window.dataLayer = window.dataLayer || []; function gtag(){dataLayer.push(arguments);} gtag('js', new Date()); gtag('config', 'G-GEQWY429QJ');

 

Entity shares how Disney Princesses are setting unrealistic female beauty standards.

I’m always amazed when other women tell me that they wish they had my height. They are so blissfully unaware of everything that comes with always standing a few inches above the rest of the crowd. At six feet tall, I’m well above the average height for a woman. Ever since I can remember, I’ve had to deal with the stares, insensitive comments, and predictions about my love life coming from friends and strangers alike. And while having an equally tall sister ensured that I wasn’t alone, all I ever wanted to be was left alone. Being a tall woman is both a gift and a curse, and becoming confident with my height was a long and difficult road.

Knowing that my height was odd for a woman, I had to come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t going to fit in at a very young age – and being a light-skinned black girl in a mostly white school didn’t exactly help my case. I remember thinking at the age of five that I was older than most children in my classes, even though I was actually younger than several of my classmates. There were times I wasn’t allowed to play on the playground because I was so much “bigger” than the rest of the kids. The boys seemed to hate me. I was completely flabbergasted. I was told that I would grow up to be a Disney princess, but I didn’t seem to be off to a very good start.

At the age when everyone was becoming interested in dating, I was left by the wayside. Deemed “too tall” for anyone, I was only ever asked out on April Fool’s Day. Since I had absolutely no control over my limbs from age six to about age fourteen, I wasn’t athletic at all, and because everyone wanted me to be good at basketball, volleyball, what have you, I was seen as a major disappointment and “waste of height.” My outcast status, I thought, had to be because of something that was wrong with me, as my sister was wildly popular and athletic. I didn’t want to be so different from everyone else, and I spent most of my time reading fiction novels to escape the reality of never feeling good enough.

By the time I got to high school, all of that changed as I grew into my body. I went to a very large public school, thinking that I would gain some of the anonymity I desperately craved after going to school with the same 40 people from kindergarten through eighth grade. That was definitely not the case, and I quickly realized that people tend to ask questions when you’re different. It seemed that over time, people who’d never met me knew who I was, and somehow, were captivated by my height. This was totally new for me as I’d only ever been teased and called “manly” for most of my young life. Suddenly, I was scouted to be a model and boys treated me nicely, even going so far as to ask me out – but for real this time!

I was over the moon about finally being celebrated for my uniqueness. But along with these victories came new challenges. People assumed I would be stuck up or bitchy because of my height, and even though boys were finally taking an interest in me, it didn’t take long for me to understand that tall men can basically have whomever they want – and I wasn’t usually it. Because I grew rapidly, my weight would also appear to drastically drop in short periods of time, causing rumors that I had an eating disorder.

I was at a loss. It seemed that no matter what I did, I could never win. Admittedly, I’ve always been one of those people who desperately wanted to be liked. I developed incredibly low self-esteem and started retreating back to the world of books. Through literature, I realized that no good story ever ended with the main character feeling sorry for himself or herself because he or she was different.

The only person who could make me feel like a Disney princess was myself, not the handsome prince I’d always dreamed about. I discovered that my wants weren’t always in my own best interest, and I stopped trying to be just like everyone else. I decided to date myself in lieu of all the boys who wished I could be shorter. I was never asked to prom, a lifelong aspiration of mine, but I found a way to make it special by designing my own dress (just like Cinderella) instead of buying it off the rack (and yes, I rocked my high heels). I embraced the traits that made me different instead of hating them, and after awhile, everything fell into place.

Journalist and fellow tall girl, Rebecca Thomas once wrote: “I’m a minority only in the sense of height. I can only imagine how those under the burden of a group prejudice based on their race or religion must feel. I like to think that those who have insulted me didn’t intend to. I do believe that most people are basically good, but they can be insensitive.”

Well, Rebecca, being a tall woman, black and soon-to-be Jewish convert, I can tell you that you’re right. Most people are just trying to get through life the best way they can, but many never have to think about the adversities different people face. Having the courage to embrace what makes you different in a world that praises “normalcy” in favor of diversity is a revolutionary idea.

As the poet Audre Lorde says, “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.”

While it’s highly unlikely that Disney will ever hire me to be a princess at Disney World (there are height requirements), I will always proudly display my own uniqueness and encourage other young women to do the same. After all, being a man or a woman doesn’t require a certain height; we’re all people. And so my story begins.

Edited by Casey Cromwell
Send this to a friend