A 24 year old had never had an official girlfriend. Steve Harvey brought him back for a full swag class teaching him the walk, the stance, the look, and the 5 suits every man needs
The greenroom was quiet.
Too quiet.
Brandon Divine sat alone on the leather couch, scrolling through his phone for the fifth time in ten minutes.
No new messages.
No new matches.
No new anything.
He looked at himself in the mirror across the room.
Clean face. Nice smile. Good jawline.
So what was missing?
He’d asked himself that question a thousand times.
Today, he was going to ask Steve Harvey.
The Confession
The studio lights felt hot.
Brandon walked to the guest chair, sat down, and immediately started fidgeting with his hands.
Steve Harvey watched him like a lion watching a gazelle.
“So,” Steve said. “What’s going on, man?”
Brandon took a breath.
“I’ve never had a—like—an official girlfriend in my life.”
Steve’s eyebrows went up.
“I’m twenty-four.”
The audience murmured.
Brandon kept going. “I’ve had friends. I’ve gone on some dates. I’ve had friends with benefits.”
He paused.
“But I’ve never had an official girlfriend.”
The audience shifted in their seats.
Steve leaned forward.
“Why do you think that is?”
Brandon shrugged.
“I’m not the type of guy that likes going out to the bars. I usually don’t. I’m very antisocial. I don’t like going to the clubs.”
He looked down at his hands.
“Really, I’m nervous usually when I go out and I’m in, like, really social settings. That’s just not my thing.”
The audience softened.
“Yeah, I’m a person who likes going to the movies. Or going to like, Borders and reading a book. Or just going on a walk or something like that.”
He looked up.
“Mainly just watching movies.”
Somewhere in the audience, a few people clapped.
Brandon managed a small smile.
“Got any advice that can help me out?”
The Hinged Sentence
Steve sat back in his chair.
He didn’t answer right away.
He just looked at Brandon.
Then he said four words that changed everything.
“What you’re missing—missing swag.”
The audience laughed.
Steve pointed at Brandon.
“See, women love swag. Have you ever thought about developing swag?”
Brandon blinked.
“If I could learn how—”
Steve stood up.
“Yep. Come down here. Come here.”
The audience cheered.
Brandon walked to the center of the stage.
Steve put a hand on his shoulder.
“How you doing, man?”
“I’m doing good.”
“Good. Alright. So you’re twenty-four?”
“Yes.”
“Never had an official girlfriend?”
“Never had an official girlfriend.”
Steve turned to the audience.
“Alright, so cool. You gotten at this—ladies, would you agree he has a good voice?”
The women in the audience cheered.
“Yeah,” Steve said. “So tell them your name and how old you are and where you’re from into the mic.”
Brandon lifted the microphone.
“My name is Brandon Divine. I’m twenty-four years old. I’m from Orchard Park, New York, which is a suburb of Buffalo, New York.”
Steve nodded.
“See that? Good voice.”
The audience cheered again.
“You got good voice. Gotta have swag.”
The First Lesson
Steve scanned the audience.
“So we need to develop just an entry level. Like, when you walk up to a girl—how do you walk up to ’em?”
Brandon’s face went blank.
“Gimme just one young lady,” Steve said.
He pointed.
“Just could you come here, sweetheart. Just right here. Just you, young lady.”
A young woman walked to the stage.
She was pretty. Confident. Smiling.
The audience clapped.
Steve turned to Brandon.
“See, let’s start with this. Because see—it ain’t about you. It’s always about them.”
Brandon nodded slowly.
“So try this right here.”
Steve stepped toward the young woman.
“Excuse me. I don’t wanna disturb you. So I’m gonna leave right away. But I’ve been over there by myself. And just from a distance—if you just tell me your name, my whole night will be complete.”
The audience swooned.
The young woman smiled.
“Dania.”
Steve repeated it. “Dania. I like that. Thank you so much.”
He turned and walked away.
The audience cheered.
Steve looked at Brandon.
“That’s good advice.”
Brandon’s eyes were wide.
“Okay. Now let’s try to intro. Let’s go. Put it to use.”
The Attempt
Brandon walked toward Dania.
His hands were shaking.
He stopped in front of her.
“Excuse me,” he said.
His voice cracked a little.
“I was just over on the other side of the club. And I just—I’m sorry if I was staring. I just couldn’t help noticing you.”
He swallowed.
“What’s your name?”
“Dania.”
“Dania,” Brandon repeated. “It’s very nice to meet you, Dania.”
The audience cheered.
Steve walked over.
“Come here. Yeah. Yeah.”
He looked at Brandon.
“Brandon, I would like to invite you back on the show.”
Brandon’s jaw dropped. “Okay.”
“We are going to do one swag class.”
The audience lost it.
The Return
Days later.
Same studio. Same lights. Same couch.
But Brandon was different.
Not completely different.
But different enough.
