Fitting in is a foreign concept to me. And to be honest, I was never really given the opportunity to fit in. I hit the 6 foot mark in the 6th grade and was standing tall at 6'3" by the time I was a freshman in high school. I played all the sports that a tall girl was expected to play- basketball and volleyball. However, much to the chagrin of the track coach, I drew the line at those two sports. I stuck out in my teens no matter where I went (which can be evidenced by my nicknames in high school- a healthy amalgamation of The Jolly Green Giant and Big Bird).
Needless to say, throughout college I felt pretty normal since most of my volleyball teammates were around my height. We all stuck together like a pack of wolves (or I guess pack of giraffes would be more fitting). College came and went and I recently took a job in Chicago. I thought that by moving to a big city I would blend in more, but I have witnessed quite the opposite effect here. Chicago has only intensified and increased the number of comments that I receive. I've been through it all- the gawking, the comments, the small clothes, and the limited space.
First of all, I must address the gawking and the comments. Why is it socially acceptable to comment to a tall person how tall they are, yet pointing out the height of someone who is short is frowned upon? I couldn't tell you the last day that I did not get a comment about my height. "How tall are you?!" "Do you know that you're tall?" "What's the weather like up there?" "Can I take a picture of you back to back with me?" "Do you date short men?" "Our babies would be huge." "You are one tall drink of water!" "Do you play basketball?" "Can you dunk?" "Do you model?" Or one of my recent favorites, "Do you play in the WNBA?" If one thing is for certain, it is that people do not hesitate to remind me that I am abnormally tall on a daily basis. If I really want to throw people off when they ask me how tall I am, I respond to them that I'm 1,905 millimeters. That usually buys me enough time to escape amidst their confusion and mental math.
Putting the number of inches aside, I also don't lack in the number of stories.
You know you're tall when a mime in downtown Chicago comes out of character and runs up to you to tell you how tall you are. To make it worse, the tourists started taking pictures of me hovering over the not-so-mute mime who was painted from head to toe. He then proceeded to offer me a position as an extra in movie that he was going to be in. Sadly, this is just the beginning.
A couple weeks earlier, I was denied from going through the brand new body scans at O'Hare Airport because of my height. The TSA worker had to escort me to one of the older machines across the room that would be able to scan my whole body. Twenty minutes later and half a Cinnabon in, I overheard a random lady with her back to me say to her friend, "Did you see that tall girl who couldn't fit through the security machine? How embarrassing!" And the saddest part? I originally didn't even think twice about it.
I was once at a liquor store and one of the workers asked me, in all seriousness, "I can't find my ladder. Would you mind grabbing that handle of vodka for me?" When I go to any grocery store, something about me must scream "I would gladly grab that can of soup from the top shelf for you."
At the street fests of my alma mater, Ohio University, my friends' mottos were to "meet at Jane" if they got lost or separated from the group. I was practically a walking landmark. I'll just put it this way- we always were able to stick together. Keg stands were also an enigma. I try to keep my distance from them as I have become acclimated to being dropped due to people not able to support my height/weight. Noted: going face first into a keg is not one of the classiest looks for a girl.
I was on the train last week and witnessed a man blatantly taking a picture of me on his flip phone. It was just as I was about to get off at my stop so I removed my headphones, placed my hands on my hips, turned towards him, and struck a pose before I exited the train. I think it's safe to say that he'll never do that again.
If I go to a bar, it's almost a given that some short man will ask to take a picture with me. I couldn't even begin to tell you how many random pictures of me there must be floating around on Facebook. One of my roommates in college actually came across a picture on Facebook that a random person had snapped of me. Its caption? "That is one TALL chick." If I wear heels to a bar, the DJ may as well just pause the music because the whole bar will act like they've never seen a girl over 6 feet before (granted I'm probably 6'7" or 6'8" at this point). People will "discretely" pretend to pose for pictures in front of me in hopes to snap a picture of the Amazon woman who is bold enough to wear heels. I even feel people behind me measure up to me. Hello, I can feel your body rubbing up on mine.
Which leads me to my next argument: heels. I wear heels almost every single day- to work, bars, grocery stores, gas stations, public restrooms, etc. The classic response to this is, "Why do you wear heels? You're already tall enough!" I have the right to wear heels just as much as any legal midget does. It should be noted that girls don't wear heels solely for the height. They change the way you walk, make your legs more attractive, and are generally cuter than flats.
For some reason, being tall also equates into being manly. I have no shame in admitting that I've been asked if I'm a man before. One time in college, a transvestite approached me, asked me how tall I was (surprise, surprise), and then blatantly proceeded to ask me, "I've gotta ask, are you a tranny?" (S)he was 100% serious. I probably laughed for a straight hour.
I've even considered renting out advertisement space on my shirt due to how much people gawk at me. I'm telling you, with $5 a character, I could make a killing. If that business happens to fail, I'm just going to resort to a shirt that says, "To answer your question, I am 6'3" in big, bold letters.
I wish everyone could witness the connection between tall complete strangers. I would almost consider it a secret society. If I walk past someone who is tall, there is a mutual understanding that occurs. Both of us will smile at each other with an I-know-what-you're-going-through look before resuming walking.
Anyone of normal height who is reading this should never take general activities for granted. This is coming from the girl who thought palming a men's basketball was normal until high school for Pete's sake. If I go indoor tanning, I have to decide whether I want my head or my feet tan because the tanning beds never cater to girls of my . . . errr . . . stature. Dressing rooms are practically null and void for me. It's not like people can't see half my naked body looming above the door. I recently came to the conclusion that I've never really experienced a head bump- it's usually more of like a chest/head bump. Additionally, you can complain to me about not being able to find clothes once you wear a 38" inseam and size 12 shoes, both of which are my nemeses. Finding clothes is practically a part-time job. I couldn't tell you the last time I was able to buy pants from an actual store, versus buying them online. Capris are in style only so often.
Believe me, in the end, I ultimately love being tall. Heck, it got me through a Division 1 college without ever having to pay a dime (except to fork out money for unusually large clothes or a bar tab here or there). However, if you ask me if I play basketball, do not look surprised when I respond, "No. Do you play mini golf?"
