There is a strange experience that comes with being a tall girl: everyone seems to notice before you do.
My whole life, I’ve had a complicated relationship with height. Standing at 5 feet, 11 inches tall, I had to redirect what was once a taught dislike into a learned appreciation for my height.
Learning To Shrink
Growing up, height was the first thing people noticed about me. The comment “You’re so tall” was often accompanied by some question about my parents’ height or if I played basketball. Sometimes it was a compliment, other times, it was just an observation. But when you hear those same lines enough times, you start to wonder if that’s the only interesting thing about you.
Because how could a tall girl possibly be interested in creative arts when she has so much athletic potential? Some have even gone as far as to call it a “waste of genes.” Yes, I’ve had men say that to me.
I was always put in the back of class photos, and stood at the top row in school performances. I was scrutinized for wearing wedge heels to picture day in eighth grade, and the comments boys in my class made were dehumanizing. I was often described as “big” in sports settings, which may have been intended as a compliment, but as a developing teenage girl growing up under today’s beauty standards, it was a humiliating sentence to hear.
TOO BIG TO BE FEMININE
Being tall is not inherently strange. Yet, for some reason, height carries a different meaning for girls.
Tall boys are often praised as the ideal type and deemed attractive, whereas tall girls are awkward and considered less feminine. I observed this distinction before I even had the words to explain it.
Girls are often taught that femininity is supposed to be small. Delicate. Soft. We’re encouraged to be confident but not intimidating, strong but not physically imposing, and independent but still approachable.
It’s ironic how paradoxical these expectations are.
In a society where femininity is supposed to be dainty and small, being tall feels like a rejection of the mold. Therefore, tall girls are expected to be thin and beautiful, with a reserved personality to somehow compensate for the space they take up. When they don’t fit those expectations, they can be treated like a different species.
Stepping on the scale held a new type of gravity because every additional pound, even if it was simply a consequence of growing in height, felt like yet another reason to be ostracized. The unwanted attention I received for simply taking up more space caused me to shrink myself every day.
I thought that because I existed in a larger body, I had to compensate for that with a reserved, polite, people-pleasing personality. I was constantly worried about how I was perceived, knowing that it was impossible for my presence to go unnoticed even if I never spoke a word.
I was determined to never require more attention than necessary.
That meant I’d never speak up. I wouldn’t defend myself. If I couldn’t make myself physically smaller, I could at least make myself socially smaller.
MY HEIGHT DOESN’T NEED A CAREER
I was taught to treat my body like an inconvenience. Until, of course, it was useful.
Put a tall girl on a basketball court, and suddenly, her height is an advantage. Put her on a runway, and it becomes desirable. Outside of those settings, however, the same height can become something people feel entitled to comment on.
“Do you play basketball?”
“You could be a model.”
I’ve heard versions of these comments enough times to understand the assumption behind them: if a girl is tall, there must be a purpose for it. But what if I’m just tall?
My height does not need to make me an athlete, and it does not need to make me a model. It doesn’t have to contribute to anything outside of the fact that it’s simply a part of who I am.
Over time, I realized that my height was an advantage beyond sports or reaching the top shelf. While I once believed I was targeted for being a “giant,” it took years to recognize that my height could also be a source of power. It’s a statement.
Owning The Heels
Walking into a room as a tall woman can challenge expectations before you say anything. Height can disrupt the traditional image of a woman as smaller, softer, and more submissive than the man beside her. I reject those ideals with my four-inch heels, deciding that being noticeable is not something I need to fear.
For some reason, heels can feel like a particularly complicated decision for tall women. A pair of heels can make you feel confident and feminine, but there can also be a tiny voice asking whether you really want to be that tall.
That voice doesn’t come from the shoes. It comes from years of being taught that women should not physically tower over other people, especially men.
GOD FORBID SHE’S TALLER
Society teaches us to follow its rules: keep quiet, allow men to take charge, and don’t you dare challenge established power dynamics. That makes the dating game much more difficult to navigate.
There’s an expectation that the man should be taller in a heterosexual relationship. We see it represented everywhere, from movies, to dating apps, to the couples around us. Men are often expected to be the larger one, the protector and the provider, while women are expected to be smaller beside them.
At 5 feet, 11 inches, I am taller than the average man. That makes a preference for taller men much more complicated for tall women, who can find themselves excluded simply because they don’t fit the desired height dynamic. It’s telling that a woman being taller than her partner can feel noteworthy or undesirable.
It’s because we’ve attached gender to height. But height doesn’t determine who is stronger or who should lead.
THE PROBLEM WAS NEVER HEIGHT
This idea is not new, either. Throughout history and mythology, women who possess physical strength or power have often existed outside the traditional image of the dainty damsel. These women challenged expectations of what women were supposed to look like and what they were supposed to be capable of. Their strength and femininity can coexist, proving that being physically imposing does not erase a woman’s femininity.
Modern women are still figuring out that same balance.
Society has been more accepting of taller women, especially in sports, but women athletes are often over-masculinzed. They’re praised for their strength and physical abilities while simultaneously being placed into stereotypes that make it difficult for a woman to simply feel confident in her stature.
Reclaiming The Power
For years, I thought being tall meant learning how to make my height less noticeable. Now, it means embracing it with confidence and letting myself take up space. I can wear heels, take pictures without worrying who I tower over, walk into rooms without immediately calculating how much physical space I occupy.
Being tall doesn’t minimize my femininity. It doesn’t make me “too much.” And it certainly does not mean I need to shrink myself for someone else to feel bigger.
Being a tall girl has actually become my favorite thing about myself. What I once saw as something I needed to combat is now something I wouldn’t trade for anything. I love walking into a room and being the tallest one there. I can finally take up space without apologizing for it.