Steve walked out to thunderous applause.
“Hey, Brandon. How you doing?”
Brandon stood up. “Good. Good.”
Steve shook his hand. “Good, welcome. Yeah, welcome back, man.”
They sat down.
Steve leaned in. “Any luck in the girlfriend department since last time we talked?”
Brandon smiled. A real one.
“I did go on a date with a girl from Covina. Had a nice time.”
He paused.
“But she never texted me back. It happens.”
Steve nodded.
“It happened. But aside though, man—see this. See, you can fix this, man, because it is cool. Because what I’m gonna help you do today is I’m just gonna help you—take you through some basic steps.”
He pointed at Brandon.
“Like, what I thought was missing was swag.”
The audience laughed.
“See, like right now—see you just—you just came out here.”
Brandon looked down at himself.
Steve waved a hand.
“Number one thing we need to do—we need to talk about—let’s just talk about the walk.”
The Walk
Music hit.
Steve stood up.
“Title clash.”
Brandon stood up too.
“When you walk,” Steve said, “slow down a little bit.”
He demonstrated.
“You gotta let the women, when they see you, you gotta let them drink the moment.”
The audience laughed.
“See, first of all—you are a moment.”
The audience applauded.
“So when you walk out, it’s how you carry yourself. So just slow it down. Just make it a little bit more pronounced.”
Steve walked across the stage.
Slow. Confident. Controlled.
“Just slow it down.”
The audience cheered.
Steve turned to Brandon.
“Now look, I’m not a handsome guy. So when I walk in the room, women don’t swoon. What I do is—I draw them in with everything else.”
Brandon nodded.
“I bring them in with swagger.”
Steve pointed across the stage.
“So just go over here. Just—all you gotta do—just slow the walk down. You ain’t gotta change it. Just slow it down.”
Brandon walked to the other side of the stage.
Steve raised his arms.
“Ladies and gentlemen—Brandon.”
Brandon walked back.
Slower this time.
Not perfect. But better.
The audience cheered.
Steve nodded. “Yeah, that’s better. Yeah, that’s better.”
The Hands
Steve squinted.
“Now notice how you had your hand on your pocket, then you took it off. We got to make up our mind what we going to do.”
Brandon looked at his hands.
“So I want you to go back and this time just put your hand in your pocket and come on out.”
Brandon walked back.
“Just put your hand in your pocket,” Steve said. “That’s going to be your move, because you don’t know.”
The audience laughed.
Brandon walked forward.
Hand in pocket.
Steve nodded.
“See, let me tell you something. By putting your hand in your pocket, it stops the fidgeting. ‘Cause you don’t look uninsured anymore. You got your hand in your pocket, okay?”
Brandon nodded.
“Now we need a stance.”
The Stance
Steve stood still.
“How are you gonna stand?”
He pointed at Brandon’s posture.
“See this right here? It don’t say swag.”
Steve shifted his weight.
“But if I stood here like this—”
He rubbed his hands together. Touched his fingertips. Cupped his hands.
The audience cheered.
“If I’m just rubbing my hands, touching my fingertips, cupping my hand—it keeps you looking like you under control. Because when you like this—” Steve fidgeted dramatically. “—and you start fidgeting—”
“It looks a little awkward, yes,” Brandon said.
“It looks awkward. You understand?”
“Yeah.”
“You gotta take awkward away.”
“Understood.”
The Look
Steve clapped.
“So now we got the walk. We got the stance. We need the look.”
The music hit again.
“Title clash.”
Steve pointed at Brandon’s outfit.
“Every man should have a suit. I don’t care who you are. And the first suit you have to buy is a black suit. Don’t mess around looking for nothing else. A black suit.”
Brandon listened like his life depended on it.
“Eventually you need five suits. Black. Navy. Brown. Gray. And tan.”
Steve held up five fingers.
“Those are the five colors you need. All those colors go with each other. You can make fifty-five combinations from them five suits. Any pants will go with the suit.”
The audience applauded.
Steve waved Brandon over.
“Come on over here. Tuck your shirt in.”
Brandon tucked.
“Yeah, you look good. That’s nice, man.”
The audience laughed.
Steve stepped back.
“That’s good. You’re a good looking kid, man. How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-four. Almost twenty-five.”
Steve nodded.
“Yeah. See, we can fix this.”
The Jacket
Steve picked up a jacket.
“Put your jacket on. Let’s put this jacket on right here.”
Brandon slid his arms in.
The audience cheered.
Steve stepped back to admire.
“See, look at this right here.”
He pointed at Brandon’s feet.
“Now, next thing you gotta do is—we gotta get rid of these shoes. You can’t wear no shoes like this and get no girl.”
The audience laughed.
Steve knelt down.
“Yeah, okay. Lemme see what kind of socks you got.”
Brandon lifted his pant leg.
“Just some plain white socks.”
Steve stood up.
“Boy.”
