As a young Black woman growing up, the image of a cowgirl was not relatable. In my mind, she belonged to dusty westerns and glossy country music videos; white, fictional, and far removed from anything I saw in my world. Blackness had no place in that world, let alone Black femininity on horseback. The idea of Black women commanding horses and dominating rodeo arenas simply didn’t exist in the mainstream cultural narrative.
Then Beyoncé released Cowboy Carter.
More than just a genre pivot, Beyoncé’s foray into country music was an act of reclamation. With lyrics steeped in Southern pride and visuals of Western culture drenched in rhinestones and fringe, it was bold. In doing so, she pushed Black cowgirl culture into the mainstream. It forced me to ask, why was the image of the Black cowgirl so elusive? And why were Black cowgirls missing from the American Western story?
For nearly four decades, the Bill Pickett Invitational Rodeo (BPIR) has pushed back against the myth that Black riders don't exist. Founded in 1984 by the late Lu Vason, the BPIR was born from a moment of erasure that Vason witnessed firsthand during a visit to Cheyenne Frontier Days in Wyoming, one of the country’s most storied rodeos. “He noticed he didn’t see anybody that looked like him, cowboys or cowgirls, and he was intrigued,” said Valeria Howard-Cunningham, Vason’s widow and now the president of BPIR. That moment sparked a mission. Vason began working with historians like Paul Stewart of Denver’s Black American West Museum to uncover the stories history tried to bury. What he found was a vibrant, untold legacy of Black cowboys and cowgirls; riders, wranglers, and ranchers who had been excluded from the mainstream rodeo circuit and whitewashed from the mythos of the American West. Named after Bill Pickett, the legendary Black cowboy and rodeo innovator, the BPIR became a travelling tribute to that hidden history, a space where Black riders could reclaim their stories.
Photographer Ivan McClellan was introduced to the rodeo world much later, and his experience couldn't have been much different. In 2015, he was invited to an all-Black rodeo in Oklahoma and the scene left a lasting impression. “It was 105 degrees, 100% humidity. There were thousands of Black people in cowboy hats and boots, gospel music and R&B blaring from speakers,” he told me. “Men were riding in basketball shorts and Jordans. Women were flying around barrels at 50 miles per hour, braids trailing behind them, acrylic nails gripping reins.” He called it a “delicious stew” of cultures, part church, part hip-hop culture, part Western. But beyond the pageantry, it was the women who struck him most. “They were the real power behind it all,” McClellan said. He points to Valeria Howard-Cunningham, “She’s badass,” he said. “Her entire team is almost all Black women, and they have literal power in the rodeo world and as athletes.”
Black women who shaped the Western legacy
Despite the mythology of the American West, the stories of Black women in these spaces have largely gone undocumented. Dr. Tracey Patton, a Professor and Scholar on race on gender in the rodeo world, attributes this invisibility to entrenched institutional racism and sexism. Throughout Enslavement and the Jim Crow era, Black women were legally and socially barred from participating in many areas of public life, including rodeo arenas.
Patton observes, “There wasn’t an opportunity for enslaved Black women to be part of the arena. You would see these signs when you go into the arena. They would say, ‘No dogs. No Negroes. No Mexicans.’ Therefore, it's not surprising that Black women or women of colour, referring to Latinx and Native Indigenous women, felt that the rodeo was not a place for them.”
Still, a handful of women made their mark. The most prominent among them was Mary Fields, known as Stagecoach Mary, the first African American woman to work as a U.S. postal carrier. Born into slavery in the 1830s, she became famous for delivering mail across Montana with a rifle in her lap. Mary Fields has come to symbolise what it means to be a Black woman in the West, primarily because the narrative centres on white cowboys while overlooking the contributions and struggles of others who fought to survive. Dr Patton points out that Fields “always comes up just because she has that iconic photo... long skirts with a crinoline and carrying a rifle.” She adds, “She embodied Western toughness; smoking, drinking, armed and feared by men. And she looks Western. She’s 6 ft. tall. She’s powerful. She carved a path in the West and earned her spot.”
Another example is Johanna July, a biracial Black American and Seminole woman born into slavery. After emancipation, her family settled in Texas in 1871, where the U.S. Army employed Black Seminoles as scouts and translators. Familiar with the land and horses, July became a skilled horse trainer and herded goats and cattle until her death. Patton also highlights “Aunt Rittie” Williams Foster, born enslaved in Mississippi and sold to work on a plantation. After demonstrating skill with cattle, Foster took on livestock duties. Patton explains, “She was known as being as tough as any cowboy, really respected and able to throw calves.” In more recent years, figures like Brianna Noble have brought renewed visibility to Black cowgirls. The equestrian and activist made headlines when she rode her horse through Black Lives Matter protests, an image circulated globally as a powerful image of presence and protest.
So, what defines a cowgirl? In Dr Patton’s opinion, you’re a cowgirl if you have passion, knowledge, skills, the experience in ranching and you’ve done all of the hard work. She compares watching rodeo to attending a Broadway play or ballet, “we see the final product, the performance, but often miss the labour behind it.” I brought up the stark contrast between media portrayals and the lived experience of real cowgirls. She tells me the glamorous version with the perfect hair and pageant sparkle rose to prominence between the 1940s and '60s, with rodeo pageants, but it's not the reality of life on a ranch. “Women were dirty and worked very hard. That background work often gets erased, yet it’s precisely that work that defines what it means to be a true cowgirl."
