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City Pulse: Finally becoming a cowgirl

By Bianca Montes
Oct. 2, 2013 at 5:02 a.m.

Buying a pair of cowgirl boots is like a defining moment in life, such as getting measured for your first bra or multiple failures looking like Ronald McDonald while choosing the perfect shade of red lipstick.

Buying a pair of cowgirl boots is like a defining moment in life, such as getting measured for your first bra or multiple failures looking like Ronald McDonald while choosing the perfect shade of red lipstick.

There are tall ones.

Short ones.

Wide ones and narrow ones. Black ones, white ones, tan ones and even glittery pink ones. I'm talking about cowgirl boots, and I've got a Texas-sized confession to make: I've never owned a pair.

Mea culpa.

I've owned tons of boots, from dark burgundy Dr. Martens with the steel-toe kicker to a shameful collection of Uggs - don't judge me - but I've never taken the plunge to the old westerner store and gotten my hands on the leathery wonder that makes anyone look authentic and cool.

A photographer at the Advocate owns a pair of cowgirl boots, and when she struts through the newsroom, I always think, "that's a cool chick" (sorry, Angeli).

However, when it comes down to owning a pair, I'm conflicted. I don't know if it's the California girl in me desperately grasping the last shred of west coast swag I have - I started saying y'all a long time ago; I actually prefer the greasy Whataburger to the In-N-Out burger; and I kicked Pepsi to the curb a long time ago for its spicy brother Dr. Pepper - or if I'm just afraid I'll look like a big ol' phony in my undoubtedly too pink and too bedazzled boots.

And then came Bootfest.

Bootfest brought all this torment to the forefront of my life, and I'm suddenly considering a purchase to show off at the shindig that's designed to celebrate the rich ranching heritage in our region and all things boots.

Here goes nothing.

Wait. Here goes everything. Buying a pair of cowgirl boots is like a defining moment in life, such as getting measured for your first bra or multiple failures looking like Ronald McDonald while choosing the perfect shade of red lipstick. So, excuse me while I mosey into Cavender's, handkerchief in hand, and post one too many selfies on Instagram, but this is kind of a big deal to me.


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