I'd be bitter, if I bothered. 6 years military service including a brief interlude in Vietnam. I was at a BBQ this week and some fair haired lad had decided to enlist. Mind you, he hasn't even talked to a recruiter yet and men were pumping his hand and 'the greatest generation' grandmother's touching his sleeve, er tshirted wrist. All giving 'thankyou for your service' like laurel leaves. He will learn what all do soon enough.
The one photo looks like Nick Nolte in Mullholland Falls and the second like Jeffrey Dalmer.
I shaved and ironed my one decent shirt. I look, well clean at least.

The Peterman dusters are a POS. I handled one in their brief foray into outlets. I bought another duster from a mom and pop outfit and soon realised dust isn't a problem so much as rain. So I bought a re creation, yellow 'fish' slicker. The aussie drover coats are splendid, except they all take sleeve length from A.B. Banjo Patterson's one somewhat stunted forearm.
My mare, like your mom had the final word. She hated the snapping and flapping about of the things and told the animal psychic she had no intention of being ridden in bad weather anyway and wanted a tatterstal blanket like the english horses had.

A drizabone is not a duster exactly. Dusters were heavy linen, ankle length affairs worn predominently in the central states. They were good for only what their name  implies; keeping dirt off of your good clothing while travelling. They look sexy and drapy and Sergio Leon brought them back in his spaghetti westerns.
For rain, cowboys wore yellow 'fish' slickers which were linen treated with linseed oil. These were first made by sailors come ashore to work. The same metamorphosis gave you the Drizabone, only with a better waterproofing and refinements like the cape, ankle snaps and throatlatch. I owned all three, sold all three AT PROFIT when they were hard to get. It is too costumy for my tastes. I work horses and my riding togs came of in the barn. Nothing is more nauseating than a set of 40 something female cottage cheese, thunder thighs, sausage like in black riding pants, boots and prussian spurs  stomping around in public proclaiming the owner is a dressage rider wannabee 16 y/o Liz Taylor in black beauty.