Ian Munsick was backstage at the Grand Ole Opry, and he seemed satisfied with what he saw in the dressing-room mirror: a shirt embroidered with roses, jeans secured by a belt buckle the size of a compact disk, long dark hair, a black cowboy hat with an eagle feather tucked into the band. Caroline Munsick, who is both his wife and his manager, provided some extra scrutiny. “Normally it’s, like, five hundred dollars for a makeup girl to come in here,” she said, corralling a few fugitive strands of his hair. “He gets it for free.” She handed him a bolo tie with a black clasp, to replace the turquoise one he had on.
“This is the bolo I gave you,” he said.
“I know,” she said. “But it looks good with your outfit.”
This story is from the March 25, 2024 edition of The New Yorker.
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This story is from the March 25, 2024 edition of The New Yorker.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Sign In
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