Jahmicah Dawes stood out during his undergraduate days at Tarleton State University in Stephenville, Texas, a small city known for its glut of pro rodeo cowboys and cowgirls.
Dawes was no rodeo rider. The only Black person in town, he refashioned his dorm room into something of a stylist’s atelier, and would dress his fellow students in spiffy sneakers and vintage clothing before their date nights.
A decade on, Dawes still calls Stephenville home, and he is still outfitting its residents, as the founder and owner of Slim Pickins Outfitters, an outdoor gear shop. Located in a former pharmacy that he and his wife, Heather, converted, Slim Pickins carries everything from standard-fare fleeces to T-shirts made in conjunction with Black Outside, Inc, a San Antonio, Texas-based nonprofit that connects Black youths to nature programs.
An avid hiker, Dawes says his retail shop is all about culture, community and connecting to the natural land. Slim Pickins Outfitters also happens to be the first Black-owned outdoor gear shop in the country. In an industry that boasts $127bn in annual revenue and 4,749 shops, only three retail destinations are Black-owned. Add in racial discrimination and resource inequity launching and maintaining a Black-owned business, as Dawes has been doing since 2017, can be a steep uphill battle.
Yet one wouldn’t necessarily know that from walking into his shop. Presided over by the family dog, Bill Murray, the wood-walled retail space is an oasis of adventure and joy. The displayed goods are a carefully chosen collection of gear, from both big name labels and Slim Pickins’ partnership with Public Lands, the outdoor gear line owned by Dick’s Sporting Goods that advocates greater accessibility to the outdoor life for more people. The space in the back of the shop is a community room where visitors can practice yoga or take hunting certification classes.
While Dawes’ shop is very much an independent concern – one that temporarily had to close during the pandemic – he pushes back on the term “small business”. “The effort, the time, the investments, the craft,” he says. “The commitment is never small.”
What did your early introduction to the outdoors look like?
My dad is from Jamaica, and although my sister and I did go to summer camps, we would spend a couple weeks to a month with my grandparents in Florida. They migrated from Jamaica when my dad was young. That’s where I learned where to raise hogs, slaughter goats and other skills you couldn’t pick up at your typical summer camp. By the time I was in high school, I had joined Future Farmers of America, and in college I took classes in biology and anatomy. I decided to go to Tarleton State University, a predominately white institution, instead of Howard University because I wanted to have an exposure to equine culture and sciences. Yet I always connected to the outdoors.
I’ve always kind of stuck out due to that. In my area, you can find me doing things that Black people aren’t necessarily depicted doing on the regular. We’re more than the narratives that are out there. In the same light that there are different kinds of soul food depending on the regional culture you come from, we’re a multitude of different expressions.
My parents weren’t the type to say “you can do anything”; they just never told me I couldn’t. When I got to Stephenville, the things that I was into [evolved], and that got me into clothing construction and fashion merchandising. I find joy in doing all of this. I love skating in bright colors, fixing bikes, wearing vintage clothes and styling the people around me. The passion just continued to grow from that. It’s always been cool to be able to outfit others and build a relationship through that experience. The intimacy of brick-and-mortar retail allows me to have authentic interactions with people and their families.
Being an independent Black-owned business owner, have you felt supported by your community?
I don’t want to get it twisted. I don’t want to romanticize the business aspect of things. The support is there but it needs to be more. Locally, the support has been there from individuals, but I haven’t felt collectively supported by the institutions here in Stephenville. Honestly, it hurts and bothers me. I’m being told by the broader outdoor industry that what I’m doing is important, impactful, and I should keep it up, but I don’t see that echoed by local community entities. We have those individuals that do support us, but it’s tough day to day. The national encouragement does feed our soul so that we can impact and connect to the local community. Being a believer, the source of my joy comes from the people that come into the shop no matter what our financial circumstance may be.
How do you want to impact the outdoor industry?
My approach is like a mosaic. I didn’t come from the established outdoor industry perspective. I grew up loving sneakers, fashion and vintage apparel. Slim Pickins is different. I want to encourage other people to be OK with being different. The outdoor industry needs more people who have not been sired or influenced by the elites of the outdoor industry.
How do you see Slim Pickins moving forward?
We are a historically underutilized business [HUB] vendor, and one of the benefits is that certain allocated dollars from state and federal entities are to be used at HUB-certified companies. I have yet to see increased sales from universities or governmental entities. I’m willing to work with these institutions, but the effort also has to be made on their part. We’re also open to curated gift orders from companies. We welcome national and regional entities ordering from us for their teams. Especially with the holiday season coming up, we want to work with sports teams and different syndicates. This not only helps us out, but it also sets a corporate precedent on investing and reinvesting in brick-and-mortar spaces so they can continue to be there for their communities. When you support us, you’re supporting other independent businesses around Texas as well.