Let’s shoot the shit about what makes a man. I’ve been chewing on this for a while, and honestly, the more I think about it, the more I realize how much gunk gets tacked onto the word. You’ve heard it all—gotta make a ton of cash, be over six feet, have that chiseled jawline, or some vague vibe like “confidence” that everyone pretends to measure. It’s exhausting, right? And the kicker is, half the time it’s not even us guys coming up with this crap—it’s other people, sometimes literal women, throwing their random checklists at us like we’re auditioning for a part.

Here’s where I’m at: you’re a man when you’re old enough to be called one. That’s it—age is the only thing that sticks. Everything else? Just noise. Say you’re not raking in a big salary. Cool, you’re a man who’s not loaded yet. Not jacked like some gym bro? Fine, you’re a man who’s not built like that right now. Shorter than the “ideal”? Whatever, you’re a man who’s not tall. These aren’t failures—they’re just where you’re at. We don’t pick our starting hands in life, so why do we let these random markers define us?

I’ve seen buddies get caught up in this trap, and it’s rough. One guy I know—he’s scrappy, funny as hell—used to think he wasn’t worth a damn because he’s 5’6” and drives a beat-up Civic. Another friend ghosted everyone because he thought needing people made him weak. And don’t get me started on the idiots who think swinging fists and toting guns proves something. It’s all so pointless. Chasing that stuff just leaves you pissed off or lonely, usually both.

What’s crazier is when you catch someone—say, a woman—laying out their own weird rulebook. “A real man does this, has that.” Like, who asked, shawty boo? It’s almost funny if it wasn’t so messed up—someone else thinking they can draw the lines for you when the pencil isn't even theirs to hold. I’m not here to point fingers, but I’ve had to laugh off a few of those “standards” myself. They don’t get to decide what I am.

Here’s what I’ve figured out: the good stuff isn’t in flexing or fronting. It’s in keeping it real with the people who matter most to you. I’ll vent to my best friend over a call or get choked up with my girl when shit hits the fan—not because I’m soft, but because I’m solid enough to handle it. That whole “stone-cold mystery man” thing? It’s a movie trope, not a life. Being steady doesn’t mean you don’t feel—it means you can, and you’re still standing.

Look, the world’s loud about what we’re supposed to be, especially if you’re young and still sorting it out. But all that height, money, muscle crap? It’s just fluff. You’re a man because you’re old enough to be one. You're really in this hoe, anon—breathing and dealing with whatever’s on your plate. If you’re not “there” yet—wherever “there” is—you’re still the man you are, imperfections and all. Anyone who says different can shove it through their sphincter.