English men, on the whole, don’t seem too concerned about the way they look. Put a man in a comfortable trouser and a baggy sweater and by and large he’ll be happy. Men don’t usually take a lot of notice about what they wear, and most would happily let their wives choose their clothes for them, but, take an English man out of England and put him in cowboy country and a strange transformation takes place. The mountain air and close proximity to real cowboys seems to bring out the dandy in some men; they suddenly start to care about what they’re wearing, they stop walking and start strutting, and it’s not hard to see why. Most English families seem to use a trip to a dude ranch as an excuse to get busy with the dressing-up box. The women tend to limit themselves to a new pair of boots and a cowboy hat, but the men really go to town. It has to be said that a western store is a pretty exciting place; all boys love to dress up as cowboys and the excitement generated by trying on a big hat and a pair of chaps is clearly undiminished by the onset of manhood. Cowboys are rough and tough, they talk slow and ride fast, and who wouldn’t want to emulate them? The sad thing is that try as they might, English men just can’t seem to carry it off.

Ranch dressing can turn a limp lettuce and a couple of cherry tomatoes into a really exciting salad, but when applied to a limp, boring Englishman, ranch dressing, if applied too liberally, can cause arousal – and not in a nice way...

It would take a brave man indeed to mosey around in a pair of tight chaps back home, but not here. One man in particular seems to be especially pleased with his protective trouserings. He appears to be a sailing type, all floppy hair and deck shoes, but since he’s abandoned his Musto for a mustang there’s no holding him back, Every morning he will stand by the corral, carefully adjusting his new chaps. So pleased is he with the way he looks, that he is quite unselfconscious about tightening and then loosening the belt on his chaps until just the right amount of butchness is achieved. He pulls up his trousers inside the chaps and then pulls them down, and then, once the chaps are fitted to his satisfaction, he is faced with the difficult dilemma of how to stand. He usually begins by hooking his thumbs into his belt loops and adopting the classis John Wayne ‘legs wide apart’ stance. He likes this pose, and will hold it for several minutes, until enough people have checked out his apparel; and then he works up the courage to move on to the more advanced and rather more arousing ‘one foot up on the bench’ position. This is not a stance for the timid man, for it thrusts to the fore the trouser parts that an English man usually likes to keep to himself. There is nowhere to hide the crutch in a pair of chaps – it is framed, it is out there and it is going to get noticed. I try not to look, but it’s hard not to stare when you see a man who is so clearly in love with the uniquely liberating ‘tackle out’ feeling.

The wranglers look perfectly at home in their chaps, but that’s because they are an essential part of their working uniform. An Englishman in chaps, on the other hand, just looks like an escapee from a home counties gay pride march.

I’m back home now, but when I think of that man in chaps, I get a disturbing image of his head sitting on Christina Aguilara’s body. He’s shaking his ass and singing Christina’s hit song ‘Dirrty’. I can picture the video - he’s sweaty, he’s wearing a cravat, he has on a pair of baggy y-fronts under his chaps, and when he turns around he’s got the word ‘Floppy’ written on his backside.

Oh God, please make it go away, please stop music, stop the words coming into my head….

Dirrrty (English version)

Ooh, give me some room, I’ve lifted my leg a little too soon,
I thought I’d stand and take the air, but something’s tangled up down there.
The wranglers look hot – so do I, my chaps have poppers down the side,
I need some help to get them off, they cut my circulation off,
I can’t ride but I’ve got the gear, let me turn round – check out my rear,
Zipped them up and they fit me snugly, haven’t felt this butch since I played rugby,
Look at my hat, I’m such a prat,
Gonna stride about, wanna shout ‘Closet’s open, let me out!’

Chorus
Gonna get dirrrty, put my chaps on in a hurry,
My wife thinks I look funny,
Gonna get dirty,
It’s about time that I got up on my horsey,
But I'm feeling so naughty, sweat’s dripping over my body,
Zip’s caught - hurry,
I've got feelings for my wrangler...

Ouch, they’re pinching me, I think I’ve pulled a muscle in my knee,
Free and easy, the way I like, perfect when I ride my bike,
Get funny looks at my local pub, I’ve got a big sore where they rub,
But I like the way they feel, strutting in my cowboy heels,
I’m a tax inspector from Cobham,
Don’t get out much, still live with my mum,
Bought these chaps on E-Bay last Monday,
Going to get real leather ones someday.
P.V.C. means they’re easy to clean,
You can see my cheeks, and they squeak when I waaaaaallk

Chorus
Gonna get naughty, feeling a little unruly,
They’re not used to chaps in Surrey,
Wanna get rowdy,
Walk in the Spar and they all shout, ‘Howdy!’
Platform three at Waterloo station, in a state of great agitation,
Gonna get fired,
It’s about time for my medication.


© Kate Boydell 2004. All rights reserved. e-mail: [email protected]. Close window.