In 2019, an American cinematic classic by the name of Tall Girl was born. Following the trials and tribulations of a 6’1 high school girl, the film has blessed our cultural zeitgeist with lines like “You think your life is hard? I’m a high school junior who wears size 13 Nikes. Men’s size 13 Nikes.” What can I say? I feel seen!
Okay, I’m not actually 6’1 nor do I wear a men’s size 13. I’m also 23, but somehow that age feels analogous to being 17. I’m just a teenage g_rl in their twenties, what can I say? I am, however, 5 '10 and wear a size 10 in women’s. That’s really not so bad, right? Well, sort of. While I’d never repeat the line of The Tall Girl, especially when talking to someone who is a part of an actually marginalized group, this height certainly comes with its own set of…circumstances.
When I was younger I did feel a bit like a freak, and worried that my height may mean that I’m permanently unlovable or some other teenage angsty fear like that. I don’t quite feel that way anymore. Though I certainly wouldn’t be in a place to boast about the successes of my past relationships, I have technically “loved” and “been loved”. Whatever that means. My problem with my height these days is less about my lovability and more about being perceived in particular ways. Okay maaaaybe that’s the same thing, but I’d like to at least think its a little different. Delusional girl summer anyone???
For starters, I have a decided advantage at shows and concerts. I can see over most people’s heads from wherever I’m standing. This is generally great for me and pretty annoying to other people. My great time is subsequently interrupted by feeling dagger eyes on my back or being elbowed or even simply thinking that other people are annoyed by me. The nuances of reality + the projections in my head make a deadly cocktail yet I somehow keep sipping. Also, most of my friends are a lot shorter than me. To be heard in crowded, noisy spaces, I often have to awkwardly contort myself to say something in their ears. I quite literally have to figure out how to shrink myself down to be able to effectively communicate. I find myself doing other things to shrink, too. Arms are crossed. I place my weight on one leg to seem a little shorter. I dance, but try not to sprawl. These acts are largely subconscious, but noticing myself doing them makes me feel sad. Small, but not in the way that I want. Usually a couple gin and tonics help with that. But only sort of.
Being tall also means being seen, all the time. Whether I like it or not. There is no anonymity in being able to see over everybody - I feel like a lonely guard on a watchtower who never gets to clock out. I couldn’t blend in even if I wanted to; while standing out has its merit, sometimes I crave being swallowed by a dancing nightclub or bustling concert. I have experimented throughout my life with becoming smaller in other ways- keeping my opinions to myself, not talking to many people, avoiding controversy or confrontation. As I’ve gotten older, I realize it’s actually easier to express my big personality and bold opinions than it is to suppress them. Easier is the key, not easy. I still feel like each time I convey who I truly am, I’m fighting every primal instinct to stay safe and accepted.
I know what you’re probably thinking at this point. You’re 23, it’s time to get over your insecurities and live your damn life. And you’re right! Spending my life wallowing about being tall would be counterproductive and also kind of pathetic. I’ve certainly made progress. I don’t mind meeting people’s gaze, even if they’re shorter than me. I don’t refrain from being passionate and expressive, even when it’s uncomfortable. I put myself “out there” fairly often, and have had many wonderful times out with friends despite my slight affliction. Oh, but there are times when I dream of being small. Pocket-sized pixie girls get to blend in when they want to. Femininity and size seem so inextricably linked in a capitalist, beauty-obsessed society. (Remember this Princess Nokia Interview??? https://twitter.com/BIPOCHousing_MA/status/1181610136860651521?lang=da) Short girls are dainty and cute, and I get messages on Hinge from men asking me to make them D1 babies. God, it’s rough out here.
My worst fear is that people can sense my own worry and discomfort. I wonder if I look gawky or gangly, or that I wear my anxieties on my sleeve. In line for a grimy nightclub a few weeks ago, a man in line (who I did not know) looked me up and down and said that I look like I don’t get out much. Ouuuuuuch. It’s like he was reading my mind. I was embarrassed by how bothered I felt by that comment. I felt the urge to explain myself, boast about all of my other slightly anxious nights on the town or somehow prove he was wrong- but I knew it was pointless. While obviously a strange and rude thing to say to a stranger, my ego was bruised the rest of the night. I just wanted to shrink, or better, disappear.
The obvious and cliché takeaway from all of this would be like, just don’t worry about what other people think! Be confident! It’s not about your height, it’s how you feel about it! Which like, okayyyyy fine and true. But also there are days when I don’t want a solution. And it’s not like I have a bank of spare confidence I can just transfer from when I’m feeling low. It’s a ~process~. I guess what I’m trying to say is there’s no real point I'm trying to make here. Sometimes being so tall makes me sad. Not always. I don’t hate myself or think I’m ugly or anything like that. But it’s really hard to take up space and how deserving I feel of such changes all the time. Sometimes I think it’s okay to just wish things were different even if they can’t be. It’s okay to long for beauty and belonging, I think. As much as beauty isn’t owed to anyone, I don’t think confidence really is either. Is it self-absorbed to even be thinking about my height this much? Also probably. Is this by any means the worst problem in the world? Close, but not quite. I wish I had a really poignant and conclusive ending to these ramblings, but unfortunately nothing comes to mind. I’ll keep thinking about it, but for now I’ll just try keeping my arms uncrossed at the house show.
Original artwork by me (Kylee Wiens)
(tag yourself, I think I'm the purple guy in the middle)
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