our ability to endure pain. Providence and suffering are presented as two sides of the same coin. There’s no space to be anything more or less.

But now? We are entering a new season. A softer one. A time to loosen those shoulders, unfurrow that brow, and maybe even wear some sandals.

The “soft life” isn’t just social media aesthetic or a joke on the timeline. It’s a necessary cultural shift. A long-overdue exhale. A quiet rebellion against the need to always be standing guard in defense of societal and cultural norms. For Black men, the soft life is choosing peace over posturing, rest over resentment, and hydration over Hennessy. It’s not a performative or a presentation. It’s about claiming restoration as an end result.

Why the “soft life” movement matters for Black men…

Pursuing a soft life isn’t a rejection of masculinity; it’s the reward for it. The man you were hustled, toiled, struggled, and dreamed so that the man you are today could enjoy the fruits of his labor. This isn’t escapism or a denial of reality. It’s a sign of your arrival. After years of grinding, of making do, of shouldering responsibilities with no time for reflection, you’ve earned this ease.

It’s not that you couldn’t keep going hard; it’s that you don’t have to anymore. You finally know the difference between surviving and living. After all those years eating Whoppers, you finally understand how to savor the wagyu. You’ve done what you had to. Now it’s time to do what you want to.

So, how do you know if you’re living the soft life? Here are the unmistakable signs:

You have a routine now

Might be skincare, might be beard maintenance, might be aromatherapy tabs in the shower. Whatever it is, you got a set of none-too-cheap products, and part of your day beginning or ending involves a slavish ritual to the self-care gods. Bruh, you got five minutes to pamper yourself, so do it. Let’s not act brand new, though. We were conditioned for this. Sportin’ Waves and the two-sided brush were the gateway. The hairline may have receded, but the need to preen persists. Do what you gotta to appreciate what you see in that mirror every day.

You don’t smoke weed anymore. You consume THC

See the distinction? Less Cypress Hill and more Brown Estates. This ain’t your cousin’s grape Swisher or a Black & Mild behind the gas station with some reggie and shake you got from the park. You buy edibles from a dispensary. You microdose. You read the packaging. You have a preferred ratio of CBD to THC. You don’t get high, you get settled. Clear. It’s not the destination as much as it’s the supplement to an activity. The weed doesn’t hit you anymore; you approach it like seasoning. Just enough to take the edge off, not too much to forget where the edge is.

You keep folding chairs in the trunk

You, my man, have entered the Elder Era. Whether it’s a cookout, a family reunion, or a soccer game, you stay ready. They’re playing some jazz in the park? You open that trunk like a magician and bam, two chairs, a cooler, and maybe a backup hoodie. Convenient, comfortable seating has replaced a lighter or bottle opener as part of your “just in case” pack when you leave the crib. Don’t nobody got time for sciatica getting in the way of an opportunity to kick it. You are your own support system, and possibly someone else’s too. Chivalry is standing up so they can sit; the soft life is saying, “Baby, I got seats for everybody.”

You buy the “good” juice

Gone are the days of whatever’s two-for-$5 to mix with the $12 on-sale vodka you’re gonna slam in a parking lot. You buy that Simply now. Maybe even a cold-pressed juice if you’re feeling fancy. That Ninja juicer? It’s been sitting in your Amazon cart for six months. Bougie juice is both delicious and full of vitamins and antioxidants and all that other stuff your PCP says you’re missing. But you still keep Hawaiian Punch around for nostalgia’s sake and because the kids need to touch home, and, the mystery remains: it never gets cold. Ever. Hawaiian Punch defies the laws of thermodynamics and common sense. That jug could be in Jeffrey Wright’s hand on a glacier in February type cold out and still taste like room temperature red.

You made a charcuterie board for a function

Because there’s going to be other adults there and bringing a pan of wings would’ve been gauche. You curated that thing. Folded fancy meats like origami. Lined up cheese by firmness and region. You even got three different kinds of olives and discovered what a gherkin is. And you got slightly mad when folks didn’t recognize the fig jam to prosciutto ratio. It’s okay, they weren’t ready. But you were; you even paired some wines. And that’s what matters.

