Stand Tall

I was reading an autobiographical story in my favorite literary magazine, The Sun, this morning.  The author wrote about her lifelong addiction to frequenting thrift shops for clothing, furniture, and toys, especially when she was a divorced mother of two boys with little to live on. The clothing she favored for herself was gauzy tops and jeans; more than once she was told that the image she was projecting would not help her advance professionally in office politics.  But that was how she saw herself until that image was transformed by a Chanel suit, size two, selling for $25.  She said that she was "five feet tall and bone thin" when she found it, and when she put it on, she no longer felt wispy and ineffectual.  It changed her entire demeanor.

I don't know why that struck me in a way that made me feel fortunate, but it did. 

I have always hated being tall, as long as I can remember.  My mother, who is very petite, was my ideal; I wanted to be little and cute, not tall and tragically clumsy.  I was always one of the tallest members of my class, or any group of kids; it was difficult finding clothing long enough.  Mom and Grandma, and then I myself, made a fair number of my clothes, which helped with having pants and dresses the right length.  Early in my high school years, I remember Mom sewing wide bands of braid to the bottom of my jeans to make them long enough (thank God for odd 70's fashion trends).  I think it was my junior year of high school that I wore moccasins to school every single day after the first day of school, because then my jeans didn't need to be so long.  That didn't help the fact that I couldn't find the fashion Jordache and Gitano jeans that were so popular by then in the right length.  By the time I went to college, the blessed unisex trend of shrink-to-fit 501 Levis saved me, followed by sweatpants worn pulled up our calves and then capris and Keds sneakers.  By the 90's, stirrup pants made a reappearance from my childhood, and I transitioned from those to wearing the flattest shoes I could find until I had to start wearing orthopedic shoes.  That was about the time that I began special-ordering tall pants so I could have them long enough.  No way could a teacher go to work in high water pants, not with teenagers.  Much too brutal. 

I heard about my great "fortune" from short people all the time, especially my mom and grandma and great-grandma, all of whom needed stepstools to reach into cabinets. the tops of closets, even the lower branches of fruit trees.  Mom complains still about how pants and shirts are much too long for her, but I remind her she can always cut them off; I can't add a ruffle to the bottom of my pants or anything.  She doesn't buy it, and I don't blame her---lots of current styles overwhelm her little frame.  I guess I never saw their short stature as a problem because they all have been powerful, indomitable women who did whatever they needed to do when it needed to be done. 

But not until today when I read about that struggling mother gaining tangible power from her bargain-basement suit did the power I gained from my height coalesce in my mind.  I never have felt physically threatened anywhere that I can remember, not by men or women, despite the fact that I am fairly shy and still a little timid, though less so than when I was younger.  I have no problem drawing myself up into my full height if faced with a potentially dangerous situation.  Although I used to wear heels when I taught college, I've never once felt the need to do so like some of my shorter-statured peers have in order to appear more in control to students.  My long legs probably were the better part of my ability to do the splits and kick the top of the door frame the way I used to do to wheedle some good behavior out of my kids.  And now that I've started the dreaded height-shrinking that so many women face, I guess I'm a lot more grateful for the extra room I have to shrink from. 

The past 50 years of standing tall have surely been worth the fashion angst.  I'd still take the joy of being able to fit into a size two Chanel suit, though, no matter what the price.