Black Rodeo Challenges
When Valeria Howard-Cunningham took over the BPIR after her husband’s death, she questioned whether she could carry on his legacy. “I wasn’t sure, I wasn’t confident in myself that I could do this,” she said. “But the women in our organisation came front and centre and stood with me.” What followed was a wave of support from across the country, families with multiple generations who had grown up attending the rodeo. “If we stopped,” she realised, “we would lose the legacy.”
That legacy was hard-won. From the beginning, BPIR was met with resistance. “In America and other countries, when your skin colour is not the same as other people, you have trials and tribulations that you have to overcome,” she tells me. Sponsors were reluctant. Critics accused it of being exclusionary. “People still ask me, ‘Don’t you think doing a Black rodeo is discrimination?’ she said. “My answer is, if we had not been discriminated against, we would never have had to create this platform.” She added, “Lu created this because he wanted to uplift the Black cowboys and cowgirls who had been left out of history books, left out of the movies, left out of everything.” From the start, the rodeo had two goals; the first was to educate people so they understood the history of Black cowboys and girls and the second was to entertain.
After taking the reins, Valeria faced not only racism and sexism but also scepticism about the rodeo’s survival. “I call them challenges because you can’t take it personally,” she told me. Despite the ‘challenges’, she expanded the organisation's reach. In 2021, BPIR made history when “Showdown in Vegas,” a collaboration with the Professional Bull Riders (PBR), aired nationally on CBS on Juneteenth, the same year the date was designated a federal holiday. “That moment… it brought me to tears,” she said. “I was standing in a place I never thought I’d be. An all-Black rodeo on national television, in one of the biggest venues in Las Vegas. It was overwhelming.”
Riding Despite the Odds
For Black riders hoping to pursue professional careers, the barriers to entry are steep because of the costs. Travel, horse care, stabling, and consistent participation in qualifying events require serious investment. “There are massive obstacles; money, racism, access to the right equipment and animals that can compete,” McClellan tells me. To compete at the pro level, resources are just as crucial as skill. “You need an $80,000 horse, a big diesel truck, horse trailers, and hotel stays. Very few sponsors are backing Black riders.”
Black Cowgirls are forced to push forward without the institutional and financial support their white counterparts receive. Aside from financial barriers, there’s the emotional toll of navigating spaces that were never designed for them. “But these riders have a hoof print on their heart. They do whatever it takes because they love it. The resilience in this culture is incredible.” One of McClellan’s most memorable encounters was at the Bill Pickett Vegas Showdown in 2021 with Kortnee Solomon, a fourth-generation barrel racer whose speed made her difficult to photograph. She was only eleven at the time and already riding with the confidence of a seasoned champion, having made her debut at just five years old. “It’s not how fast you go, it’s how smooth you ride,” she told him, before offering tips on where he should stand. Still, McClellan is worried. The number of Black riders, already small, is shrinking. “There are fewer and fewer each year and it’s a very small population. There aren’t enough to go around all the events that need them,” he tells me. His hope? To put reins in the hands of kids, rather than a basketball. “I want to make more cowboys so that this can continue to be something that we can do,” he adds.
For Valeria, the answer lies in education, access, and ownership. Through BPIR, she’s helping young people reclaim a legacy that has long been denied to them. “I tell them, don’t believe everything you’re told, our story is real." The love of the rodeo is generational. “Some kids are on horses at just one or two months old.” Valeria’s vision is clear, keep the legacy alive, and make it accessible. That includes raising prize money to $100,000 so cowboys and cowgirls, many of whom have day jobs, can earn a living from their craft. Even as she oversees the rodeo’s growth, she is mindful of the current political climate in America. “Black rodeo is strong in America,” she said. “But I am concerned about the current political climate and the efforts to erase Black culture.” Still, she doesn’t waver. “You can try, but you can’t take away the truth or history.”
The Professional Cowboys and the Professional Women’s Rodeo Association, two of the sport’s leading sanctioning bodies, are actively working to introduce rodeo to more urban communities. But as Dr. Patton points out, the challenge isn’t interest, it’s access. “If you're living in a city, how often do you have access to a horse or a ranch?” she says. Getting involved often requires leaving the city, which means having a car, the time, and the financial means to participate. Visibility may be growing, but without access and resources, the arena can still feel out of reach.
The Cowboy Carter Effect
The release of Cowboy Carter did more than make headlines, it delivered a cultural shift. For Valeria Howard-Cunningham, the momentum is tangible. Every remaining Bill Pickett Invitational Rodeo show this year is sold out. “It makes me feel good to know that I’ve created something African Americans can be proud of,” she said. “A business they see as theirs, like they own it.”
McClellan has felt the ripple effects too. Brands that once overlooked Black rodeo are now reaching out, recognising the influence of Black athletes. Tourists are flying in from across the U.S., even as far as Nigeria, to attend his Eight Seconds rodeo after discovering the culture through Beyoncé’s lens. “She blew it up to a global level,” he said. This is the kind of visibility the community couldn’t have created on its own. Dr. Patton sees Beyoncé’s spotlight as part of a broader reclamation. “I think it's fantastic that Beyoncé is continuing that tradition of bringing visibility to Black cowgirls,” she said.
A Legacy in Motion
The legacy of the Black rodeo is still unfolding. More than music or fashion, it’s also about visibility, access, and resources, ensuring that Black girls can look at a cowgirl and say, That could be me. When I picture a cowgirl today, I don’t see the Hollywood whitewashed version. I see braids flying in the wind, riding through Southern heat, perfectly in sync with her horse, reminding us she was never on the margins. She’s always been here, just waiting to be seen.