You know what an SPF is

And you use it. Not because you’re on a beach or on vacation. Just because. Yes, Black don’t crack, but that don’t mean you taunt melanoma like a fool. You may not reapply every two hours like it says on the label, but the fact that you’re even reading the label? That’s growth.

You have a favorite character on “The Gilded Age”

Don’t front. You’ve got thoughts about Bertha Russell’s rise and Agnes van Rhijn’s refined hateration while Peggy Scott’s getting all the holleration in this dancery. Not every show in the queue has to be “The Wire,” “Sons of Anarchy,” “BMF,” or any other permutation of programming that involves thugged out plotlines. Sometimes you need to take a moment and contemplate the complexities of late 19th-century society, the intersections of wealth and entitlement, and just how baller it must be to have a house staff dressed like colonial soldiers whilst you sip pinot out of a Lightning McQueen cup. That’s the good life, my friend. Enjoy it.

You pay someone to come do that

What’s that? Whatever you don’t feel like doing. Cleaning up that mess. Folding those clothes. Assembling that kid’s bedroom set. Cooking the whole damn holiday meal. At this stage, if it’s between your patience or your pockets? The pockets win every time. Yeah, you got a whole tool set in the garage and, sure, if given the time, you could probably mount that TV. But the ability to do a thing and the capacity to do a thing don’t always align, and you gotta let go. Real softness is knowing your limits, respecting someone else’s skill, and outsourcing accordingly.

You say, “I don’t have it in me tonight” without guilt

Not as an excuse. As a boundary. You used to say yes to everything, because you thought you might miss an epic outing, or you thought it might be the last time, or because you thought love meant labor. But now? Now you choose rest, stillness, and peace. You’re gonna be just as tired at the spot as you are at the crib. The same people who were there last time will probably be there next time. And you already took your shoes (and possibly your pants) off.  You know what happens when you overextend. So now you don’t.

You don’t run from how you feel

You’re not trying to bury your feelings under bravado anymore. That anxiety disorder has severely compromised your gangsta. You know when something is weighing on you and, more importantly, you don’t lie to yourself about it. You might not always talk about it right away, but you understand that carrying it alone and in silence only makes things worse. You make time and space for it. You sit with it. And when you’re ready, you try to let it out the right way because your vocabulary has evolved to a place where you can articulate emotions outside of a binary.

You own a robe – a real one

Not a hoodie. Not a towel. A soft robe with a belt and fabric that whispers luxury. It might even be monogrammed if you’re dedicated. You wear it when you make coffee, stare out the window, and reflect. You deserve softness before noon.

You’ve forgiven yourself

For whatever it was. Maybe you came up short. Maybe you didn’t get it right the first time. Maybe you zigged when you should’ve zagged. But you’re not carrying that around anymore. What’s past is past, what’s now is now, and what’s next is yet to be determined. But you know this much; you deserve to meet your future unburdened by the weight of the man you used to be. Besides, the old you would’ve never appreciated the charcuterie and juice you’re about to crush watching last week’s “Gilded Age” episode in your baller-ass robe.

All of this? It’s made possible by the slow, deliberate shedding of the man you thought you had to be.

You’re still you. Still got the same sharp tongue and quicker mind. You still keep your head on a swivel. Still got all that hood sense you were raised with. That animal is still in you if you need to protect yourself or your family. That never goes away.

But now? Now you protect you peace, too.

This is what liberation looks like. It’s not always loud. Sometimes it looks like eight hours of indica-induced sleep, $14 fig jam, and the audacity to say, “Nah, I’m good.”

My brothers in Christ, we are living the soft life.

And we deserve it.

Corey Richardson is originally from Newport News, Va., and currently lives in Chicago, Ill. Ad guy by trade, Dad guy in life, and grilled meat enthusiast, Corey spends his time crafting words, cheering on beleaguered Washington DC sports franchises, and yelling obscenities at himself on golf courses. As the founder of The Instigation Department, you can follow him on Substack to keep up with his work.

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You Deserve: A Black Man’s Guide To The Soft Life  was originally published on newsone.com