Cowboy culture is a weird thing lately. You walk into a bar in Nashville or Austin, and you see rows of pristine felt hats that haven't ever seen a speck of real trail dust. It's performative. People are literally wearing "me me more cowboy than you" as a visible badge of honor, even if they've never been within ten feet of a steer.
It’s about the aesthetic. It’s about the grit we wish we had.
But what does it actually mean to be "more cowboy" in 2026? Most people think it’s about the boots. They’re wrong. Being a cowboy was originally a job description—a grueling, low-paying, dangerous job that involved sleeping in the dirt and smelling like livestock for six months straight. Now, it’s a lifestyle brand. We’ve turned a labor-intensive historical reality into a competitive social hierarchy where the person with the most expensive Lucchese boots or the widest brim wins the title.
The Competitive Edge of Me Me More Cowboy Than You
If you look at the rise of "Westerncore" on social media, you’ll see exactly how this competition plays out. It's a game of one-upmanship. You’ve got influencers who’ve never stepped foot on a ranch posting photos in $800 Stetson hats, trying to out-authenticity each other. This "me me more cowboy than you" attitude creates a strange friction between the people who actually do the work and the people who just like the vibe.
Authenticity is the currency here. Real ranchers—the ones waking up at 4:00 AM in the freezing cold to check fences—usually don't care about the fashion. They wear what works. Carhartt. Wranglers that are actually frayed at the hem because they’ve been catching on brush. Yet, the subculture that has grown around the cowboy image is obsessed with looking "rugged" in a way that is perfectly curated. It’s an irony that’s hard to ignore.
Why the Modern Cowboy Identity is So Competitive
Why do we care so much about being the "most" cowboy? It’s probably a reaction to how digital our lives have become. Everything is screens and glass. A cowboy represents the opposite of a Zoom call. He represents physical agency, land, and a lack of ambiguity.
When someone adopts the "me me more cowboy than you" stance, they are staking a claim on traditional masculinity or a specific type of American ruggedness. They want to be seen as the person who is most "in touch" with the dirt.
- The Gear: It starts with the hat. A 100X beaver fur felt hat says you have money. A beat-up straw hat says you might actually work.
- The Language: Using "sir" and "ma'am" or dropping "g's" off the ends of words becomes a tool for social positioning.
- The Vehicle: You aren't "cowboy" enough unless you’re driving a heavy-duty truck that is, quite frankly, too large for a suburban driveway.
It’s basically a costume for many, but for a few, it's a defensive posture against a changing world.
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The Historical Reality vs. The Performance
Let's talk facts. The original cowboys weren't the glamorous heroes we see in 1950s Westerns or modern TV shows like Yellowstone. According to the Smithsonian Institution, about one in four cowboys was Black. A huge portion were Vaqueros of Mexican descent. These were marginalized men doing a job most people didn't want.
The "me me more cowboy than you" posturing completely ignores this diverse, gritty history. Instead, it leans into a sterilized version of the frontier.
When you see someone today claiming they are "more cowboy" because they listen to Morgan Wallen and own a belt buckle the size of a dinner plate, they’re engaging in a modern myth. Real cowboying is about animal husbandry. It’s about understanding the land. It’s about the 1880s cattle drives where men like Bose Ikard—a real-life inspiration for characters in Lonesome Dove—proved their worth through skill, not through who had the flashiest gear.
The Nashville Effect and the "Y'all-ternative" Scene
Nashville has a lot to answer for regarding the "me me more cowboy than you" trend. Lower Broadway is a sea of bachelorette parties in pink cowgirl boots. It’s a multi-billion dollar industry built on the idea of the West.
There is a massive divide between "Red Dirt" country fans and the "Nashville Pop" crowd. The Red Dirt fans—think Tyler Childers or Sturgill Simpson—often look down on the glitzy side of the genre. They claim the "me me more cowboy than you" title by focusing on "the soul" of the music. They argue that if you didn't grow up in a rural area, you're just playing dress-up.
But isn't everyone playing dress-up to some extent? Even the most "authentic" singer is still choosing an image.
How to Spot Actual Cowboy Credibility
If you actually want to know who is "more cowboy," stop looking at the clothes. Look at their hands.
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Genuine cowboying involves a specific set of calluses. It involves a "horse sense" that you can't buy at a Western wear store. You can spot the difference in how someone carries themselves. A real hand doesn't need to tell you they are a cowboy. They just are.
- Rope burns: If someone has scars on their palms from dallying a rope, they’ve worked cattle.
- The Gait: A person who has spent ten hours a day in a saddle walks differently. It’s a slight bow-leggedness that comes from physical reality, not style.
- Silence: Usually, the louder someone is about being "country," the less they actually know about it.
The "me me more cowboy than you" crowd is usually the loudest in the room. They’re the ones gatekeeping who is allowed to wear a certain brand or listen to a certain artist. It's a form of tribalism.
The Psychological Lure of the Frontier
We are obsessed with this. Every decade or so, Western fashion comes back in a huge way. We saw it with the "Urban Cowboy" craze in the late 70s. We see it now with the massive success of Western-themed dramas.
People feel lost. They feel like they don't own anything real. Owning a pair of boots and a hat makes you feel like you belong to a lineage of survivors. It’s a powerful psychological anchor.
However, the competition of "me me more cowboy than you" often turns toxic. It leads to people mocking those who didn't grow up on a farm. It creates "posers" and "authentics." But the truth is, the frontier is gone. We’re all living in a modern world. Whether you live on a 5,000-acre ranch in Montana or a studio apartment in Chicago, you’re still using an iPhone and ordering stuff on Amazon.
Actionable Steps for Genuine Western Appreciation
Instead of worrying about being "more cowboy" than the guy next to you, focus on the actual values that the cowboy myth represents.
First, learn about the actual history of the American West. Read books like The Log of a Cowboy by Andy Adams, which is considered one of the most accurate accounts of a cattle drive ever written. It isn't flashy. It’s mostly about mud, tired horses, and river crossings.
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Second, support real rural communities. If you like the clothes, buy from small makers. Buy a custom hat from a hatter who uses traditional methods. Buy boots that can be resoled and repaired.
Third, stop gatekeeping. If someone wants to wear a cowboy hat because they think it looks cool, let them. The "me me more cowboy than you" attitude only serves to make the community smaller and more bitter.
Finally, if you really want that "cowboy" feeling, get out of the city. Go to a working ranch that offers lessons. Learn how to actually groom a horse or move cattle. You’ll quickly realize that the fashion is the least important part of the experience. You'll likely end up dirty, sore, and humbled. And that—more than any belt buckle—is what being a cowboy is actually about.
Western culture is a living, breathing thing. It's okay for it to evolve. But let's stop the contest. Being "more cowboy" shouldn't be about who has the best costume. It should be about who has the most respect for the heritage, the land, and the hard work that built the image in the first place.
If you're going to talk the talk, be prepared to walk the walk—ideally in boots that have actually seen some dirt.
Understand that the aesthetic is a tribute, not a birthright. When you stop trying to prove you're "more" than someone else, you can actually start enjoying the culture for what it is. Respect the roots, ignore the noise, and keep your heels down. That’s the only way to actually honor the tradition without looking like you’re trying too hard. Trust the process and let the dirt do the talking.