Have you ever been minding your business at a bar or restaurant, music low, single people mingling, and then you see him? A Black man sitting up a little too straight, holding a glass of white wine like it came with instructions. And before he even takes a sip, you already know what time it is. The swirl. The slow nod. The little inhale like he just discovered air for the first time.
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You roll your eyes because this man is not a man having a drink. He is putting on a performance.
It is never just a sip. It is a presentation. Words like crisp and notes start floating around unprovoked. You did not ask for a tasting. Nobody here is grading you. And yet here you are, auditioning for a role nobody cast you in, turning a regular Saturday night into a one-man show called Refinement.
And yo, real talk, other Black men see you. We may not say anything out loud, but know that the group chat is active in real time. Eyes are cutting. Jokes are being made at your expense. Somebody probably already has a nickname for you that you will never hear. Not because we hate you, but because we love you. You are our brother, and we want you to drink something with a bit more substance than a sweet white wine with your pinkie up.
If we’re being honest, part of the reason the brothers are clowning you has nothing to do with the wine itself. It is what we think it says about you. We are looking at that glass and quietly wondering if you could even handle a real drink.
An Old Fashioned. Something brown and honest that does not need a speech. A whiskey neat that burns a little and lets you know you are alive. A dark rum that does not apologize for itself. Drinks that do not require adjectives to prove their worth.
So, when you are up there swirling and describing citrus like you discovered fruit, it reads less like taste and more like avoidance. Like you skipped past anything with weight and landed somewhere safe.
Look, Black men, drink what you want. If you enjoy a Chardonnay, have at it. If you want that sparkling, clear Kool-Aid that people call Moscato, drink it. No judgment.
Because let me go ahead and say it now before someone else does. I drink white wine too.
Yes. I do. I admit it.
But I do it in the house. Behind closed doors. Like a man is supposed to.
Straight From 
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