I have been 5ft 10in since I was 11 years old, so I’m used to being taller than most people. Including now my husband, who stands at 5ft 3in, which, conveniently, puts him at eye level to my bust.
Not only am I tall but I am curvy, too. Growing up in an era of 1990s indie bands and skinny men in skinny jeans taught me to deal with my different body proportions very early on.
Most men I’ve dated have felt threatened by my stature. One long-term boyfriend (5ft 11in) hated me wearing heels on nights out. He’d complain that I’d stand taller than him (fractionally, may I add) and did I really need to do that to him? If I could go back now, I’d tell my 23-year-old self that she definitely should take off those six-inch stripper heels – not to pander to any man’s delicate ego, but because they were hideous.
When dating, I was constantly surprised by how many tall men wanted tiny women. On a recent Reddit poll, when straight women were asked their ideal height in a partner, answers ranged from 5ft 8in to 6ft 6in, with 6ft being the favourite. In June this year Tinder launched a trial feature where people paying for its premium service could filter potential matches by height preferences. This attracted huge media attention (despite Hinge already offering paid subscribers this option), although a Tinder spokesperson downplayed it, saying, ‘It’s not a hard filter, meaning it suggests preferences to the algorithm rather than blocking profiles outside the specified range.’
Sophie, who has been 5ft 10in since she was 11 years old, and Josh, who is 5ft 3in, on their wedding day last August
When I was single, I wouldn’t consider dating anyone (and I looked at many potentials) under 5ft 10in, which is really funny when I tell you that I am now approaching the one-year anniversary of marrying my much smaller husband.
We met in 2012 at the University of Surrey when Josh, who was the year above me on our performance studies course, led me through a module. I remember thinking he had such charisma that he must do really well with women despite being incredibly short.
While we were good friends for the whole of uni, often meeting for dinner, afterwards we drifted apart – before meeting again at a mutual friend’s wedding four years ago.
We spent the entire day glued to each other’s side and it ended the way all great weddings do – with a big snog. I’d love to say our passion continued, but my social conditioning meant I was averse to ‘us’ going any further simply because he was shorter than me. Ultimately, though, I was enthralled. Josh is so infectious to be around that a combination of desperately wanting to see him again and a pep talk from my sister led to the start of our romance. She’d pointed out that the friendship had already been sabotaged by said snog, and that the height issue wasn’t a valid reason to end things when there was clearly so much chemistry.
As someone who adores a bit of glam, I was never going to be a flat-shoe bride, writes Sophie Dearden-Howell
One of my worst traits is worrying what other people think of me – and the start of our relationship forced me to face this. From our first date on a riverside bench in Guildford, our size difference attracted shameless stares from strangers. Acquaintances made disrespectful jokes and friends of friends undermined Josh. At the pub with my brother-in-law’s friends, one of them (who can’t be any taller than 5ft 8in himself) whacked him on the back and shouted across the group, ‘You’re a little chap, aren’t you?’ My sister’s husband, who is 6ft 4in, has a theory that it is shorter men who feel the need to mock Josh. At one of my best friend’s weddings a rugby boy openly pointed and laughed at us – only to end up sobbing as he apologised to a stoic and completely unaffected Josh a few wines later.
As we began to integrate our lives, I found these moments so difficult that at times I wondered if I could keep going. The feeling of shame, protectiveness and hurt was almost unbearable. I even questioned inviting Josh to the above wedding as I feared I wouldn’t be able to cope if someone mocked us again.
And yet Josh has always been accepting of our height difference. Growing up, he found navigating being very short challenging as he’d be the butt of jokes, rejected by girls or even physically picked up by the bigger lads in his year. He says he came on to me to give his future son my tall genes! He has always celebrated my height and sees no reason for embarrassment. This is despite my mother always regaling the story of their first meeting in a pub, being totally enamoured with him, only to be shocked when he stood up. His mother jokes about us being an ‘unusual couple’, but both families immediately welcomed the other.
Josh’s inner confidence is unshakable. When people treat him with any sort of prejudice, he regards it as a ‘them’ problem. Early in our relationship he turned 30 and threw a huge party. One of his friends affectionately told me how thrilled he was that we were dating, then asked, ‘But do you really have to wear heels?’ Enter my future husband who interjected with: ‘I was this height when she met me, she was that height when I met her, it would be weirder if she didn’t.’
As someone who adores a bit of glam, I was never going to be a flat-shoe bride, so when we got married in August last year, I won’t lie, at first I worried about how the photos would look as I towered above him. Josh, by contrast, although supportive of my concerns, was all for me wearing heels, adamant that I shouldn’t change because of him. So when Jimmy Choo asked me to pick a pair of shoes (the benefits of being a fashion director!) you’d better believe I wasn’t choosing flats. Josh told me that, as always, he felt proud to be standing beside me at the altar.
Josh, although supportive of my concerns, was all for me wearing heels, adamant that I shouldn’t change because of him, Sophie adds
For me, it was never about how attracted I was to him, but about my body insecurities. My friends, who all adore Josh, reassured me that our height difference is a fantastic thing, naming Tom Holland and Zendaya, Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban as similar examples. But compared to these women, who are super thin and waft over their husbands in model-esque fashion, I felt like Shrek. Again, I have learnt over time that this isn’t true and have come to feel better about myself.
I am constantly surprised when friends or colleagues who I deeply respect immediately reject a potential date because they look short in a dating-app picture. I now struggle to relate to how someone’s humour, moral compass and chemistry come second to where their head reaches on a door frame.
I have witnessed pure venom from women returning after a date with a man who dared to inflate his height by a few inches. I get that mis-selling yourself to find a girlfriend strikes the wrong note, but when women are openly rejecting you before giving you a chance, it’s understandable.
I hate the way short men are constantly rejected because society has said we fragile little women need big strong protectors. Yes, when I first dated Josh I found it incredibly challenging and swapped my heels for flats to minimise the staring. But I can now say with confidence that I’m totally comfortable with our seven-inch height difference. I’m proud of our relationship, and I fancy this kind, strong man so much that if people meet us with judgment, I am sad for them.
Josh and I endlessly mock each other, laughing at our situation. He once met me at Gatwick Airport with a huge sign saying, ‘Big Bird’. It’s a message to those who judge us – we’re in on the joke, we really don’t care and our love cannot be measured in feet and inches.
