The new glampground: Inside one Texas hotel's shameless cultural appropriation
In 2012, the Navajo Nation sued Urban Outfitters for branding its products with names like “Navajo hipster panty” and “Navajo flask.” During that time, however, trends now associated with Coachella—that is, feathered headdresses, fringed minidresses, warpaint—exploded, becoming the standard uniform for music festival-goers near and far. Sure, there’ve been many think pieces denouncing cultural appropriation in recent years, but Native American symbols are still casually imitated at places like El Cosmico, a 21-acre campground hotel in Marfa, TX where you can buy $200 moccasins and a talisman to help you “trip out in the desert.”
Liz Lambert, the owner, runs a boutique hotel group with five hotels that adhere to the concept of “rustic luxury.” El Cosmico is geared to my demographic: white twentysomethings possessing disposable income, drawn to New Age-y symbols, and eager to have a singular—perhaps even transformative—travel experience.
While planning my trip to Marfa in July, I perused El Cosmico’s website, clicking on images of “Sioux-style” teepees, “Mongolian” yurts, and artfully decorated trailers with tongue-in-cheek names like “Imperial Mansion” and “Princess.” I found the website’s copy to be charming, but in a tone-deaf kind of way; after all, its “about” page claims inspiration from a hodgepodge of sources: “nomads,” “the colors and cultures of India,” and “Garuda…the guiding muse and totem.”
When my friend and I realized that the cheapest option would be to pitch our own tent on the grounds, we went for the second cheapest: a “safari tent,” complete with electrical outlets and a queen bed fitted with a serape-printed duvet cover.
Bemused by the site’s mishmash of references to Native American, Eurasian, and Latin American cultures, I wondered how many ethnic heritages one company could co-opt before crossing the threshold into appropriation. When removed from their cultural contexts and stripped of their specific meanings, the value of each smokestack-topped teepee and stylized talisman is diminished. I looked to El Cosmico’s vibrant Instagram account to learn more about the kinds of guests they attract, and discovered a litany of heavily filtered photos featuring white couples in serape robes (in the on-site gift store, these are curiously sold as “kimono” robes), along with hashtags like #cult and #elcultismo. Guests book teepees and tents at El Cosmico to have an adventure or what they view as a spiritual experience—not to learn about Japanese culture or Native traditions—and their intention makes all the difference.
I wondered how many ethnic heritages one company could co-opt before crossing the threshold into appropriation.
When I finally arrive at El Cosmico, I’m greeted by an ersatz Native American figurine and a gift shop selling body oils, Palo Santo incense sticks (used in parts of South America for medicinal use), and Bolivian blankets described as “antique.” A Day of the Dead skull display catches my eye, and I wonder if the artist would’ve arranged it as such if they understood that skulls are used to honor Mexican families’ ancestors during Dia de los Muertos. To reinforce the hotel’s brand identity, there are also foam beer koozies, printed bandanas, scented perfumes, and leather-bound notebooks marked with El Cosmico’s signature, whimsical typeface, on sale. I flip through books like Cunt Coloring Book and How To Be a Texan, and find the discordant collection of merchandise—tools for spiritual use, books for entertainment—to be unsettling.
What’s particularly troubling about this marketplace is the question of who benefits from the items’ sale. El Cosmico purchases their teepees from Reliable Tent, a privately owned company based in Montana. On its website, Reliable Tent advertises Sioux-style teepees that cost upwards of $1,000; they include product descriptions like “Tipi Etiquette is something fun to read and abide by.” Although there’s no mention of this so-called teepee etiquette at El Cosmico, Reliable’s wording—which implies voyeuristic participation in Native rituals—is troubling. In 2016, teepees are not only structures for ritualistic use; at the Standing Rock Indian Reservation in North Dakota, where indigenous tribes are protesting the construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline on Native treaty lands, they’re used as school classrooms and organizing spaces.