The audience erupted.
“Never wear white socks,” Steve said.
Brandon nodded. “Okay.”
“Ever.”
“Ever.”
“It says country.”
The audience howled.
“Hillbilly,” Steve added.
Brandon laughed. “Definitely not me.”
The Number Fifty-Five
Steve grabbed a pair of dress shoes.
“Alright, so—see if you can slide this shoe on, Billy.”
Brandon slid his foot in.
“Nice fit.”
“Yeah, get that in there. Throw them away.”
The audience cheered.
Steve held up the shoes.
“First thing a man should do when he get his money after he get his five suits—he gotta get three shirts. Three colored shirts.”
He held up fingers.
“You need two white shirts. A powder blue shirt. And a cream shirt. That’s all you need. Two white shirts, powder blue shirt, and a cream shirt.”
Brandon repeated it silently.
“That’s all you need,” Steve said. “Then you make it work. You can move all them around between them suits and you’ll be looking good.”
He paused.
“Fifty-five combinations. That’s math.”
The audience applauded.
The Pocket Square
Steve picked up a small piece of fabric.
“Now you get this going right here—and you need a pocket square.”
He held it up.
“Always wear pocket square. Pocket squares is a man’s ornament. So a pocket square puts a little flavor in here.”
He slid it into Brandon’s jacket pocket.
“So now, because you got this on right here, I would pick something like that.”
He adjusted it.
“Now listen. You probably need to start with a simple fold in it. And then just pushing it down in your pocket. And just keep it real simple.”
He stepped back.
“So we got your little pocket square in here.”
The audience leaned forward.
“Go over there. Gimme the walk. The stance.”
The Transformation
Brandon walked to the far side of the stage.
Hand in pocket.
Shoulders back.
Slower than before.
Steve raised his arm.
“Boom.”
Brandon walked forward.
Each step measured.
Each step confident.
“Let’s go. Straight at me.”
Brandon kept coming.
The audience started cheering.
Steve stepped back.
“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.”
Brandon stopped in front of him.
Hand still in pocket.
Pocket square crisp.
Shoes shining.
“Let’s go.”
The audience lost it.
Steve put his hand on Brandon’s shoulder.
“We’ll be right back.”
The Drive Home
The show ended.
Brandon sat in the back of an Uber, still wearing the jacket.
He looked at himself in the phone camera.
Hand in pocket.
Slow down.
Stop fidgeting.
You are a moment.
He’d never thought of himself that way before.
A moment.
Someone worth noticing.
Someone worth remembering.
He pulled up a website on his phone.
Black suit. Navy suit. Brown suit. Gray suit. Tan suit.
He added them to his cart.
Then he added two white shirts. A powder blue shirt. A cream shirt.
Then he added a pocket square.
Burgundy.
His mother’s favorite color.
The Thing About Swag
Brandon learned something that day.
Swag isn’t about being loud.
It’s about being still.
It’s about walking slow enough that people have time to see you.
It’s about putting your hand in your pocket so you stop apologizing for existing.
Steve said it best:
“First of all—you are a moment.”
Brandon had spent twenty-four years acting like he wasn’t.
Like he was background noise.
Like he didn’t deserve to take up space.
Steve handed him a jacket and a pocket square and a pair of shoes.
But that’s not what changed him.
What changed him was permission.
Permission to slow down.
Permission to stand still.
Permission to be seen.
The White Socks
Brandon threw them away that night.
All of them.
Every single pair.
He bought black socks. Navy socks. Brown socks.
He learned that small things matter.
White socks say I didn’t think about this.
Black socks say I planned every detail.
Women notice.
Steve knew that.
Now Brandon knew it too.
The Final Frame
Steve straightened his tie.
Looked at the camera.
“Hey, you made it to the end of this video. I got a lot more that you’re gonna enjoy, so just click to watch the next one and make sure you subscribe to always know what’s happening.”
The lights dimmed.
The stage emptied.
And somewhere in Orchard Park, New York, Brandon Divine opened his closet.
Five suits hung in a row.
Black. Navy. Brown. Gray. Tan.
Two white shirts. A powder blue shirt. A cream shirt.
And a burgundy pocket square.
He looked at his reflection.
Hand in pocket.
Slow down.
You are a moment.
For the first time in twenty-four years, he believed it.
The Post-Credits Text
Three weeks later, Steve’s producer got an email.
Subject line: Update from Brandon
The email said:
“Went on a date last night. Used the walk. Used the stance. Kept my hand in my pocket. She asked for my number before I could ask for hers. Going out again Friday. Thanks for everything. — Brandon”
The producer forwarded it to Steve.
Steve read it.
Smiled.
Then deleted it.
Not because he didn’t care.
Because he already knew.
Brandon was always a moment.
He just needed someone to tell him.
And Steve Harvey?
He’s been telling people for thirty years.
One swag class at a time.