I’m Kayla. I actually went and dated cowboys for three months. North Texas. A bit in Oklahoma. Boots on, hair tied back, heart open. You know what? It was messy and sweet at the same time.
Why I gave it a shot
I wanted someone steady. Someone who tells the truth, even when it’s hard. I grew up around cows and red dirt, but I left for city work. I miss quiet roads. I miss stars you can count. So I thought, let me try.
Where I looked (and what worked)
- FarmersOnly: Yes, it still works. Fewer matches, but more real folks.
- Bumble: I set my distance wider, added “country” and “outdoors.”
- Facebook groups: “Texas Country Singles.” Folks post pics with their dogs and hay bales. It’s funny, but you can see their world.
- Actual places: slack night at the local rodeo, the feed store on a Saturday, two-step lessons at the VFW hall. Real beats fancy.
Looking for something at the opposite end of the spectrum—think neon lights, ocean breeze, and a vibe that starts at sundown? A quick browse through the Backpage Miami Beach personals can drop you into a fast-moving scene where up-to-date local ads make it easy to line up a spontaneous cocktail or no-strings meetup without the endless swiping.
The site has its quirks: FarmersOnly.com is a niche dating platform designed to connect individuals who appreciate the rural lifestyle. While it offers a unique space for country-minded singles, user experiences have been mixed—some users have reported encountering inactive profiles and challenges in finding genuine connections (bestcompany.com). Additionally, concerns about the site's verification processes and the presence of fake profiles have been noted (highya.com).
Small note: I kept my profile simple. One photo in jeans and boots. One with no hat. I wrote, “I can hold a gate and a good talk.”
Curious about the blow-by-blow diary of those three dusty months? I put the unfiltered version in I Tried Cowboy Dating for 3 Months — Here’s What Felt Real, photos, mud and all.
If you’d like an even clearer road map for navigating the apps, this step-by-step online dating guide lays everything out in plain language.
Real dates that stuck with me
1) The 5:30 a.m. diner and a sick calf
J texted at 4:50 a.m. “Breakfast? I feed at six.” We met at a tiny diner with cinnamon coffee. He wore an old cap, not a big hat. Said he got it free at a sale barn. We laughed about that.
After eggs, he asked, “Want to ride along?” I stood by while he checked a calf with scours. The dawn was pink. He moved slow and calm. He talked to the cow like it was a kid. My boots got muddy. My heart got quiet.
He canceled our next date. The calf got worse. He called to say sorry. Not a text. A call. That mattered.
2) Branding day that felt like family
A group invite. I wasn’t there to rope; I was there to gate. Smoke from the branding pot curled up. I wore borrowed gloves. Someone’s aunt brought chili in a slow cooker and peach cobbler in foil pans. It wasn’t romantic. It felt like work and church and summer, all in one. I went home sore and proud.
3) Two-step lessons at a hall with sticky floors
C played “Amarillo by Morning.” He counted “quick-quick, slow-slow.” I stepped on his boot; he just laughed. We ate kolaches after, still warm, still soft. He talked about fence lines and rain like they were old friends. We didn’t kiss. We didn’t need to. The music did the talking.
4) Rodeo nosebleed seats and a Whataburger run
We watched the PBR. We cheered for a guy named Cooper. Bulls won most rounds. After, we hit Whataburger. Honey butter chicken biscuit at midnight. Grease on our fingers. He said, “I’m tired, but it’s a good tired.” Me too.
Stuff no one tells you
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Seasons matter.
- Calving: Jan–Mar. Don’t expect late dinners.
- Branding: spring. Long days. Lots of dust.
- Hay season: summer. Sunburn and short texts.
- Fall shipping: money stress, time tight.
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Plans change fast. Weather calls the shots. A storm hits, your date gets moved. Not personal.
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The silence can be nice. A truck cab at dusk can feel like a small church.
Niche dating spaces each carry their own playbook; when I tested out American Indian dating websites, for example, respect for tradition shaped everything from conversation starters to first-date expectations.
Green flags I saw
- He calls when he’s running late. No games.
- Dogs look to him. That tells you plenty.
- He keeps his word, even when he’s beat.
Red flags I met
- Hat-fishing: big hat, no work.
- “I’m a ranch owner” on the app, but it’s his cousin’s place.
- Only talks about politics. Nothing else. No thanks.
- Drinks hard on weeknights, then blames the cows. That’s not the cows.
What to wear, what to bring
- Real boots. Not dress boots in the pen.
- A bandana. It saves you from dust and sun.
- Layers. Mornings bite, afternoons burn.
- Hair tie, chapstick, a little water. You’ll thank me.
Messages that got replies
- “How’s the pasture holding up?”
- “What’s your favorite work glove?”
- “Can you two-step or are you a shuffle man?”
Short. Kind. Not cute for cute’s sake.
The good and the hard
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The good:
- Straight talk.
- Hands that fix things.
- Sunday lunch with family who bring too much food.
- Sunsets that feel like a slow song.
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The hard:
- Early mornings. Like, very early.
- Long drives to see each other.
- Mud on everything.
- He may love the land first. You come second. That can sting. But it’s honest.
Safety stuff I actually did
- First meet in public. Always.
- I texted a friend my location and plate numbers.
- I drove myself the first few times.
- If a gate led to a far pasture and my gut said no, I said no. He should respect that. The right one did.
One extra layer of caution involves the photos you share. Even well-known creators have learned how quickly private images can leak; browsing the collection of high-profile examples at this roundup of YouTuber nude leaks is a sobering reminder of how fast personal content can spread, helping you decide what to keep offline while you’re getting to know someone.
If you’re stepping back into dating after a major loss, the reflections in this candid look at internet dating for widows offer a gentle roadmap that pairs well with every safety rule above.
So… did it work?
I’m seeing J from Stephenville. He brings kolaches after morning feed. I bring coffee that tastes like chocolate. We talk on his tailgate and watch the sky change colors. We don’t rush. We’re both stubborn, so we laugh and take a breath when we argue. That helps.
Will it last? I don’t know yet. But I feel peace. And a little dust on my jeans. Both feel right.
My final say
Cowboy dating isn’t all hats and sunsets. It’s sweat, early hours, and plans that shift with rain. It’s also steady hands and soft eyes on a sick calf. Can you handle a 4 a.m. coffee and a 9 p.m. bedtime? Then try it.
If not, that’s okay too. Your person might wear sneakers, not boots. But if you feel that tug toward red dirt and wide skies… well, I did. And I’m glad.