“I wish I knew how to quit you,” Ennis Del Mar spits bitterly into the cool Wyoming breeze.

Surrounded by the picturesque slopes of Brokeback Mountain and dressed in traditional western cowboy attire, this clipped confession is equal parts romantic and heartbreaking, and the accompanying scene perfectly encapsulates the tragedy that is Ang Lee’s 2005 cinematic masterpiece Brokeback Mountain. The movie follows the decades-long love story of queer cowboys Jack Twist and Ennis Del Mar. Based on the 1997 short story by Annie Proulx, the film’s influence on popular (and queer) culture cannot be understated. Gutted audiences applauded the juxtaposition of Brokeback Mountain’s tragic plot and rich idyllic aesthetic qualities, subsequently pushing the movie directly into mainstream limelight.

Now, let’s flash forward to summer of 2023: Beyoncé’s highly-anticipated Renaissance World Tour is in full swing and the “Coastal Cowgirl” trend is flooding my entire TikTok “For You Page”. Like many of my peers at the time, I could not go 10 minutes without seeing a metallic cowboy hat or the unmistakable weathered leather of vintage cowboy boots. As I scroll through hours of this content, I cannot help but think of Brokeback Mountain. I am also struck by the fact that the cowboy aesthetic, which was once considered predominantly heterosexual and hypermasculine, has transformed into a symbol of queer and gender-nonconforming iconography.

I’m also reminded of my childhood in Kentucky—a state known for its horses and grass (and, unfortunately, Mitch McConnell)—where a similar, yet somewhat morphed, cowboy aesthetic has been adopted. For years, I was surrounded by wanna-be cowboys with wide-brimmed hats and leather boots. However, it wasn’t until my junior year of high school that I purchased my first pair of cowboy boots. They were vintage, bright red, and so unlike the basic boots that were abundant in my southern state.

Looking back, I think this purchase was a form of subconscious queer signaling. The bold hue of my boots subverted the traditional clothing and stereotypes of the Kentucky “farm boys” I knew, but their classic shape and style was still undoubtedly masculine. When I paired these boots with my stiff Catholic school skirt and polo, which I frequently did during my junior and senior year, I was sharing a part of myself that I couldn’t yet put into words. I felt powerful and cool and authentically me.

In her 2012 book Queer Cinema: Schoolgirls, Vampires, and Gay Cowboys, author Barbara Caroline Mennel describes the way Ang Lee intertwines queerness with aesthetic: “Brokeback Mountain follows the genre conventions of the western with long takes of wide shots that show the open spaces of wild nature, accompanied by a sound of a single guitar track.”

The film effectively uses this traditional western cinematography to give audiences a deeper understanding of Ennis and Jack’s queerness, which is generally unspoken throughout the film. Just as the image of Beyoncé straddling a diamond-studded horse with a cowboy hat in hand; or Lil Nas X’s embellished western blazers and reimagined country tunes; or queer coastal cowgirls on TikTok with micro-bangs and maxi skirts; or Catholic school girls with blood-red boots in Kentucky; all scream QUEER! in a powerful, yet unspoken, way.

Cowboy Boots and Queer Culture