Better than some raspberry Simply Lemonade.

Hotter than a sale at Bergdorf’s.

Crazier than an early Friday at work.

Greater than weekends with my girls at the Vineyard.

Hyper than ‘that’s my car’ in the 80’s.

Sweeter than how the breeze hits me out of no where…

There’s loads of reasons to get excited for summer–warmer days, vacations, and rooftop parties. But there’s nothing else that makes me crave the plus-eighty degree heat in the city more than Black men. Shirtless at the beach in Miami. Posted up in his shades on the rooftop in Harlem. Or even after church in his all white linen suit in Atlanta. Oh yes ladies, being a single girl just got fun again!

So what do I love the most?

The Way He Dresses… Sock-less in boat-stitched loafers. The effortless and smart white tee. The draw-string trousers or classic popped-collar polo. His off-season workout game has done him immense justice based on the way his frame manages to quietly peak through his cotton-blend oxford. No man does it like quite a brotha in the summertime.

The Way He Plays it off…His male-moodiness has taken flight. He’s more spontaneous than ever. And he’s suddenly unafraid to flash those pearly whites against his dare I say–chocolate skin. Even when a smile sneaks up on him, and he plays it off with a cool laugh just before he brushes his hand through his well-crafted goatee. Oh wee.

The Way He Flirts…Death of the word swag. But in this case, there are few words to describe that thing that happens in the summertime. He walks with that one white towel around his shoulder and a pseudo ‘Denzel walk’ at a Shell gas station, right after he’s spent $50 plus on gassing up the Range packed with the rest of his boys on the way to the picnic in Brookyn’s Prospect Park. This man bids in his own ‘Is you happy’ way for your Blackberry pin, and somehow, oh God, somehow, you. Just. Can’t. Resist.

What do you love about Black men in the summertime?


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