Black man, you’re on your own: What Michelle Obama can teach us about black love in the age of MacG

The last time a Black man was loved without condition was often when he was a three-year-old boy in his mother’s arms.

Beyond that, the tenderness fades. The world no longer sees his heart — it begins to value only his hands.

Across South Africa, this transition begins early. Black boys are taught that their worth lies in how hard they can work, how well they can provide, and how long they can suppress their emotions. Vulnerability is considered a weakness, and emotional expression, a liability.

Michelle Obama, in her reflections on love and relationships, offers a striking insight that speaks directly to this reality:

“Young people think love is supposed to be easy. But true love demands work — hard work. It requires showing up in the small moments, even when it’s not pretty.”

This raises a sobering question: although Black men are taught to value hard work, they are only trained for physical hard work — to build, provide, and endure. How can a generation of men, shaped by economic hardship and emotional neglect, be expected to show up in love with hearts they were never taught to use? And when they inevitably fall short, how does society respond?

In South Africa, where poverty, gendered expectations, and colonial patriarchy intersect, the emotional incapacitation of Black men is neither coincidental nor isolated. It is systemic. And its effects are increasingly visible in personal relationships, cultural commentary, and online discourse — often with devastating consequences.

The recent controversy involving podcaster MacG and actress Minnie Dlamini offered a cultural flashpoint. MacG’s comments, though rightly criticised, are not the root problem. They are a symptom of a deeper societal condition: one in which the perception of love has overtaken the substance of it.

Dr Luhle Shange-Khumalo coined the term Perception Dysmorphia to describe the growing gap between how people appear to live online and their actual lived experiences. In the age of TikTok, Instagram, and “soft life” aspirations, relationships have become increasingly performative. Love is judged not by its depth or endurance, but by its aesthetic.

This has real psychological consequences. According to the South African Depression and Anxiety Group (SADAG), 62% of young South Africans report feeling anxious or depressed due to social media comparisons.

Internationally, the Pew Research Centre found that 59% of young adults feel worse about their lives because of what they see online. These numbers reveal a generational identity crisis — one that disproportionately burdens Black men already navigating structural disadvantage and emotional repression.

I’ve experienced this tension firsthand. In a past relationship, despite shared township roots and similar economic backgrounds, I was treated less as a partner and more as a provider. Requests for luxury goods and curated lifestyle moments quickly overshadowed the need for genuine emotional connection. When I couldn’t keep up, I wasn’t seen as a person trying to heal or build. I was seen as failing to perform.

This is a familiar story for many Black men: to be loved not for who they are, but for what they can give.

bell hooks warned us of this. In her critique of patriarchy, she wrote:

“The first act of violence that patriarchy demands of males is not violence toward women. Instead, patriarchy demands of all males that they engage in acts of psychic self-mutilation — that they kill off the emotional parts of themselves.”

Patriarchy is not just a gender issue — it is a human crisis. It robs men of the emotional tools required to build real intimacy, and then punishes them for the fallout.

White supremacy only deepens the crisis. Under its logic, Blackness is only valuable insofar as it can produce, perform, or endure. The intersection of these systems — patriarchy, capitalism, and racism — creates a crucible in which Black men are emotionally stunted, spiritually isolated, and relationally broken.

To change course, we must collectively interrogate the myth that love should be effortless. Michelle Obama’s reminder that love is labour, not illusion, is essential. If we continue defining intimacy through filtered images and unrealistic expectations, we won’t just lose relationships — we will lose the possibility of rebuilding families and communities.

Real love requires:

• Teaching Black boys that their hearts matter as much as their hands.
• Teaching young women that love is not a hustle, and men are not banks.
• Teaching our society that grace, patience, and presence are the true currencies of connection.

This is not only about failed relationships. It is about a generation being asked to build futures without the emotional blueprints to do so.

Black man, you may feel like you are on your own. But you are also your hope. Choose healing over hustling. Choose truth over performance. Choose building over flexing.

Because if we don’t, we won’t just inherit trauma — we’ll guarantee its repetition.

* Wandile Mthiyane is a South African architect, social entrepreneur, and founder of Ubuntu Home. As a Black man raised in a township in South Africa and now building platforms for dignity and healing, he writes from firsthand experience on the intersection of love, identity, and social transformation.