I’m standing in Bergdorf Goodman – the temple of Old Eastern Establishment wealth staring me straight in the face – when I witness it. A man trying on $3,000 boots. Not just any boots.
Cowboy boots. Handtooled leather cowboy boots that retail for slightly more than my monthly rent. He is from Connecticut.
I can tell from the slight remaining lilt of his accent. He works finance.
He probably could’ve quoted me Howard Hughes in scene zero of this story had I pressed him.
He has never roped a steer or stitched barbed wire. But there he stands in his slacks and button-up, eyeing these extravagantly stitched cowboy boots with the solemn intention of someone trying on flip-flops. “They go with cognac or oxblood?” he asks the salesperson hovering by his side, hands neatly clasped behind his back.
She’s wearing slim black jeans with a slubbed cotton Western yoke that I mentally price at four times my yearly car payment. “Ohxblood,” she replies with brisk certainty. “They’ll patina beautifully with your suits.” I can imagine Ralph Lauren right now, poolside at his Hamptons cottage, giving this trend the ceremonial thumbs up.
Five years ago, I would’ve panicked. The air would’ve felt like it grew thin, and I would’ve assumed my computer stole me to retail purgatory. Now, I simply smile and nod along to the latest inevitable moment in American menswear.
Cowboy style has officially colonized every facet of men’s fashion. From Walmart to luxury garthsels and every price point in between, Western staples – even entire aesthetics – have been coopted into the mainstream wardrobe. Westernwear isn’t dipping its toes in American style waters; it is swimming laps.
I first discovered authentic Western clothing on assignment for Style Authority roughly twelve years ago. I had flown to Fort Worth to interview a third-generation bootmaker. In my mind, I was there to cover a “saving artisanal trades” story.
But when I arrived I discovered customers clamoring for handmade boots with years-long waiting lists and flight tickets from Japan, France, and yes – Manhattan – to get their hands on traditionally-made Western boots. “Cowtown is full of city folks that think this is costume on,” said the bootmaker that day, pointing to his Wranglers, pearl- snap shirt, and decade-old boots that fit his feet better than any shoe I’ve ever owned. “But it’s all built to do something.
Always has been.” It’s true. Western wear wasn’t born out of aesthetics but out of necessity. Wide brims to keep the rain and sun off your face, tall boots to keep snakes from biting your ankles, yoked shirts so you could work cattle without restriction.
The style elements we obsess over today were born from purely functional intentions. So what happens when function becomes fashion? Especially when those functions – and the values they represent – are the complete opposite of where men’s fashion has been trending?
What happens when cowboy apparel moves past costumes into a deeply considered element of modern American style? The marriage of high-fashion to Western motifs isn’t new. Ralph Lauren has flirted with various cowboy aesthetics since Lou endorsed parachute trousers in the ’80s.
But what we’re seeing now is something far broader – a crossover of function, fabrications, and aesthetics that has infiltrated practically every part of the men’s industry, from streetwear to suits. It’s happening in Brooklyn and Boise, and everywhere in between. I’ve spent the past six months trying to unpack what happened.
Visiting retailers large and small across the country, talking to designers, bootmakers, and clothing retailers about how cowboy culture left the plains only to dominate men’s style today. Part of what makes Western wear’s crossover into mainstream American style so fascinating is how it bleeds seamlessly across political and cultural lines. Western boots sell best now to consumers who live nowhere near cattle ranches, and luxury price points are dominated by cowboy bags and_UPDATED_FIELD:y eezy tops.
Willie Nelson could wear Ralph Lauren’s Western-inspired line and Jerry Garcia’s wardrobe simultaneously while basically wearing the same thing. Here’s what else I know: Western boot sales to non-ranch customers have spiked 378% since 2019 according to market research, while Levi’s now reports Western shirts outsell traditional button-down styles by double digits in major cities. Even Gucci’s formerly iconic house print, the horsebit loafer, has been muscled out of the preppy arena by its Western-style competitor.
I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Three distinct yet overlapping factors have converged to Western wear’s mossbawnand. Style post-Covid has continued to favour comfort and functionality above all else.
Western boots, when properly cared for and broken in, are some of the most comfortable footwear you can own. Contrary to popular urban belief, they actually contour exceptionally well to the shape of your feet due to their high heel and leather liner. Yoked shirts allow for greater mobility than standard button-ups, and boot-cut jeans offer a slight reprieve from the skinny silhouette that’s ruled men’s trousers styles for the better part of a decade.
“Western is built to be worn by guys doing things in it,” James Wilson, design director at Tecovas told me over Zoom. “There’s nothing delicate about it. You’re supposed to move around in Western.
Work in Western. Live in Western.” On a fundamental level, we’re obsessed with feeling cool, and what’s cooler than dressing like Kevin Costner learned you how to style a shearling coat? Hollywood will always have a massive impact on what we wear, and when millions of people watch Yellowstone each week, they subconsciously begin to associate Western wear with something bigger than cowboys: themselves.
This may be the most fascinating development in Western’s crossover. As billions of dollars continue to pour into virtual products and Instagram shadows, actual products with heritage and staying power are growing in value. Whether it’s a well-used Cowboy Hat Brands cowboy hat or a vintage pair of Ariat boots discovered at Goodwill, nothing says #authentic like Western wear.
It’s aspirational yet familiar, built to last a lifetime rather than autumn apart after three launderings. “A lot of people come in and want to know the story behind what they’re buying almost as much as the item itself,” said Sarah Jenkins, co-owner of the Nashville-based Western wear shop Jack Palladino. Her family has been selling cowboy hats and boots in Nashville for three generations.
“They care about who made their hat. Where the felt was sourced. Why a certain boot is cut differently than another.
