Cowboy hats, “some guns but also some liberal[s],” Beyoncé, accents, prom mums, the color orange, cacti, “sh*tty f*cking politicians,” good music, “big gun, American flag” and barbecue are what come to NWA students’ minds when prompted with “Texas.”
It wasn’t apparent to me until moving away from Texas that this was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to stereotyping. I would now, and would for the foreseeable future, receive the brunt of all Texas-related jokes.
A friend in Texas advised me to heavily play into the country-aesthetic when I moved to Portland. I was living in Houston at the time, a concrete jungle of culture, the largest city in Texas and 4th largest in the nation. The “aesthetic” included convincing people I used to ride my horse to school (I’ve never owned a horse), that I carried my gun in a holster (I’ve never owned a gun) and that I ate Tex-Mex for breakfast everyday (I’ve never been a big fan of the cuisine).
But there was no need for convincing. It was already assumed.
I’d receive a mostly warm welcome from the North, but not without some very presumptuous questions heavily informed by the stereotypes around my home state.
“Have you ever been in a duel?”
“Did you bring your .45 today?”
“Are you one of those raging Trumpy Republicans?
“Are the horses actually a part of the church services?”
The answer to all of those questions is “no” and will always be “no,” although I wouldn’t dare back down from a duel if the opportunity presented itself and I’m sure someone has included their horse in a Sunday service once before.
I quickly recognized that what most people knew of Texas was what they’d seen in movies and in the news. But who was I to blame? I thought Portlanders were a bunch of hippies and druggies with seasonal depression and coffee addictions. They thought I was a horse-ridin’, gun-slingin’, red-votin’, school-shootin’, meat-eatin’, country-listenin’ cowgirl. Now, to be clear, I have ridden a horse, I have shot a gun, I do eat meat, I do listen to Willie Nelson and I do, very fashionably, wear a hat and boots on occasion. But none of those things are daily occurrences for me. Further, I do not own a .45 or any other gun for that matter–nor do I stand with all Texas legislation–like the recent restrictions on abortion–or that I represent every other Texan.
As with all stereotypes, there is a reason they exist. Texas has appeared in recent years on the news for multiple mass shootings including at a Walmart in El Paso, a mall in Allen and at Uvalde’s Robb Elementary. In 2023, Texas headlined news networks for restricting access to abortions and in 2024 for the actions of its political leaders such as Gov. Greg Abbott.
This is all to say that Texas’ reputation precedes itself, more so than many other U.S. states. Its relevance in both the media and U.S. history gives Texas prominence at the regional and national levels. So, it’s reasonable for non-Texans to be hyper aware of Texas stereotypes, and assume they’re factual and applicable to all residents.
“Texas is such a key American influence,” said junior Phineas Silverman. “People think of the South [and of] Texas in a very stereotypical way.” He continued on to list off what he thought of in regards to Texas. “There are a lot of horses. I’m just thinking about horses. Horses. So many horses.”
It’s true. We do have a lot of horses. In fact, the most of any state, at nearly 800,000. But it’s also true that the stereotypes can be overdramatized.
Wren Alger, a sophomore who visited Texas in April, concluded that some of his preconceived notions were disproved, but not all.
“There are connotations with hardcore Republicans,” Alger said. “I think that’s the image I got from the media. I don’t portray [Texas] as a very red-necky place [though]… People are pretty tolerant. It felt on par with Portland,” he said. “[There are] a lot of cowboy boots and cowboy hats [though]… a lot of big trucks and Southern culture.”
Texan culture should not be related to guns, abortions, governors or the headlines you see in the news. It should be about singing “Deep in the Heart of Texas” by a campfire, racing armadillos and cooking biscuits and gravy with your Mimi.
Texas should be known for its sunshine, however unforgiving it can be, and the way that vibrance shines through its people. I’d grown accustomed to Southern hospitality, cordial conversation with strangers on the street and boxes of rodeo-themed cookies when I moved to a new part of town. You’d invite your neighbors over for a glass of sweet tea on a summer day or compete in a seed spitting contest at the Luling Watermelon Thump.
When I moved to Portland, I received a half smile, at best, and side eyes as I greeted strangers in passing with “good morning!” My friends quickly informed me that wasn’t something they did here. You kept your head low, eyes glued to the gray of the sidewalk so as to mind your own business or keep the rain from fogging your vision. But I wasn’t about to change that part of myself. I kept talking. Some people eventually started responding, after the sun appeared out of the rainy season that is.
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