The radical act of seeing Black men

My book, “Gifted,” started life as a celebration of Black women. I knew firsthand how empowering it could be to see beautiful images of other Black women as well as read their inspiring stories.

While I was in the early stages—drafting letters to prominent women—I was interning at Walt Disney Animation. One day, I was approached about being the reference model for Disney’s first Black princess, Princess Tiana. I suppose it was flattering—sitting across from the lead animator who had brought all the iconic princesses to life.

But then I saw the prince.

I assumed, naturally, that he would be Black too. But to me, Prince Naveen looked racially ambiguous. When I asked why they had not just made him Black, the answer was…complicated.

That moment changed something in me. It made me think about the people I interned with—how they embraced me as a Black woman but did not extend the same acceptance to Black men.

I thought about my father, who was not given the equal opportunity to compete for business in his industry. I thought about my brother, and the time he challenged a teacher who casually referred to enslaved people as horses and used cars during a school debate on the “pros and cons” of slavery (yes, I know)—only to be sent to the principal’s office for speaking up. Again and again, I saw how the world seemed to police, diminish, and dismiss the Black men I loved.

It made me wonder: what does that do to a man’s psyche? To his sense of pride? To his light?

And so “Gifted” became a tribute to Black men—to their hearts and their voices. I began photographing them in their homes or studios, asking each man: What matters to you? How do you feel? What do you wish the world understood?

Jaimie Milner

More than anything, though, I wanted to show the world how I see Black men. In hindsight, I realize I was offering them the very thing I craved most myself: the gift of being seen.

Now that I look back, what amazes me were how many prominent, busy men said yes to my project. I was an unknown photographer and recent University of Southern California college graduate photographing them in their homes. These were men who had a lot of other things to do aside from making time for me to photograph them, but make time they did.

In total, I photographed and interviewed about 50-80 Black men. Only one said no. That told me a lot. Like me, these men were hungry for this. They were not just willing—they were eager to be seen. Many expressed surprise that a woman wanted to honor them in this way. That surprised and broke my heart at the same time.

It’s not that they didn’t want to share. It’s that the world had not made room for them to do it. The vulnerability they offered was astonishing.

Black men in their own words

What the men revealed was clear and consistent: Black men want to be able to simply be themselves without judgment, even when that meant showing some vulnerability, and to have the opportunity to reach their full potential. These were the themes that echoed through every interview—no matter their age, profession, or background.

Actor Nate Parker shared that for him, “safe space to be vulnerable” was critical to mental wellness. “Vulnerability for me has created the space to attain peace,” he said. But he also expanded on the definition of vulnerability. Sometimes, vulnerability is presence. It’s honesty. It’s allowing yourself to feel, to shed what’s no longer serving you. “Being vulnerable is like being able to shed the emotional waste and poison,” he said.

Nate Parker

This helped me understand that vulnerability doesn’t always look how I imagined it. I used to want my brother to express himself in the ways I would as a woman. But through these interviews, I realized that for Black men, expression might come through their work, their clothes, their energy.

It might be more subtle, but it’s still sacred.

Entrepreneur Chris Lyons spoke about the emotional depth that fuels so many Black men: “The truth is that there is a deeper desire to express our emotions,” he said. “The underlying energy of what we do really comes from our emotion.”

Artist Mark Steven Greenfield told me, “The truth is, we want the same quality of life and the right to self-determination as anyone else.” So simple, yet still so out of reach for many Black men. They desire to simply be in their manhood and to provide. Yet the consistent and systemic barriers to success and opportunity takes a toll on their worth.

Bradford Young, the acclaimed cinematographer, made it plain: “Across the board, you ask most Black men about their greatest deficit, and they’ll say it’s work. I think a Black man without the ability to use his hands and his mind, and his intellect is ultimately going to be self-destructive because we have so much to say.”

Bradford Young

These men don’t lack ambition or ability. They lack systems that support them and narratives that uplift them. Technology leader Dean Garfield shared, “I’ve traveled to 40 countries and I find there is a fundamental humanity wherever I travel. We all have aspirations and ambitions for ourselves and our families…What’s lacking is the pathway to get there and the access to receive.”

Again and again, the men in “Gifted” shared this longing—to be powerful in their manhood, to be whole. But too often, their success or their sensitivity is seen as threatening. And so they’re forced to shrink or harden or go quiet. That shrinking steals not only from them—but from all of us.

What I learned about me from Black men

As I listened to these men share their stories, I started to see myself more clearly.

Here’s what “Gifted” taught me. We are the same. What these men were expressing, a hunger to be themselves, is the same hunger that moved me to create this book in the first place. I thought I was creating something for them. But I was healing something in myself, too, and along the way learning to stand firmly in who I was created to be.

Living in a world that does not make room for your full humanity and where there’s little space to be emotional, imperfect, or honest can feel suffocating.

So what do we do? We get creative. We build safe spaces for each other. We choose courage. We tell the truth. We bet on our own worth.

I came to believe something radical while making this book: the most transformative thing we can do is to be who we are—not the watered-down version and not the safe version—just us, fully, boldly. That kind of selfhood is how we make room for others to do the same.

Yes, we need support from the world. Yes, it would be fantastic if other races helped dismantle these systems. But Black people must also be the first to see and support each other in our full complexity. Because when we do that, we all get to breathe a little easier. We all get to live a little more fully. And maybe, just maybe, we get to be free.

Seeing Black men

“Gifted” is not just a book of portraits. It’s a call to look again—to see Black men with new eyes and to witness them in their fullness.

Morgan Cooper

We live in a world where Black men are often mischaracterized before they’re ever known. They are labeled before they speak. They are dismissed before they’re heard. That’s not just injustice—it’s erasure. And the emotional cost of that erasure is steep. It creates a world where vulnerability becomes dangerous, where emotion is seen as weakness, where tenderness is denied.

But I now know that emotional visibility is not a luxury. It’s a necessity. When we make room for men to be whole—soft and strong, logical and emotional, flawed and brilliant—we expand what’s possible for everyone. We make space for humanity.

The message of “Gifted,” then, is universal. All men need space to feel and to heal. All men deserve the dignity of being seen as they truly are—not through lenses of fear or performance, but of love and truth.

So that’s what this work is about and that’s what these portraits are asking of you: to witness, to feel, to reconsider. To look at these men—and maybe the men in your own life—and ask: have I truly seen them? Have I made space for their full humanity?

And if not, what possibilities might open up if I did?

To learn more or get the book, visit The Gifted Project, and follow them on Instagram for updates.

Jaimie Milner

Jaimie Milner is a photographer and storyteller who launched "Gifted" in 2010 to explore and share the dreams, fears, and truths of Black men. Her work highlights their talent and influence across the Arts, Business, Politics, and Finance, aiming to inspire pride through positive and authentic imagery.