“I’m not afraid of heights, so this is going to work,” says the gem of a man standing in front of me.
At six feet tall, I am well aware that I stand at an above average height not only for females in North America, but males, as well. I can’t really see my height in the mirror (because most mirrors are hung low enough that they cut my head off), but I can see it in the faces, postures, and comments of the people I interact with. Needless to say, I’m not in dire need of a reminder of my towering stature.
How tall is she? Sunderland fans aren’t likely to find out, as the author is “terrible at all sports.” Photo Courtesy Courtesy Stuart Clarke.
I was quite annoyed at the whole situation, and I spent a solid 20 minutes lecturing this man, who stood at least two inches taller than me, on proper methods for approaching women. He seemed very appreciative, and I like to think that I changed a life that day.
It wasn’t until recently that I considered the issues presented by this situation. I was so distracted by the annoyed feeling (why does my height factor into whether or not you approach me, or whether or not “this is going to work”?) and my overall disinterest (besides, I have a boyfriend, and I have no desire to “work” with you) that I missed the part where this guy, first of all, felt like he personally had the authority to determine whether or not this would “work,” but secondly, and most importantly, felt the need put me down and reduce me to a single (and potentially sore-spot) part in order to approach me.
I used to think that I had never been affected by any particular “ism.” I feel truly lucky to have felt this way, because it means that I live in a society, built on the backs of those who were not as fortunate as I, that does not hold me back because I was born a certain way. Lately, though I’ve remained grateful for my privileged experiences, I’ve come to think that maybe a broad spectrum of “isms” affect us all in less-tangible ways.
Following questions about my abilities in certain sports (I am terrible at all sports) and if I’m enjoying the weather “up there” (my head is less than a foot above yours, so the weather is about the same), the question I am most commonly asked is: “You’re already so tall. Why do you even need to wear heels?” At first, this is funny (haha, there must have been a shelf that I couldn’t reach), but the more I think about it, the more it strikes me as an implicit “ism.” Not only is it none of your business whether or not I choose to wear heels (maybe I freaking like the way my calves look when I wear them, okay?), this statement only serves to emphasize the fact that I don’t fit into the mould that you think I should fit into.
I used to hate my height, and sometimes, I still do. Up until very recently, I specifically did not wear heels. I still have a slouch that I cannot get rid of, and when I do stand up straight, my boyfriend asks me if I’ve grown. Buying pants is an absolute nightmare that I avoid at all costs, and any shirt that isn’t specifically made to hit a normal person’s thigh is probably too short. But the thing that bugs me most about my height is that it seems to be the tool by which those who think they have the right define me as what I am not – that is, their image of what I should be.
I don’t pretend that this struggle is unique to me. I’m willing to bet that most people, regardless of gender, know what it’s like to have the whole of themselves be defined by a single part – potentially the part that they’d change if they could. The effects of this extend far beyond the inability to find pants or the physical effects of forgetting how it feels to stand up tall. I think that everyone feels “too” something sometimes: too small or too big, too loud or too quiet, too old or too young, too black or too white. Not “fitting the mould” extends past the self and into the structuring of a society that takes for itself the authority to define us by what we are not.
I think we should, collectively, come to define ourselves by the whole of what we are. While we should own the things that place us outside of the mould (because it is precisely these things which make us individual at all), we should not allow these single things to define our whole. We are more than just tall or small, loud or quiet, old or young, black or white. We are complex, distinctive beings who can’t be defined by a single word, or even a single sentence.
So, as I told the gem of a man on that fateful night, I’m more than just that tall girl who you might just “work” with. You have no right to reduce me to a part of myself with which I may or may not identify, just as I have no right to do the same to you. You, and I, and every other person in this world who equally deserves to be considered beyond a spectrum of “isms,” are more than the sum of our parts.