LAS VEGAS — Horse riding is all fine and well, but rodeos are definitely something else. Of course, seen from France, the cowboy is a very exotic character — a rugged stereotype smelling of beast and sweat who arrives in our wet dreams preceded by a cloud of dust. But in the United States, beyond all folklore, the cowboy is still very much part of the landscape of livestock regions.
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In the land of NASCAR, monster trucks and doughnut burgers, the rodeo is a leisure activity like any other. And gays did not wait for the Village People or Brokeback Mountain to appropriate the activity: the first gay rodeo was organized in 1976, and since 1985 there has been an International Gay Rodeo Association active only in the United States and Canada.
As always in this country, we start with the national anthem — followed by that of Mexico. Under the crushing September sun, in Las Vegas’ Horsemans Park stadium, David Lawson tucks his checkered shirt into his jeans and readjusts his cowboy hat before mounting his horse. He takes one last look at his best friend, Gary, and darts off galloping in the arena.
Open and inclusive
With a nimble hand, David whips the air with his lasso with his sights set on a cavorting calf at the other end of the dirt track. And, little effort, he succeeds in bringing the animal to the ground, unleashing thunderous applause in the stands.
A gay rodeo is just like a classic rodeo: cowboys ride horses to lasso cattle, try to hold on to a raging bull as long as possible or compete in a speed race between barrels. Oh, there’s also some extra glitter and rainbow flags, as well as shows that are more queer than usual, like the Wild Drag Race, where a drag queen tries to tame a steer.
Everyone is friendly and they don’t judge others.
But the most notable feature remains the inclusiveness of the event: In a milieu that can be homophobic and sexist, gay rodeos welcome everyone with pleasure, and the events are mixed.
“When I learned about gay rodeo several years ago, I wanted to participate but I thought that I couldn’t as a straight person,” recalls Stephanie Malone, a real estate agent during the week and cowgirl on the weekend. “The organizers immediately reassured me and explained that they accept everyone with great pleasure. From the first competition, I loved it. Everyone is friendly and they don’t judge others. Where as the atmosphere at traditional rodeos reminds me of high school, with a group of bitches who have fun putting down the weakest.”
Big beasts ridden bareback
Gay rodeo was born 700 km northwest of Las Vegas, in Reno, Nevada. In 1975, businessman Phil Ragsdale imagined an event intended to raise funds for the city’s seniors’ Thanksgiving party and fight against LGBTphobic stereotypes. The beginnings were difficult, and local livestock farmers even refused to lend animals.
But on October 1, 1976, Phil managed to rustle up five cows, 10 calves, a pig and a Shetland pony, as well as 125 participants. In the end, they were crowned the “King of the cowboys,” the “Queen of the cowgirls” and “Miss Dusty Spurs” — that is to say a drag queen.
The model spread to all corners of the United States where there are cowboys, and success was achieved: In 1980, the Reno event exceeded 10,000 spectators and brought in ,000 for the Muscular Dystrophy Association. And when, in 1983, the spectators chose for themselves which cause the price of their ticket should go to support, the majority chose the AIDS Foundation. Phil Ragsdale died of the disease on June 1, 1992, but gay rodeo has survived.
A safe space
In the stands of Horseman’s Park, the atmosphere rises a notch with the announcement of an event that the whole world envies in a gay rodeo: entering the arena to put underwear on a goat.
“I’m more used to taking them off than putting them on,” one man surreptitiously says to his friend. The audience, made up of single men, couples, groups of friends and families with children, wildly applauds the courageous participants. Apart from the successive events, entertainment punctuates the weekend: spitting watermelon seeds, karaoke or drag queen shows, etc.
The refreshment stand is always full, but it’s for a good cause: The funds raised are always donated to charitable associations. Leaving with a prize is not these participants’ main motivation. “We spend more to come here with our huge camper van and our horses. But we still continue to compete in the events to see our friends again,” Malone says. “Unlike other sports, in gay rodeo you only earn money if you are among the best. There is still a spirit of competition.”
Despite the atmosphere, the stands are sparse, raising questions about the uncertain future of gay rodeo: while in the 2000s there were up to 20 events across the United States, there were already half as many in 2019. And those numbers did not improve after the interruptions due to COVID-19.
“I think there are fewer people because gay culture has become more widespread. Before, gay rodeo was a safe space. Today, we’ve moved past that stage to be more in celebration,” Lawson says.
Celebrating queerness
It is precisely to celebrate this queerness that Shannon Herbst and Cat Newman met up for the weekend in Las Vegas “A girl I matched with on a dating app suggested I go to a gay rodeo,” Cat says.
They don’t regret coming: “It’s essential to still have this type of event in the United States. I thought for a long time that I was the only queer person living in a rural area. But coming here, I was able to meet people living in the same situation. I realized I wasn’t alone,” Shannon says. “Here I can let my guard down and dress however I want without a sideways glance.”
Cat nods approvingly, saying: “If you never see someone who looks like you, it’s hard to feel fully included. Just seeing symbols of LGBTQI+ everywhere, it makes me feel more comfortable. At gay rodeos, people talk to each other more easily because we immediately lower the physical and emotional barriers that we usually put up to protect ourselves.”
We need to show that rodeo is not an old man’s sport or a new version of Brokeback Mountain with a gay rodeo flavor.
In line at the bar, a spectator joins the conversation. Shirt, jeans, cowboy hat and boots, Michael Madrigal is a fan of rodeos and has already participated in a few competitions until he hurt his back falling from a bull, he explains. This weekend, he came alone: “My guy isn’t ready to come out yet, I hope he will one day. In the meantime, it’s crucial to be able to come to gay rodeo or any other LGBTQ+ event. I have nothing against heterosexuals, but I don’t always feel at home with them. I prefer to spend time with my peers,” he says, finishing his beer.
But rodeos, and not just the gay ones, suffer from an outdated image: “We should make videos on Instagram and TikTok to show that rodeo is not an old man’s sport — or a new version of Brokeback Mountain with a gay rodeo flavor!” Lawson jokes at the wheel of his pick-up. In his trunk, a box full of belt buckles and prizes won over the years is loaded with new trophies.
