They Won't See It At First. You Should.

A friend told me last night that it must not be meant to be. And I understood what he meant. I just didn't agree.

He wants to model. People have always told him he could. He knows he could. But photographers aren't reaching out the way they used to. Agents and scouts probably see him. Nobody's approaching. And so he's started to make peace with the idea that maybe it just isn't in the cards.

I heard him. And then I told him about Chicago.

When I first moved to the north side, I felt like most people didn't find me attractive. Not because I believed that about myself — but because the energy made it hard to ignore. Black guys in that part of the city were viewed as undesirable. And not just by white guys. By other Black guys too, the ones who had decided that proximity to whiteness meant distancing themselves from you.

I remember checking out a Black guy once — fine, clearly knew it — and getting a look of pure disgust back. Meanwhile his non-Black partner was eyeballing me like I was a fresh batch of fried chicken. No pun intended. I actually love fried chicken.

It was a hard thing to sit with. But here's what it didn't do: it didn't change how I saw myself.

"Y'all may not see it. But I see it."

So I picked up a camera. And I started photographing myself — the way I felt handsome, the way I felt sexy, the way I felt worth looking at. I did it over and over until I understood my angles, my lighting, how to edit in a way that matched what I actually saw in the mirror. I created the visual evidence of what I already believed about myself.

And then something shifted. Photographers started reaching out. Bookings started coming in. My DMs started filling up. But the thing that hit hardest? Messages from other Black men in the Midwest who said I inspired them — not because I had the most followers or the best camera — but because I was so visibly, unapologetically comfortable in myself.

I told my friend all of this last night. Because "it's not meant to be" is something you say when you've been waiting for someone else to hand you the thing. Nobody handed it to me. I built the reality I wanted — one photo at a time — until the world had no choice but to catch up.

People are going to doubt you. Overlook you. Look through you. Let them. You know what you see when you look in the mirr

or. If you want it, create it. Pick up the camera. Start the page. Make the thing. The only version of "meant to be" that actually works is the one you build yourself.