By Elaine Dove
I see us everywhere. Restaurants. The grocery store. The mall. I hear our sighs in the dressing room as we try on skirts that, mid-thigh on others, graze dangerous territory on us. I see our longing gazes as we pick up and then put back those high, high stiletto heels at Nine West or Nordstrom’s or Last Call.
Yes, I see you, my tall sisters.
We slouch our shoulders, curve our upper backs in order to make others feel more comfortable around us. We choose flatter shoes for our first, and second, and third date, because he’s cute and we’re interested and he’s only about an inch taller than we are and we don’t want to rock the boat. Would it really rock the boat? We don’t know, so we play it on the safe side. We know that men love women in heels, but do men still love women in heels when that woman in heels is three inches taller than he is in his best cowboy boots?
Can we even ask these questions? How much of it is unspoken? If my date hops up onto the curb beside my 5’9” self as we’re walking down the street (making him an inch or so taller) there’s a part of my brain that wonders if it’s boyish caprice or insecurity. I notice that I quickly shut this question down because I sense it’s a place not to go to so soon. It’s okay with me if he wants to stand on the uphill side to kiss me when we’re in the park. At least, I think it is. Part of me wants so badly to ask how he feels about the upward trajectory of his loving gaze when I’m decked out to the nines the way I like to be. I struggle between my love of him and my love of those Gwen Stefani L.A.M.B. peeptoes.
I know I’m not alone in this dilemma, even if none of us are talking about it.