Confessions of a 5' 8" Dwarf

I am realizing that I have a problem. I feel short. I know I am not - everything tells me I am not. I am taller than most of my female friends. I am taller than the average for women, by a good two inches at least. I even know that I technically 'qualify' to shop in the Tall section of most stores, because I am over five six (the normal definition of where tall starts for women) but I feel short. I have a complex about it.

It may have come about from my years growing up. My half sister was model material - tall, lanky, gorgeous. My dad always stood (and still stands) head and shoulders above the crowd, tall and intimidating. Even though my mom is a nice petite 5' 4" (if even that much), she is petite - slender, slim, slimmer than I am, and thus, appears to be about my height. Same with my brothers - while standing only an inch or so taller than I do, they are more slender and so have the illusion of height. I feel like the squat little troll of the family. The dwarf if you will....

And this has led to some creative solutions. I have always - always, loved heels. I think heels are gorgeous - and for me practical; from the moment I could start buying my own shoes, I was buying everything that stood three inches or more off the ground. Even my sandals had to have a platform base of no less than three inches (my best friend has horror stories of the rainbow clod hopper sandals, which I still to this day remember fondly!!). And I was happy. I could finally sashay with the best of them, and I could finally stand tall. But then the inevitable - I was forced to be more sensible. A physical mar, and then dislocating my knee meant that I had to step gingerly. I still tried to walk tall, sticking to platforms instead of heels, but it was not the same. I was walking on two barges of footwear instead of strutting what my mamma gave me on two thin dangerous lines.....

You can only imagine the relief when eight years ago, physical imperfections were fixed and after learning to walk again, I found myself standing tall once more. Sure, I had lost about a inch in height but it was barely noticeable (and remains so to this day, unless I get really tired). And I started to buy - everything pretty, in a size nine, that was three inches or more. I discovered favourites that I still hold dear (Nine West is my poison of choice). I learnt how to differentiate between shoes that were practical, walkable, made me stand tall when standing versus those that were meant to be seen, appreciated, but not really used except to walk from the front door to the cab to the club.

Is it any surprise that I own six pairs of flats in total? That every other shoe is some gorgeous creation, that allows me to totter around, but makes me happy to do so? That one of the first things in London I discovered was to never enter Covent Garden shod in shoes spindly and high, least you be scraping yourself off the cobblestones before the night out has even begun? The idea of dating someone tall crosses my mind - no need to pander to ego and wear more flats or - god forbid - sensible heels (you know, those little one inch heels suitable for running around during work hours). Instead, I crave for someone over six foot tall, someone whose eyes I can look into and shoulders I can lean on....as I adjust the ankle strap on my Bertie beauties!!!!