Step Up!

Step Up!

Written by Lauren mallett

photographed by Olivia flanz

There’s no denying the fact that I’m short. As a full-grown adult, I have maxed out at a wonderful height of five foot two inches, which is far below average and, to me personally, very frustrating.

As someone who was born female and tends to present femininely, my height is often a topic of discussion. Whether it’s a fleeting comment from a passerby, or the use of my head as an armrest by someone taller than me, it’s nearly impossible to go a day without being reminded in some way that I’m vertically challenged. 

Growing up, I was always the shortest of my peers, with many of them towering over me by more than a foot. My size was always a looming subject, always there and always present. Whether it was being unable to reach something on a high shelf, or someone—whom I thought was my friend—calling me a leprechaun, a sense of shame around my height was instilled in me from a young age. 

I have always felt that people underestimate me because of my size. People told me I couldn’t carry heavy items because I was too small, that I couldn’t be intimidating or authoritative. I was too cute to be taken seriously, too girly to be a leader. In fourth grade, I wanted to play the trumpet more than anything, but my parents thought I was too small and told me to play the flute instead. Of course, I didn’t listen. 

I was treated as if I wasn’t able to care for myself because, well, look at me. My height became conflated with my ability to exist as my own independent person, and people began to treat me as incapable because of it.

Flash forward to me at 20-years-old. I'm never not wearing platforms. Whether it's the two added inches on my Koi Footwear sneakers, or the massive seven-inch hunk of a sole on my Demonia Stacks, I’m always going to be elevated. To be lifted off the ground in such a way feels to me like power. With just a pair of shoes, I am able to completely change not only the way that I carry myself, but the way that other people perceive me. Suddenly, when I’m measuring closer to 5’7”, people seem to think I’m a lot more capable of handling myself. And it feels that way for me, too. 

I feel strong when I’m in my platforms, like a bad bitch who could kick anyone's ass, both literally and figuratively. I feel cool, I feel sexy, and—most importantly—I feel confident. When I’m towering up above, my eyeline raised far higher than normal, I can feel every inch of myself grow louder and prouder. My shoulders push back, my chin tilts up, I walk with such purpose in my stride that people move out of my way. All this comes from a pair of shoes, a few inches. 

Don’t get me wrong, I have come to love my height—most of the time. But there’s something unbeatable about the way I feel when I walk into a room and notice someone’s reaction to me being a hell of a lot taller than I was the last time they saw me. Especially when it means I’m taller than they are. 

So I’m going to throw on my platforms, and I’m going to be as tall as I want, because I’m ready to lift myself up and rise above how people view me for being short.