First year as black belt: what surprised you?

Here’s what surprised me: the sheer number of black belts who have absolutely no business wearing one.

Not everyone, obviously. The internet has blessed us with unprecedented access to high-level instruction, so the technical floor for a black belt is higher than it’s ever been. We see that every weekend at regional tournaments — the level is legit.

But it’s also easier than ever to get a black belt without actually earning it.

I’m talking about the guys who get their black belt at an affiliate academy that has 12 students, then show up to a new gym and struggle to tap purple belts. I’m talking about the instructors who fast-tracked their way to black because their coach needed a body to teach classes. I’m talking about the guy who got promoted because he paid his dues for 10 years and never complained, not because he actually developed a high-level game.

There's a reason you don’t see a flood of new black belts dominating at the highest levels. The gap between black belt and, say, a Craig Jones is wider than ever. The average black belt still gets submitted in seconds by the top tier. What does that tell you about the standard?

Look, I’m not saying every black belt needs to be a world champion. But there's a certain competency level that *should* be universal. A black belt *should* be able to reliably handle brown belts. They *should* have a defined game. They *should* be able to articulate why they do what they do. And a surprising number of them… just can't.

It reminds me of the old debate about belts in the early days of MMA. BJ Penn got his black belt in three years, then went on to submit world champions. That was the gold standard. What’s the standard now? A decade of attendance, a few local tournament medals, and a steady stream of affiliate fees.

I think the biggest surprise for me was realizing how many black belts are more a testament to perseverance than to proficiency. And that’s fine, in a way. But let’s not pretend it means what it used to mean.

What’s your experience? Have you rolled with a black belt lately and thought, "That's it?"

The question of what constitutes a black belt, and indeed what the technical expectations are for one, is a historical rather than a purely contemporary discussion, extending back to the very origins of the belt system in Kano Jigoro’s Kodokan Judo. The idea that "the sheer number of black belts who have absolutely no business wearing one," as HoG Drama Desk suggested, is not a recent phenomenon.

Kano Jigoro, the founder of Judo, is generally credited with introducing the *dan* ranking system, including the black belt, around 1883, adapting it from the ranking system used in the game of Go. Initially, the black belt simply denoted a senior student who had achieved a certain proficiency, often for the purpose of assisting with instruction. It was not, in its earliest iteration, necessarily an indicator of elite competitive skill or exhaustive technical mastery in the way some modern expectations might imply. For instance, early Judo black belts, particularly those awarded in the pre-World War II era, would often be granted to individuals who had demonstrated a strong understanding of fundamental principles and who were committed to the dissemination of Judo, not exclusively to those who dominated tournaments.

The standardization of requirements has always been a point of contention and evolution. When Mitsuyo Maeda, a Kodokan Judoka, traveled to Brazil in 1914, he was a fourth-degree black belt (*yondan*), a rank that signified considerable experience and technical depth within the Kodokan system of that time. Yet, the specific curriculum and emphasis he brought to Brazil, which would eventually evolve into Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, had a different focus than the broader Kodokan curriculum back in Japan, which included more standing techniques. This divergence meant that the criteria for what constituted a high-level practitioner, and eventually a black belt in the nascent BJJ, began to shift.

In BJJ, the formalization of black belt criteria has largely been left to individual instructors and affiliations for much of its history, until the advent of organizations like the International Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu Federation (IBJJF) in 1994. The IBJJF, in an effort to standardize the sport, introduced specific graduation requirements for *dan* promotions, including time in grade and instructor approval, but even these are broad guidelines. The idea of a consistent "technical floor" for a black belt, even with the "unprecedented access to high-level instruction" of the internet age, remains fluid.

Perhaps the more enduring surprise is how much the *meaning* of the black belt continues to evolve, even as the specific technical demands change. What do you believe is the single most significant historical event that has reshaped the perception of the BJJ black belt?

What surprised me most after receiving my black belt was realizing how much of the "job" has nothing to do with actually rolling. HoG Drama Desk mentions the technical floor, and yes, that's part of it. But when you own a gym, your focus shifts. You're teaching 30-person beginner classes, trying to keep everyone safe, managing parent expectations after a kid gets a bloody nose, and ensuring the bills get paid. I’m not spending my mat time drilling elaborate berimbolos with other black belts; I’m walking around making sure a white belt isn’t going to tear their partner’s ACL attempting an armbar they saw on Instagram. The technical expectation of a black belt in a competitive context is one thing, but running a school, it’s about providing a safe, consistent environment for paying customers.

Coach Marcus is right about the teaching focus. At my GB school in Portland, we're seeing more new people than ever. For us blue belts, it often means helping out more in the Fundamentals classes. It's a structured curriculum, so week 3 is always mount escapes and maintaining side control. The biggest surprise for me watching the black belts teach isn't just their technique, but how much of it is managing expectations for brand new people who just want to learn one armbar. They're constantly tying everything back to the "Gracie Barra system," which can get a bit much, but it does help new students feel like they're part of something bigger. That kind of leadership isn't something you learn just by rolling.

I started BJJ at 47 and just earned my brown belt this year at 53. While I haven't hit black yet, the discussion about "what now" resonates even at my level. For masters competitors, it’s not just about what you *can* do, but what you *should* do to stay on the mats. I focus heavily on a specific warm-up that targets my hips and knees, which I developed after a minor MCL strain in 2021. This often means I'm not doing the same dynamic warm-up as the younger guys. I also avoid deep half guard. It just puts my knee in an awkward position that isn't worth the risk. My coach, Dave, has been great about offering modifications for submissions that stress my wrists or elbows, ensuring I can drill techniques safely without compromising my joint health. It's all about training for the body you have today.

What surprised me after getting the black was realizing how many people think it's just a gi rank. Like Coach Marcus touched on the "technical floor," but in no-gi, that floor is constantly shifting. There’s no IBJJF ruleset to lean on for points, so it's all about finishing.

I definitely felt the "what now" feeling that Linda mentioned, but for me, it was more about seeking out different challenges. EBI rulesets, ADCC trials – that's where the real evolution is happening. You look at someone like Kade Ruotolo, constantly innovating, even at the highest level. The game changes so fast when you don't have lapels to grab. Maintaining side control, which Tom brought up, becomes a completely different beast without those fabric grips. It forces you to get way better at things like shoulder pressure and underhooks.