Moving to Mountain Towns is So Great!
And other satirical notes on the unchecked gentrification of the rural West.
Montana’s so hot right now.
Not in terms of weather (in fact, it just blizzarded here in mid-April), but in terms of pop culture. Of people moving here in droves. Maybe you saw the story that came out in Insider recently about the woman who quit her NYC job to move to Bozeman (that reads like a satire, but is, sadly, not), or this Atlantic piece about how Montana supposedly fixed its housing crisis (which actual Montanans chirped the hell out of while complaining they couldn't get behind the paywall to read it because they need the money for skyrocketing rent).
Thus, my answering satire. Note that this isn’t just for Montanans; you can insert any small mountain town in the West (Crested Butte, Flagstaff, Moab, Bend, keep it going) and the same applies. But if we can’t laugh at such circumstances, we’re crying. So let’s at least have a giggle, shall we? Enjoy:
Wow, the pandemic was really a blessing. When remote work took over, I got to leave my big East Coast city to live my lifelong dream of moving to Montana. Well, my dream since I started watching Yellowstone. All those cowboys are so hot. I can’t wait to find one of my own.
It’s so great here. Everything is so cheap! I bought my four-bedroom house on a cute little block for only a million dollars. I saw on Realtor.com that it was going for just $200,000 a few years ago, I wonder what happened. I think my whole subdivision was a ranch pretty recently actually, so it’s basically like I’m living on one. It’s so cool to be “rural”! I love that I can afford to live all alone in my house, too. The best part is that it has a little shack in the back alley that I rent out to a local family of five—which almost covers my mortgage! They’re pretty grateful. I love being an altruist like this.
And there’s so much to do here. I’m excited to visit the real Yellowstone. You know, the national park. It must be so fun when they turn on the geyser, and let the wildlife out of their cages for the tourists to pet. I can finally ask a real-life ranger at what age the deer turn into elk. I’ve always been so into animals. I really need to find a horse to ride so I can Instagram my authentic new lifestyle.
I look the part, too, since the cute little downtown has all these cute little shops where I can buy designer cowboy boots and rhinestone jeans, and for way less than New York, like only $400 a pair. You just have to walk past that gross dollar store. I don’t know why they haven’t turned it into a wine bar yet, where I could meet cool young locals to be my friends. Being a genuine part of the community is so important me.
The only problem is I can’t seem to find a single real cowboy in this town. I wonder where they all are. All I can find on the dating apps are guys holding the slimy fish they caught, guys posing behind some big bloody animal they shot, guys whose faces you can’t even see behind ski goggles, guys rafting on all those freezing rivers. I mean, I put only my best photos on my profile: me with my new highlights and latest Botox, me with my favorite manicure, me with all my hottest girlfriends at the Taylor Swift concert. But I can’t seem to get a date. I must be too cultured. Maybe I’ll try adding a selfie in a plaid shirt. I think Balenciaga makes one.
Oh, look! There’s a cute bear rooting through my garbage bin I left outside on my new rural curb! Let me just get a little closer to pet i—.
Ha! Very funny!
I smell a series