For most people, the Fourth of July means fireworks, red meat saturated with antibiotics and pesticides, and a sea of disposable plastic—from Solo cups to grocery store burger trays—all destined for landfills under the lie of “recycling.” Because let’s be real: recycling is a feel-good scam designed by the same mega-corporations and rigged government agencies that profit from poisoning the planet in the first place. Meanwhile, straight guys pound estrogen-loaded beer, unknowingly fast-tracking their own gender transition while shouting about how manly they are.
The Cowboy’s Guide to Freedom: Stars, Stripes, and Steam in the Hudson Valley – By Maxwell Alexander – Wellness, Wellness Travel, LGBTQ+ Travel
For me? It’s something far more sacred. A ritual of sweat, eucalyptus, and at least one piece of American flag apparel reimagined as scandalously gay beachwear. I don’t celebrate with a bang—I celebrate with a smolder. With intention. With steam. With the kind of liberation that comes from knowing exactly who you are and refusing to swallow the corporate red, white, and toxic blue.
The Slow Burn of Self-Liberation (in a Cowboy Hat, Naturally)
I don’t do parades. I don’t do beer pong. I do body oil, poolside yoga, and the kind of sun salutations that make neighbors whisper and husbands reconsider their gym routines. My Fourth of July is a celebration of independence—the freedom to breathe deeply, to stretch luxuriously, and to exist exactly as I am: somewhere between a wellness guru and a retired Chippendales dancer with a skincare routine.
Wellness, But With Winks and Waders
Every year, I mark the holiday with a solo spa retreat that doubles as a cowboy fantasy and a private gay bathhouse (population: me). I start the day with a flow—yoga poolside, under a cowboy hat, the kind of session where the sun hits just right and the breeze reminds you that nature wants to see you thrive shirtless.
After yoga? A ritual plunge. I slide into the hot tub, not just to relax, but to fully marinate in my own fabulousness. Clothes optional. Vibes high. Freedom? Achieved.
Steam Me Like One of Your French Cowboys
Then comes the sauna. I crank up the heat, throw in a fistful of eucalyptus, and let the sweat do what capitalism never could—cleanse me. It’s meditative. It’s masculine. It’s mildly homoerotic if you squint (or if you don’t—either way, the steam obscures judgment).
And every single year, without fail, I catch my reflection in the sauna glass and think: Is this a cowboy wellness retreat or a solo stripper rehearsal with aromatherapy? Spoiler: It’s both.
Botanical Cocktails and the Queer Art of Hydration
My Fourth of July isn’t complete without a handcrafted cocktail pulled straight from my Mixology Series. It’s a love letter to hydration: vodka, muddled herbs, citrus, maybe a flower or two for flair. Because even cowboys need their electrolytes—and their moment.
Stars, Stripes, and a Bigger Bulge: The Cowboy’s Summer Style Bible
When it comes to men’s summer style, let’s clear one thing up: I don’t do skirt-board shorts. Ever. Real cowboys don’t wear skirts on the beach—and if you need a refresher, I broke it all down in Thong of the Free: Why Real Cowboys Don’t Wear Skirts on the Beach. My Fourth of July look is clean, confident, and cut to highlight the hard work I put into my physique. And no outfit is complete without a manly accessory where it matters most: underneath. That’s why I sport the all-day wear (Made in the USA) fashion cock rings by HARD NEW YORK—designed not just for comfort and performance, but for a confidence boost that shows up in every single angle. Subtle? Maybe. Effective? Absolutely.
Why the Hudson Valley Is My Gay Utopia
Let’s be honest: most “holiday weekends” are just an excuse for overconsumption and under-reflection. But not here. In the Hudson Valley, freedom feels quieter. Sexier. Sweatier. The cabins are secluded, the air is charged, and the land practically begs you to take your shirt off and exhale.
This isn’t a getaway. It’s a reclaiming. A choosing. A soft, defiant yes to self-care without apology.
The Naked Cowboy Truth: What’s Really Killing Our Freedom
Let’s talk about the real threat to American values—it’s not drag queens or books in libraries. It’s American corporations. The ones wrapped in flags and drenched in fireworks on the Fourth of July while quietly poisoning the population with every bite of Red #40, every glyphosate-soaked kernel of corn, every plastic-wrapped snack designed to rot us from the inside out.
Red #40, glyphosate, and PFAS—these aren’t just ingredients; they’re weapons. Chemicals engineered by boardrooms and rubber-stamped by rigged regulatory agencies designed to serve profits, not people. You think you’re eating food? You’re not. You’re consuming a slow-motion death sentence disguised as convenience, funded by lobbyists who sell patriotism by the pound while pumping poison into our bloodstreams.
Let’s be clear: this isn’t capitalism. It’s corporatism. An anti-human, anti-democratic machine that has castrated male fertility, disrupted hormones, and desecrated rainwater itself. Yes, rainwater. PFAS chemicals—forever toxins manufactured by the same corporations still allowed to rake in billions—are now in the clouds, in your bloodstream, in unborn babies, and somehow… that’s still perfectly legal. Because in America, money doesn’t just talk—it writes the laws.
These corporations aren’t just ruining the planet—they’re waging biochemical warfare on humanity, and they’re doing it with the full blessing of government agencies that were supposed to protect us. It’s not regulation. It’s betrayal.
So while they sell you slogans about freedom and family, remember what’s really being protected: profit margins. And while they douse the skies in red, white, and blue, the soil beneath your feet is quietly being murdered in beige.
But here’s the twist: the naked cowboy doesn’t ride off into the sunset in silence. He strips down the lies, calls out the rot, and still finds joy, health, and wholeness by reclaiming the land, his body, and his truth. That’s real independence.
Celebrating the Freedom to Be Whole
To me, the Fourth of July isn’t just about country. It’s about claiming space—in your body, your spirit, your sexuality. It’s about loving yourself so thoroughly that even the stars and stripes start to blush. It’s a moment to remember that wellness isn’t separate from identity—it’s a part of it. It’s resistance wrapped in self-respect, seasoned with SPF and sensuality.
So no, I’m not at the 4th of July parade. I’m on the deck in my Speedo, drink in hand, steam in the air, stretching into freedom with every delicious breath of truth.
