The authentic and timeless world of Ralph Lauren
November 2025
RL/Culture

Where I Feel Free

It was a dream that started in the heart and led to a ranch in Colorado.
By Ralph Lauren
Before I had a home in the mountains out West, I lived there in my heart. A friend of mine gave me an old beat-up cowboy hat and that was my first taste of the dream. I grew up liking the tradition of preppy clothes, and then, all of a sudden, I found myself moving to jeans and cowboy boots. Both styles were very American, but at that time the Western sensibility was untouched in a way I found the cowboy to be sort of a renegade. I related to that spirit. The cowboy lives a certain kind of life. He’s tough and there’s a certain look to the clothes he wears. I was also inspired by the palette of the West—the colors of the desert, the sunsets, turquoise jewelry—and the things you find out there that endure and get better with age. Beat-up jeans and red pickups, rodeo buckles, flannel shirts, and fringe jackets. I loved the freedom of the West and the eclectic style it inspired.
I remember so well the morning Ricky and I went to look at it: The light on the meadows. The light striking the barn. We immediately knew this was where we wanted to live.
MOUNTAIN TIME
Life at the Double RL Ranch includes riding horses, simple meals served outside, and spending time with family.
When I think of life in the mountains, it’s not one thing. It’s farms and rivers, tall grass and snowy peaks. It’s Willa Cather’s pioneers and Ansel Adams’ peaks and the heroic portraits of Edward Curtis. It’s field and stream, outdoor sports, the fun of the unexpected—white lace that might have covered a rough-hewn farm table or floated in the breeze from a little attic window converted into romantic ruffled dresses; hardy plaids and Nordic motifs; Navajo blankets and early-American patchworks blended all together. It’s like a melting pot of all the color and earthiness, utility and optimism that is America itself—and that can be worn almost anywhere depending on who you want to be and how you want to express yourself. In the early ’80s, after I looked for land for a long time, someone told me about a 100-year-old barn on a large piece of property in Colorado looking out at the San Juan Mountains. I remember so well the morning Ricky and I went to look at it: The light on the meadows. The light striking the barn. We immediately knew this was where we wanted to live. But I didn’t want to build a new house. I wanted to find an old one. I love land for itself—the look, the undisturbed beauty. I felt pained to have to build here at all. The first two years, we lived in a simple trailer, so we could take our time choosing low, inconspicuous sites where the houses would be half hidden by the trees. The family house we eventually built looks like a little log cabin from the outside, but when you go inside it seems spacious. I built it out of old barn wood. I wanted a screen door with a squeak. If something’s really old, let it feel that way. Over time, the Lodge, as it’s called, has become a home to things we felt belonged here—Native American paintings, pottery, woven baskets, serapes, weavings, and trade blankets. Their bold color and handcrafted textures bring a special beauty and brightness against the dark wood of the cabin walls. My work is a reflection of the way I live. In Colorado, it’s about family and friends, meals cooked by Ricky and served at a long table outside, horses in the field, taking a drive in an old truck. It’s the dream of life in the mountains I’d had for so long in my heart. We pieced it together little by little, and I’m happy to share some of the spirit of that kind of living with you in these pages.