Lately, I’ve been just a little… cowboy crazy.
No, not that kind of cowboy crazy. 😉 Although I will admit, a handsome cowboy in a great pair of boots certainly doesn’t hurt.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been spending so much time in my happy place, Jackson Hole. Maybe it’s the mountain air, or the country music that’s been playing on repeat around here. Or maybe the whole Western revival has simply, officially lassoed me in. Whatever it is, I’m all in.
The fashion world isn’t exactly helping. My dear friend Lela Rose has me swooning over her Ranch Collection, where embroidered shirts and beautifully tailored Western pieces feel equal parts ranch hand and runway. Then there’s Sweethearts of the Rodeo, the boot company founded by former British Vogue fashion editors Charlotte Pilcher and Vanessa Gillingham: beautifully made, impossibly chic, and exactly the kind of forever piece I love collecting. And can we please talk about Kujten? Their cashmere Western shirts are dangerously good, the kind of thing you buy in one color and somehow end up owning in three. (Ask me how I know.)
Naturally, every cowboy era deserves a soundtrack. Ella Langley has been on repeat, especially “You Look Like You Love Me” featuring Riley Green, which may or may not have become my unofficial Jackson Hole anthem.
But what has surprised me most is that this Western obsession hasn’t stayed in my closet. It’s about to find its way onto my walls.
The pieces we choose to live with should tell a story. My friend Cece Karz, an incredibly gifted art adviser, introduced me to the Los Angeles artist Sarah Miska, and I’ve been captivated ever since. I just purchased one of her paintings, Snaffle on Campjack, from her show currently up in LA. It hasn’t made its way home yet, and I already find myself thinking about exactly where it will hang.
I’ve always believed the magic is in the details: the trim on a lampshade, the edge of a plate, the patina on an old chair. Sarah paints the West the same way. Not the sweeping landscape, but the details that tell the whole story: a horse’s muzzle, worn leather tack, a weathered pair of Wranglers, the quiet conversation between horse and rider. Her paintings are intimate and beautifully observed, and they capture both the grit and the grace of the American West. They don’t romanticize it.
They honor it.
I have a feeling this won’t be my last Sarah Miska.
Which made me realize that what draws me to this cowboy moment has very little to do with what’s in my closet, or even on my walls. It’s about how people live. It’s about slowing down. It’s about gathering.
A few weeks ago, Nick and I hosted an end-of-summer dinner for twenty-five friends in one of our favorite meadows overlooking Teton Valley. I wanted it to feel less like an event and more like something guests simply happened upon while wandering through the mountains. A beautiful dinner hiding in a meadow.
Guests were greeted with a cocktail the moment they arrived: margaritas, Ranch Waters, and Old Fashioneds poured from a simple wooden bar. Drinks in hand, they wandered down a lantern-lit trail into the meadow, where a bluegrass band was already playing and the sun was just beginning to slip behind the Tetons.
Under the tent waited one long table. Olive velvet drapery softened the poles and fell in loose folds along the sides, while woven rattan pendants glowed overhead. The table was layered with marbled linens, green rattan chargers, pink-rimmed china, scalloped wooden salad plates, horn-handled flatware, blush glassware, green votives, embroidered floral napkins, and tiny pleated lamps, along with overflowing arrangements of dahlias, cosmos, zinnias, lisianthus, and Queen Anne’s lace that looked as though they’d been gathered from the meadow that morning. The grass came right up to the chairs, and conversations stretched longer than anyone planned.
Cocktails turned into dinner. Dinner turned into music. Music turned into one of those evenings when no one wanted to leave.
My favorite part? Nothing matched.
If you know me at all, that won’t surprise you. I’ve never believed entertaining should feel overly perfect or overly themed. The magic is always in the layering: vintage mixed with new, pretty mixed with practical, flowers that lean a little, glasses that don’t all match. Those collected imperfections are what make a table feel welcoming instead of staged.
Perhaps that’s exactly why this Western aesthetic speaks to me. It isn’t really about fringe, or cowboy hats, or even boots. It’s about authenticity and craftsmanship. It’s about collecting things that grow more meaningful with time, whether that’s a pair of boots, a beloved painting, or friends gathered around a table.
It’s boots in the grass instead of heels on pavement. Bourbon instead of champagne. Wildflowers instead of perfectly arranged roses. Country music drifting through the evening, the mountains turning pink, one more story, one more song. No one checking their phone.
Those are the evenings I remember. Those are the homes I want to create. Those are the moments I want to collect.
Not because any of it is fashionable, but because it reminds us how beautiful simple things can be. Beautiful scenery. Good food. Country music. Wonderful friends. A table set with love. And a life that’s just a little slower.
Now that’s my kind of cowboy culture.
I’ve gathered my favorite Western pieces in one place: the embroidered Lela Rose shirt I’ve been wearing on repeat, my Kujten cashmere shirts, Sweethearts of the Rodeo boots, the linens, glassware, and horn-handled pieces I’d set a ranch table with, and a handful of things that simply make me smile every time I put them on.
Because if you’re going to embrace your cowboy era, you may as well do it in style.
♡ Don’t over-theme the West. A few authentic pieces will always feel more collected than costume.
♡ Mix leather, linen, wood, and woven textures. Nature does the decorating for you.
♡ A beautiful pair of boots only gets better with age.
♡ Country music belongs on every dinner party playlist, at least for one evening.
♡ Entertain outdoors whenever you can.
♡ Stay for one more song.
XO,
Hillary
