WESTERN WAREHOUSE

I've never wanted to be in a rodeo, and I've never been a big John Wayne fan. But over the years I've discovered that no fashion statement suits me better than a dynamite Western shirt. The gaudy embroidery and the heavenly pearl buttons make me feel spunky, and I feel like I've virtually achieved celebrity status on the occassions when envious strangers offer to buy my shirts right off my back.

Over the past week I saw two films that prominently featured Western wear, and they inspired me to take a moment to celebrate my own cherished cowboy duds. First I watched the horribly dated (but totally entertaining) Urban Cowboy, which afforded me the joyous opportunity to see John Travolta getting the living shit fucked out of him by a mechanical bull. And yesterday Drew and I went out to see Don't Come Knocking, a new film by Wim Wenders. Sam Shepard models some to-die-for Western shirts in his role as a has-been actor who meets up with children he never knew he had.