They people our imagination of the American West: tall, tan, handsome cowboys and lithe, beautiful cowgirls. There is only one slight problem. They don't exist.
On the historical photographic evidence, they never did. But lest I seem too definite, I will admit that some (not many) contemporary young Nevadans (to pick on my new home state) may indeed hit a moment of visual appeal in their late teens and early twenties. It is instructive how quickly it passes, though. Hard living, hard partying, and hard substance-using, combined with a lack of self-care foreign to us preening urbanites, insure that the moment is but a moment. It's quickly downhill from twenty-five.
In my three months in northern Nevada, I've seen exactly six men who, on looks and presentation, merited a second look (and my pulse, I assure you, is not that tough to quicken). Two of those fell in the early twenties category, although neither of those was remotely "Western"; I haven't seen a single good-looking man in a cowboy hat, despite my being partial to that look. I think all the good-looking cowboys these days are actually singers (Clint Black, Brad Paisley, Keith Anderson, Jason Meadows). As Daniel Akst comments in his brilliant essay "Looks Do Matter," we've outsourced the business of looking good and dressing well to celebrities.
One of the six "lookers" I've seen is a local celebrity, a thirty-something Democratic politician who ranks high in state government and certainly knows how to wear a suit; Carson City residents will have no difficulty guessing who I mean. He has an absolutely picture-perfect family, too, and I fully expect him to be Governor of the state, or a U.S. Senator, within ten years. I have no doubt he expects it, too.
But in general, I must look to the manifest beauty of the natural landscape here to make up for the lack of beauty in the human landscape. You can't have everything.
Breakfast is being served
3 years ago