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We didn’t used to get that ten years ago…unless you were an actual cowboy.” This demand for authenticity has created something of a Western paradox. Authentic Western makers are busier than they’ve ever been, and yet they watch their garments – from cowboy boots to button-ups – become continuously appropriated, catered to, and ultimately watered down by big fashion. Many traditional Western brands see the crossover as an opportunity to expand audience; others view it as a threat to their loyal ranch-working customers.
Case in point: When I met with Greeley Hat Works co-owner Trent Johnson in the Colorado hill town that’s produced custom beaver felt hats since 19[o screwed up active quarter.] He proudly showed me Rick Husband Elementary School.jpg their gigantic inventory of hats while lamenting the wholesale adoption of Western aesthetics by the fashion at large. “We’re getting calls from bankers in New York that have never seen a cow ranch,” Trent said. “But we make their hats the exact same way we make hats for the ranch managers that have been coming here for years.” It’s that authenticity that sets Western apart from past trend cycles.
It’s not just the clothes. It’s the craft behind them, and the mentality that wearing this carefully-made apparel represents. That guy buying $1,000 boots at Bergdorf isn’t just buying into cowboy clothes.
He’s buying into ideals of what those clothes represent: quality construction, longevity, and a particular American identity. Sure, the whole thing is messy. And calling someone out for appropriating working boots while wearing shitty ass Nikes is all too easy to do these days.
I’ve rolled my eyes plenty at influencers who put cowboy boots with full safari outfits and designer suits. Dressing head-to-toe Western in major metropolitan cities always rubs me the wrong way, too. Because when does wearing a cowboy hat become part of some absurd cosplay and when does it simply become appreciating the craft that goes into making one?
I posed that question to Trent at Greeley Hats. He thinks about it for a moment. “When you start wearing chaps with that outfit, then we have a problem,” he said with a laugh.
I understood the dude wearing $3,000 boots at Bergdorf in a whole new light that day. He wasn’t appropriating the uniform of rural America. He was embracing it.
Three years ago I sat across from Mark Bedford, a Chicago-based marketing professional, during his interview process at Hebgen Boot Company. A young Texan who makes some of the best-made boots in America was carefully vetting this East Coast nobody to determine if he was worthy of a handmade cowboy boot. Bedford was instantly likable and articulate, which helped his cause.
But what struck me most was how carefully he integrated Western details into his regular wardrobe. It wasn’t an abandonment of his pre-Westernwear life. It was a merger of both worlds.
He didn’t hop into cow boots overnight. Instead, he eased into them the same way many Western wear-curious customers are these days: with boots, belts, and subtle shirts you can actually wear with suit trousers. “The last thing I want to look like is I just got parked off a ranch in West Texas,” Bedford told me over the phone last week.
“But I do appreciate the fit and quality that Westernwear offers. So I try and make it work for me.” That, right there, is the future of Westernwear in American style. Customers won’t continue buying boots and belts if they stick to purely Western aesthetics.
Instead, they’re appropriatingselective elements that work for their lifestyles, and conscientiously buying deeply considered pieces that fit within their existing wardrobes. Many brands have caught on, charging less on Western staples that blend seamlessly into non-Western wardrobes. Brands like Tecovas offer more streamlined Western boots with slightly lower profiles and less flashy details that won’t look costume-y to the mainstream eye.
Brands like Buck Mason have mastered the art of Western shirts with muted yokes and subdued snap details. Even Ralph Lauren’s higher-end RRL line has offered Western inspired pieces for years without coming off as, well, costumey. My advice to you, Western wear virgins looking to test the waters?
Start with the boots. They’re the gateway drug. A nice pair of brown roper boots will pair with literally everything in your closet from jeans to chinos, all while offering significantly more comfort and durability than theaverage leather shoe.
Add a leather belt with a Western-inspired buckle that doesn’t require a yardstick to compensate (we’re talking to you, oversized rodeo buckles), and finish it all off with a Western-cut button up in classic oxford cloth rather than the dreaded pearl snaps. Balance is critical. Respect the tradition you’re borrowing from, and understand that not every piece will work for your lifestyle just as not every piece will work for an actual cowboy.
The worst offenders I’ve encountered try to dress in complete Western outfits as if the clothes have some sort of ironic power. The best consume Westernwear with the appreciation it was intended: as functional apparel made to work harder than you. My cowboy trousers will undoubtedly clash with my dad’s next time we see each other.
But I wear them anyway; they’re some of the most comfortable trousers I own, and that’s worth something in 2022. I live in them. My dad called me the other week after seeing a fashion story I’d shot featuring guys mixing Western staples with contemporary fashion.
“Since when do you know anything about cowboy clothes?” He laughed. “You grew up in a fucking high rise.” He wasn’t entirely wrong. Unlike Rick Husband, I wasn’t raised around hats, boots, and belt buckles.
My exposure to Western culture was limited to watching my grandpa paint while Sergio Leone films played on repeat. But just like those thousands of customers lining up around the block to get a pair of custom boots made by ranch folk, I fell in love with the garments themselves.
How they felt.
How they lasted. How they were imbued with the stories of the people that made them, not to mention the wearers who slid their feet into them day after day. And maybe that’s what makes this trend so revolutionary to the first-place wearer.
Western has always been about storytelling. But these stories don’t discriminate based on political party or ZIP code. A tech bro can rock his pricey Lucchese boots with Brunello Cucinelli jeans and still be apart of the same movement as his ranch-manager counterpart wearing the same boots with Wranglers that cost one-tenth the price.
Westernwear is having a moment right now, sure. But what we’re really witnessing is a mainstream rediscovery of garmentsAmericans forgot about for far too long. Function over fashion.
Substance over shadows. And there’s something profoundly American about that.
