Vogue has finally discovered Western Americana — years later than everyone else

Vogue’s cover shoot with Kendall Jenner and Gigi Hadid in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, is undeniably beautiful. Cowboy hats, boots and sweeping landscapes — an aesthetic they frame as fashion’s "love affair with the great outdoors." But the spread says less about Western Americana than it does about Vogue itself: once the gold standard of cultural authority, now reduced to chasing trends long after the moment has already arrived.

Western style isn’t new. Conservative women have been playing with Americana for years, treating it as both a fun fashion trend and a nod to the deeper roots of family, heritage and tradition. Prairie dresses, quilted patchwork, working denim, classic cowboy boots — these weren’t dreamed up in a Manhattan editorial meeting. They were embraced and elevated by women on the right who Vogue has stubbornly chosen to ignore.

The magazine famously didn't feature Melania Trump on its cover, despite her being one of the most glamorous first ladies in modern history. That pattern of exclusion has been obvious to women like me for years.

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By the time Vogue decided Tecovas were chic, mine were already well-worn. When patriotism was still looked down on by the cultural mainstream, Americana was already evolving beyond utility into a broader aesthetic. Isabel Brown donned a denim jumpsuit on the cover of her latest book, "The End of the Alphabet: How Gen Z Can Save America." Brett Cooper lives it daily on her farm. Together, young conservative women have been shaping this fashion revival while legacy media looked the other way. That editorial blind spot is part of a larger pattern: Vogue doesn’t want to acknowledge the cultural contributions of conservative women until it can repackage them on its own terms.

Meanwhile, conservative creators have built their own ecosystem. Brittany Martinez’s Evie put Ballerina Farm’s Hannah Neeleman — a mother of seven running a ranch and baking bread between ballet routines — on its cover, recognizing her as the kind of figure young women actually look to for style and substance. Evie also launched viral staples like the "perfect sundress" and the "raw milkmaid dress." Meanwhile, Jayme Franklin’s The Conservateur introduced a bright red western boot and "j’adore cowboys" hat years ago, beating Vogue to Western chic by a mile. 

The message is clear: if elite institutions won’t acknowledge us, we’ll build our own — and often, we’re faster and bolder in the process.

Now, even mainstream outlets that once ignored conservatives are taking notice. The Washington Post profiled CJ Pearson at the so-called "cruel kids’ table." The New York Post covered Raquel DeBono’s "Make America Hot Again" parties. These moments prove that conservative energy isn’t just political — it’s cultural and stylish. What started as a subculture the fashion press dismissed is increasingly too visible to ignore.

That’s what makes Vogue’s Jackson Hole cover so striking. It’s not groundbreaking — it’s belated. It’s glossy confirmation that the pulse of culture no longer runs through their pages. Instead of shaping taste, they’re responding to it. And ironically, they’re responding to trends seeded by the very people they’ve spent decades sidelining.

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The real story here isn’t that Kendall and Gigi look good in boots (though they do). It’s that Vogue no longer has the monopoly on defining what’s in. Culture is moving elsewhere — to the women who never stopped treasuring Americana, to the creators who built Evie and The Conservateur and to the gatherings that now land in the lifestyle sections of papers once hostile to the right.

Vogue used to tell America where culture was headed. Now, it’s just trying to catch up.