Many years ago, I knew a girl who sported a different Louis Vuitton belt over her breeches to the barn every single day. She'd come strolling in, a $700 helmet swinging in her hand, sharp Ariat boots hitting the ground with each step, and her mother following behind her. Her mother grabbed her daughter's horse, tacked him up, and the only thing the girl did was get on and ride. Her thin legs, long torso and tiny butt moved gracefully and quietly along the saddle. She had to be at least 17 years old.
I remember shamefully glancing down at my old breeches, my baggy t-shirt, my 4-year-old boots, and my helmet I bought on consignment. With this, I noticed my curvy hips, thighs and bust. A picture of my thighs flopping around in the saddle in my nearly see-through pants flashed through my head, and I practically leaned into the closest bucket to barf at the thought. I then looked back up at the girl and her beautiful warmblood, and shuffled my way into the ring to receive my one hour lesson on a horse that wasn't mine.
I vividly recall feeling nothing but envy towards this girl. She had it all — or so, I thought. She seemed to have all the money in the world, which I had believed equated to happiness. I had only been able to afford lessons once a week, and for the rest of my riding I wanted to do, I worked around the barn doing chores in the muggy heat to pay it off. Realizing all of this, I was now not only jealous, but angry, too. She didn't even touch her own horse before getting on his back. I would've killed to be in her position. "I would give that pony all the love he isn't getting from her and more," I thought to myself.
As we all know by now, riding has a reputation for being a "rich" sport — and that's because in a sense, it is. Owning a horse is like owning a car, but the car gets sick and eats all the time. When you add in the miscellaneous costs for everything else that comes with owning one, it gets unbelievably pricey. The saying comes from the idea that you can't really be an equestrian if you don't have sometype of disposable income. There is always something else you need to buy, and your bank account ends up being one of the saddest things to look at since you first saw the Titanic.
Said girl wasn't the only one I met who lived the luxury I had always dreamed of. (Side note — I am not putting this woman down in any way, shape or form. I am not bashing her for having more money within her family nor am I bashing her for choosing which way to spend it.) Across my many years as an equestrian, I realized it's way too common to see things like this. And to be blunt, it does have the ability to make you feel like a load of crap when you don't have as much as your peer.
As much as I love this sport, in many ways, I hate it. Equestrians are constantly one-upping and criticizing each other. Who has the more expensive horse? Saddle? Boots? Breeches? Why aren't her heels down more? Why do her hips move like that? Why is she wearing those unflattering pants? On top of this, the "look" for equestrians is and always has been the same — thin and tall means graceful. It's just as bad as body shaming in mainstream media. No one ever wants to see the curvier girl with thicker thighs riding a horse. And so, in addition to money, we are constantly being held to a body expectation, too. Truthfully, most riders are naturally thin and fit. There's nothing wrong with that, but when you don't really fit that "small" criteria, you can't help but feel as though you stick out like a sore thumb. It's like a constant "Mean Girls" setting, except for every Cady Heron you meet, there's about 300 Regina's to follow.
The thing is, years after I met my first Louis Vuitton girl and many more after her, I realized that the one-upping and the jealousy was a vicious cycle I was getting stuck in. Maturing and growing older meant learning how to love my body for what it is and learning how to accept that less money doesn't mean I couldn't enjoy my sport all the same. (Part of breaking that cycle was finding a barn filled with lovely, humble ladies of all different backgrounds. This is important.) I had to stop envying others. I began to realize that it's not about the money — as long as you can do what you love, then it doesn't matter what you wear or if you got your saddle for $300 or $3,000. We're all here for the same reason, and because of that, we have to stop with the bitterness. Why so much hate when we're all just crazy horse people on the inside who live for the smell of hay and manure? I mean, really — we can't deny that part. We're gross. As different as we all may be, we continue to overlook the one big thing we have in common — our love for riding. And if we look at the bigger picture, we need to learn how to be gratefulthat we even get the chance to do so.
