why I “hate” tall people: a dis-concert-ing experience

Before we dive into my deep-seated height issues, here are some stats. The average female’s height is around 5”5 (or 163 cm, in countries that actually make sense). As far as I know, I’m 5”7 (170 cm). So yes, technically, I hate myself, too.

Anyway, I say I’m 5”7 “as far as I know” because I really don’t know at all. I don’t make a habit of measuring myself anymore, mostly because doing so just got too depressing.

Four years ago, when measuring my height at home

Me: *straining neck to appear taller* What does it say???

Mom: 169 cm. Try for 170. Models have to be at least 170.

Three point five years ago

Me: *raises chin* What now?

Mom: 169 cm. Wait…

Me: What? I got taller?!?

Mom: … 169.1 cm. By the way, models have to be at least 170.

Three years ago

Mom: 170 cm!

Me: No way!

Mom: Good. Models have to be at least 173.

Me: Models also have to be at least reasonably attractive.

So now I rely solely on the numbers from my yearly physical exams. That way, I can content myself with the possibility that my doctor has bad eyes and is accidentally shaving off an inch from my height every time she reads from the scale. For the past three years.

I mean, she’s a pediatrician, not an optometrist. Mistakes happen.

… Actually, I might be serious. Considering how people shorter than me claim to be 5”9 and people taller than me claim to be 5”7 and all of us cite actual doctors to prove the accuracy of our claims, I can only conclude that all pediatricians in my area are a) incapable of measuring tall people, b) putting down random numbers just to see if anyone notices, or c) trying really hard to further prove that doctors have awful handwriting.

Looking back on what I’ve written so far, I guess it’s just that I hate people taller than me. Why?

Here’s an example: yesterday’s Ed Sheeran concert. It was actually in my city—which meant I had to go, if not only for the shock value of something actually happening around here—and held in one of the football stadiums my drill team performed at last year. My group had GA (general admissions) tickets, aka first-come-first-serve, so we arrived an hour and a half early to get good spots on the field.

6:15 PM

Of course, there’s already a crowd. It’s relatively loose, though, so we’re able to worm our way closer to the stage. We decide ten or so rows away from the stage is good enough, because we’re excited, not stupid.

The crowd goes wild. I whip my head up. It’s a stage technician. He sets a microphone up and walks off.

6:52 PM

Jamie Lawson, who’s opening for Ed, appears, and that’s when I really notice who’s standing in front of me.

IMG_2825

Look, I’m fine with you being tall. Really jealous, but fine; you can’t control that. I’m fine with the hairstyle itself. In fact, I like it. The sunflowers are a nice touch. I would just appreciate the aesthetic a whole lot more if it was not basically an extra head added to your height. While it’s admittedly nice to look at, you know what else would be nice to look at? The stage.

Please be considerate, I plead via brain wave, like she’ll receive the message and take down her offending bun.

Friend: Have you thought of a blog post idea yet?

Me: “Why I hate tall people.”

Friend: *laughs* But you’re tall.

I realize that the people behind me are probably cursing me for blocking their view as well. I ask them if I am, and they lie and say no because they’re nicer people than I am.

8 PM

The crowd shifts. The tall bun girl disappears, and another tall guy replaces her.

IMG_2878

This is my view now. Karmic justice for all my complaining, probably.

The tall guy seems to realize that I’m struggling to see over his shoulder, and angles his body slightly sideways. I look up at him in shock, but his eyes are trained on the stage.

It’s a little act of kindness–or maybe it was unintentional–but I smile through the next three hours of tired feet, pulsing music, and beautiful moments.


*Apparently, all my friends except me recognized my face on the big screen at the end, too. So that’s always a plus.


12 thoughts on “why I “hate” tall people: a dis-concert-ing experience

  1. Ha! We live in the same general vicinity! My friend went to see Ed the same night, she is very tall, and she wears high heels! She is older though, and doesn’t wear buns. I think buns are more for your generation, because at your age, they don’t equate to grandmother hair. Ah grandmother hair, I think this shall be MY next blog! My daughter is very stressed about being tall. She is a bit taller than I am, but she insists she is a bit smaller. Luckily she has a boyfriend who is crazy tall.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Did you end up writing that post about grandmother hair? I’m sure that would be a much more productive and enjoyable use of my time right now as opposed to studying for an environmental science test.
      I might even have seen her there! Wow.

      Like

  2. I love seeing other tall women, unfortunately, I’m considered to be a giant at 6 feet tall. Too tall to be a model and my feet are too big for model shoes (average size 8.) So there is a down side. Happily when I go to a concert, my upper body is short (scoliosis) so I appear normal height until I stand up. I feel your pain. I can’t see over the tall torso people of the world. Yes, you are average in height but most women are around 5’3″ to 5’5″. I have heard every tall joke known to man. I’ve started relaying my stories about having to buy custom made pants and the average cost of clothes and shoes for a giantess. Yes, there is no need for a bun on a tall person.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I’m glad you share my sentiments! I actually happen to have a disproportionately long torso, so I suppose it was lucky I was standing. Kind of.
      Scoliosis? I wrote a post about that recently; have you tried rolfing? It worked for me!

      Liked by 1 person

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