When I moved to Texas people warned me about the Trump-mad lunatics. I’ve been surprised

Before moving here, I wandered around the bullpen of my workplace wearing a silver cowboy hat. “I hear you’re heading to Texas, Ed?” a colleague asked. “Yes, my fiancé got a job,” I answered. “Oil or gas?” he queried. “Rail,” I responded. Met with a nod, he seemed satisfied he understood the exact terrain I was destined for: a dusty world of industry and extraction.

My colleague in Australia wasn’t the only one to assume he knew what I should expect. Would I find America to be truly bonkers, as many suggested? Everyone around me spoke with such certainty about Texas that, by the time I hopped on the plane, I was convinced my new neighbours would be Bible-bashing, gun-wielding, MAGA-loving buckaroos. Not my typical crowd. So, since arriving, I’ve been curious to see whether Texan culture would match the stereotypes.

As much as I expected the presence of guns, they have not been easy to get used to. Most adults can legally carry a visible handgun in a holster, buildings usually display a firearm policy and clay shooting is a popular corporate event. I am always quietly on edge. Once, during my daily jaunt, I felt a sense that the erratic man walking towards me was clutching a gun. Before I could be certain, I turned, and sprinted home. Since then, my fear has only grown. Especially since a mass shooting occurred mere blocks from our apartment and Charlie Kirk was assassinated in Utah. The week following his death there was a potent worry that there would be retaliation or copycat killings.

Perhaps you thought Americans are all the same, but I’ve found they judge each other as much as we stereotype them. Texans often contrast their slower, more spacious lifestyle to the fast-talking rat race of New York, or the tax-heavy, “yuppie” West Coast. I was surprised to find that Texans express greater pride in their state than in their nation. They’ve not forgotten that Texas was an independent republic for 10 years before joining the US, even though it was 180 years ago. The Lone Star flag, a symbol of the state’s independence, is regularly flown alongside, or instead of, the Star-Spangled Banner, and the Texas State Capitol is actually larger than the US Capitol.

Here within Texas, political views swing wildly. As you travel towards Dallas, the Republican ideology smatters the billboards: from pro-life propaganda to scepticism about climate change. Further north into the oil fields, the rigs start to appear, as do the slogans in support of expanded drilling and pipelines. However, Trump is not worshipped in Austin, the blue, progressive city where we live. On the contrary, they seem quite embarrassed and ashamed of the president.

I’ve only encountered one outward MAGA supporter who asserted his love for “the orange man”. Many people I’ve spoken to describe the current political climate as “devastating,” fearing that the stricter immigration policies will harm their loved ones. Hispanics and Latinos, who are often targeted by such policies, make up over 40 per cent of the Texan population. Stop signs in our suburb even have the words “ICE” plastered beneath the “Stop”.

The assumptions grounded in the most truth are those tied to religion, style and hospitality. Texans are incredibly polite, and strangers will say “bless you” when you sneeze. They rarely swear, and apologise if they do. One simply cannot go out without being addressed as sir or ma’am, or having a waiter insist they “appreciate you”. Southern style is best described as “cowboy chic,” with boots and a bolo tie being acceptable attire for Friday night drinks. Faith filters through all aspects of life here. We recently attended a rodeo in Fort Worth, but the bucking and lassoing could not begin until thousands of people tilted their heads in prayer. Our cheerful perception of rodeos swiftly changed when a cowboy was trampled by a bull, and we realised the danger behind the pantomime of 10-gallon hats and jangling spurs.

The saying that everything is bigger in Texas makes sense once you’ve lived here. The cars are so large that my mother needed a step to get into ours, because unless you are taking a driverless Waymo, which feels like being chauffeured by a ghost, sporting a Ford F-150 or a Ram is the done thing. Texan barbecue servings are huge, as are their price tags. At many restaurants, payment is weight-based, so agreeing to fling in another chop, rib, or snag costs you.

Stereotypes don’t only flow one way. Most locals assume that as an Australian I will thrive in the Texan summers. I have to explain that Texas is much hotter than where I’m from and, to me, now synonymous with the surface of the sun. They generally love Aussies; their faces light up at the drawn-out, flattened vowels of my country Victorian voice.

So, is Texas really a right-wing, faith-based state of fervent patriots? No, it’s a multifaceted place and such labels are too simple. Though, you truly can expect to find Texans wearing cowboy boots or hats anywhere, at any time.

Edwina Frost is an Australian lawyer currently based in Austin.

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