By most metrics on dating apps, I am a pretty good catch. At 26, I am fun and fashionable, I have my own home near London and a successful career as a digital content creator.
So, I tick all the boxes… or all but one.
I also happen to be 6ft 8in tall – taller than the former England footballer Peter Crouch by an inch – and almost 7ft in heels.
The few boyfriends brave enough to take me out have had to climb on boxes or chairs to kiss me.
Nicole Kidman recently admitted to lying about her height early in her career, after being told she was too tall to get roles. But her fib – taking half an inch off her height – would get me nowhere. I can only dream of being 5ft 11in, which is Kidman’s actual height.
The world isn’t made for people my size. I am taller than a standard doorway. My feet dangle off the sides of my super king bed – even when I sleep diagonally.
Clothes and shoes are a nightmare – you try finding sexy, feminine footwear in a size 11. Beautiful dresses graze my thighs, and few women’s trousers exist to fit my 40in inside leg.
Like several other tall children of celebrities who have made the news recently – a picture of Gary Barlow with his 6ft 2in son became a viral phenomenon at the end of last year – I am the tallest in my family. My mum is 6ft, my older brother is 5ft 11in and my father is about the same.
I was heading for 5ft by the time I started primary school and by the age of 12, I’d hit 6ft, with size nine feet.
The few boyfriends brave enough to take me out have had to climb on boxes or chairs to kiss me
None of it bothered me until puberty made us more aware of our bodies and appearance, and I was suddenly singled out – and bullied – for being different.
I remember trying to crouch or lean forward to make myself shorter when I was chatting to people, but from the classroom to the corridor, the playground and the canteen, kids would point and shout ‘mind your head!’ and call me names such as ‘freak’ and ‘Bigfoot’. And that was just the girls. The boys wouldn’t talk to me at all.
I remember Googling height reduction surgery to find out whether such a thing exists. It doesn’t. Aged 23, I went to my GP because my mood was so low. He recommended I have therapy, which I did solidly for two years, and still do when I need to.
It was transformative. I learned not to compare myself to others or spend my life wishing I was an average 5ft 5in. Who wants to blend into a crowd?
Once I’d made peace with my past, I decided to embrace my height through social media, instead of hiding away.
Eighteen months ago, I started an Instagram account, @tallgirlkatie and am stunned that I now have one million followers.
It has really helped me accept who I am, mostly thanks to the unexpectedly positive response. I stopped slouching and have even started wearing heels as a way of totally owning my height.
Dating, however, is still a fraught business. My dearest wish is that I will one day marry and have children, and my greatest fear is that it won’t happen. I know not all men feel the need to be with a woman who’s shorter than them, or feel less masculine if their partner is taller – but they’re thin on the ground.
I was 17 when I had my first boyfriend, a lad of 18 whom I’d met via a friend of a friend on Facebook. The look on his face when he walked into the restaurant and clocked my height told me he wanted to turn around and run for it. He was about 5ft 9in.
Thankfully, when I sat down at our table we looked like we were around the same height. At the end of the evening, I let him leave first so he wouldn’t have to suffer the embarrassment of walking alongside me and he gratefully accepted the offer.
Although we dated for a while, he never liked to be seen standing next to me, and wouldn’t hold my hand or kiss me in public (in any case he couldn’t reach my lips unless he stood on a chair!) so most of our dates were spent sitting down in restaurants or the cinema.
Perhaps Peter Crouch and I should get together and set up a dating business
I remember Googling height reduction surgery to find out whether such a thing exists. It doesn’t
He was my first sexual partner. Sex has never been a problem for me – ‘everyone’s the same height lying down’ or so they say – although some positions are trickier than others. I’ll leave those to your imagination. The relationship fizzled out after a few months in any case.
You might be wondering why I haven’t made a concerted effort to seek out very tall single men. Well, like many people I have a type I’m attracted to, which happens to be men of average height, about 5ft 9in. And having yet to meet anyone, male or female, who’s as tall as me, the chances of me dating a guy my height are slim.
That said, I briefly dated one chap who was 6ft 5in, but weirdly I was more uncomfortable with him than shorter men. And vice versa. He was so used to towering over everyone else, he felt insecure that I had three inches on him and for once he was looking up not down.
On dating sites I tend to fib a little and say I’m 6ft 2in, which tells any potential love interest that I’m really tall, but not so statuesque that they wouldn’t agree to meet me.
One man I met was obsessed with my height, asking everything from how long my legs are to where I buy clothes – most are imported from the US where sizes are much bigger.
Another asked if I could lift him up like a child (which I could, but that was all he seemed to care about). I didn’t see him again. And yet another said: ‘Oh, I feel like I’m your son!’ as we had dinner together. He delivered his jibe in a kind way, but we didn’t make it to the next date.
Friends tell me I’m a lovely person, but most men can’t see past my height. If they did they would find someone who adores dogs (I have two), likes walking in the countryside and going to the cinema – although the seats are a bit of a squash.
My last date was six months ago, but I live in hope that one day the shorter chap I dream of will walk into my life and never leave. If not, perhaps Peter Crouch and I should get together and set up a dating business. The entry rule? We’d only take clients we could look in the eye.
As told to Sadie Nicholas
