Although my blog is titled “Loving Your Long Legs”, I will be the first one to admit that being tall isn’t always awesome. Like all great things it comes with its challenges and, the other day, I met one of them.
The other day, I was working a shift at my job as a “beauty advisor”. By “beauty advisor” I mean that I sell makeup to unsuspecting customers in a big box retail store. My job consists of standing on my feet all day wearing a shocking amount of makeup while I make casual conversation about bronzers, smooth wrinkle erasing (“I promise!”) creams and lotions on the tops of my hands and say in a sing-song voice “Would that be everything today?”. Needless to say, my employment position can be somewhat on the tiring side. That day, in particular, was particularly frustrating as I was assigned to a brand new, just-launched makeup line for teens. This would be fine, except that I work in a mall near several old age homes and our mean age demographic is about seventy-five. MAC who??
So there I was, hunched over the makeup counter, my six foot frame begging to be stretched back into its proper height, when a little old lady came strolling past with her husband. Being the excellent sales person that I am (*brushes shoulders off), I smiled sweetly and asked if there was anything I could help her with. Instead, this woman looked up at me with an expression that could only be described as confused and somewhat disgusted and said “My god, girl, you must be at least seven feet tall!!”.
I winced as the other makeup girls surrounding me stifled their giggles. But, being that I have been six feet since the age of fourteen, I was less than phased by her observation and said calmly and assuredly “Actually, madam, I am exactly six feet one inch. If I was seven feet I would have trouble fitting through a doorway and would be peering down at you from this height”, I placed my hand about a foot taller than my head and smiled again.
Now, normally that would be the end of it. The little old lady would simple say “Oh, dear, you are absolutely correct. My mistake! And, by the way, you look beautiful”. But, this time, the conversation went a little something like this:
Me: *Placing a hand a foot taller than me and smiling*
Little Old Lady: Oh well, girl, you are crazy because you are a hell of a lot taller than 6’1’’. In your dreams! *Stomps off
Me: *Shell shocked
I couldn’t believe it. I was incensed! My face was hot with anger. At that moment, a colleague of mine who had overheard the whole conversation came to my aid.
Colleague: Oh don’t worry, Anastasia. These things happen all the time in retail. People seem to think that they can take out their anger toward the world on us. Just let it slip off your back.
Me: Are you nuts??
Colleague: I’m sorry?
Me: I’m not mad because she yelled at me. I’m not even mad because she didn’t buy any product (which she needed, by the way). I’m mad because she didn’t believe me when I told her my actual height!! She got my height WRONG.
Colleague: *Confused
This isn’t the first time someone has guessed at my height and gotten it wrong. I have gotten everything from five eleven to, well, seven foot three if you must know. And, no matter how tall or short someone guesses I am, I am just as annoyed at either. Believe me, I get enough “tall girl questions” per day to have sort of become immune, but this seems different. After reflecting on it a bit, I think it comes down to pride.I am proud of being exactly six foot one inch. Although it can be backbreaking, I really do love my height. I can’t imagine myself being an average 5’5’’ or even a “tall” (ya right) 5’8’’. Even though it comes with baggage, I would not be the same person if I was shorter or taller. I love being tall because it makes me who I am. When people make assumptions of how tall I am, I not only feel like they are making assumptions about the length of my body, but that they are making assumptions about who I am as a person. That little old lady was prescribing a height for me that she thought fit. She was telling me what I was and who I was. She was wrong. Six foot one inch fits me just fine and I am so proud of it.
The other day, I was working a shift at my job as a “beauty advisor”. By “beauty advisor” I mean that I sell makeup to unsuspecting customers in a big box retail store. My job consists of standing on my feet all day wearing a shocking amount of makeup while I make casual conversation about bronzers, smooth wrinkle erasing (“I promise!”) creams and lotions on the tops of my hands and say in a sing-song voice “Would that be everything today?”. Needless to say, my employment position can be somewhat on the tiring side. That day, in particular, was particularly frustrating as I was assigned to a brand new, just-launched makeup line for teens. This would be fine, except that I work in a mall near several old age homes and our mean age demographic is about seventy-five. MAC who??
So there I was, hunched over the makeup counter, my six foot frame begging to be stretched back into its proper height, when a little old lady came strolling past with her husband. Being the excellent sales person that I am (*brushes shoulders off), I smiled sweetly and asked if there was anything I could help her with. Instead, this woman looked up at me with an expression that could only be described as confused and somewhat disgusted and said “My god, girl, you must be at least seven feet tall!!”.
I winced as the other makeup girls surrounding me stifled their giggles. But, being that I have been six feet since the age of fourteen, I was less than phased by her observation and said calmly and assuredly “Actually, madam, I am exactly six feet one inch. If I was seven feet I would have trouble fitting through a doorway and would be peering down at you from this height”, I placed my hand about a foot taller than my head and smiled again.
Now, normally that would be the end of it. The little old lady would simple say “Oh, dear, you are absolutely correct. My mistake! And, by the way, you look beautiful”. But, this time, the conversation went a little something like this:
Me: *Placing a hand a foot taller than me and smiling*
Little Old Lady: Oh well, girl, you are crazy because you are a hell of a lot taller than 6’1’’. In your dreams! *Stomps off
Me: *Shell shocked
I couldn’t believe it. I was incensed! My face was hot with anger. At that moment, a colleague of mine who had overheard the whole conversation came to my aid.
Colleague: Oh don’t worry, Anastasia. These things happen all the time in retail. People seem to think that they can take out their anger toward the world on us. Just let it slip off your back.
Me: Are you nuts??
Colleague: I’m sorry?
Me: I’m not mad because she yelled at me. I’m not even mad because she didn’t buy any product (which she needed, by the way). I’m mad because she didn’t believe me when I told her my actual height!! She got my height WRONG.
Colleague: *Confused
This isn’t the first time someone has guessed at my height and gotten it wrong. I have gotten everything from five eleven to, well, seven foot three if you must know. And, no matter how tall or short someone guesses I am, I am just as annoyed at either. Believe me, I get enough “tall girl questions” per day to have sort of become immune, but this seems different. After reflecting on it a bit, I think it comes down to pride.I am proud of being exactly six foot one inch. Although it can be backbreaking, I really do love my height. I can’t imagine myself being an average 5’5’’ or even a “tall” (ya right) 5’8’’. Even though it comes with baggage, I would not be the same person if I was shorter or taller. I love being tall because it makes me who I am. When people make assumptions of how tall I am, I not only feel like they are making assumptions about the length of my body, but that they are making assumptions about who I am as a person. That little old lady was prescribing a height for me that she thought fit. She was telling me what I was and who I was. She was wrong. Six foot one inch fits me just fine and I am so proud of it.
