When you're 6ft 5in, everything is a concussion hazard. The world wasn't built for us

Telegraph

5 days ago

When Edi Rama, the 6ft 7in prime minister of Albania, was pictured next to Keir Starmer two weeks ago, the newspaper headlines used words such as 'towering' and 'dominant'. No one thought to ask Mr Rama how his lower back was or whether he'd had the misfortune of looking at the tops of other people's fridges that day. (Honestly, they're gross; get a little kitchen step, you'll see. Regular antibacterial spray won't cut it, either – you'll need a grease remover.)
As a 6ft 5in man, I dread to think how Mr Rama, who presumably meets dozens of people every week, copes with meet-and-greets. I'm just a hermit freelance writer, two inches shorter than he is, and even I have to endure this exact conversation every few days with someone I don't know:
'How tall are you, then?'
'About 6ft 5in.'
'Gosh.'
'Yes, but I do have my heels on, ha ha.'
'Ha ha.'
'Ha ha haaa...'
Even without the not-so-small talk, being vertically gifted isn't always the gift that shorter people assume it is. There are aches and awkwardness, bumps and badly designed clothes, and it all starts as soon as we wake up.
Morning has broken
Tall people begin our days unfolding our limbs and cracking our joints. We duck under nipple-height showerheads and dry off with miniskirt towels. Then we arch in front of mirrors that don't fit our full frame and check that none of the clothes we have on has shrunk in the wash.
If I pick out a T-shirt that's lost even an inch in length, there's a real risk of belly hair exposure in the hours ahead. That can't be allowed to happen. Not again.
Fashion in general is a minefield for vertical one-percenters like me. 'Ankle length' trousers strike mid-calf and cropped jackets tickle the ribcage. Off-the-peg tailoring is nigh-on impossible, and even so-called 'big and tall' ranges rarely measure up.
And it's important to look good because, frankly, there's more competition than ever.
Research suggests that big men may be getting bigger. In January, scientists published a paper in a journal called Biology Letters, which showed that men have grown twice as much over the past century as women.
The paper's title is quite something: 'The sexy and formidable male body: men's height and weight are condition-dependent, sexually selected traits.' Its authors speculate that women's sexual preferences may have driven a trend for taller and more muscular men. In other words, the reason that I bang my head so often may be because 20th-century women found lanky men irresistible.
In research terms, it makes a certain amount of sense. Height is associated with attraction and 'dominance' in social psychology. Previous research has found that heterosexual women have a preference for men who are taller than they are, while other work suggests that tall men earn more than short guys with the same qualifications.
Facing the day
How it all stacks up to the experience of men like me might be another thing. If I'm anything to go by, tall men are gangly, awkward and accident-prone, as the angular light fittings in my in-laws' living room will testify. I've hit my head on those more times than I remember and I do the same thing everywhere else. The handles on the bus, the neighbours' unkempt foliage, the gate to our local park, which is designed to keep out larger vehicles but is positioned low enough to present me with yet another concussion hazard.
So forget dominance; the world wasn't built for us. Need some more examples? I have many. Cars are claustrophobic. Mirrors are hung too low. Airline seats are a nightmare. Shirts never stay tucked. Canal boat holidays? They're completely out of the question.
Tall people also live in a state of constant hypervigilance, alert to the minute-by-minute threat of a rogue umbrella spoke or low-flying pigeon. I once had a bad experience with an out-of-control rotary washing line. A gust of wind caught a bedsheet and as the whole thing swung around, one of the arms squelched right into my eyeball.
Short kings may have to crane their necks every once in a while but they're rarely troubled by this eye-level menace.
Don't get me wrong, there are benefits of being tall. The one people often mention is the ability to reach stuff – but honestly, being able to grab things from the top shelf at B&Q doesn't feel like a particularly big win in the genetic lottery.
People also assume you're athletic. I grew up in south Wales, where friends told me I'd make a good second row in the rugby team (never happened; too scrawny). When I moved to London, I worked at a fitness magazine, but never came close to whipping my top off for the front cover. Aside from being the GOAT at piggy in the middle, I'm more Stephen Merchant than Martin Johnson.
High jinks
I do always have a good view at gigs. I can usually spot my children in a crowd and they can spot me. Nobody's ever picked a fight with me, as far as I can remember, although I do get passive-aggressive tuts from the people sitting behind me at the theatre. (I am sorry, but if it's any consolation, I'm curled up like a prawn for the whole performance and my spine is dangerously compressed.)
You do end up a little self-conscious about your height. Of course you do. I call it tall man syndrome. We all know that a vocal subsection of short men overcompensate for their pint-sized stature with bullish behaviour. Well, I do the opposite.
My friends will tell you I'm the least aggressive person they know. I refuse to dance because every movement is exaggerated by my ridiculous wingspan. I won't ever push past you at a busy train station because there's a reasonable chance I'll knock you over. I would like to go unseen, but incognito mode isn't among my user settings. People always see you coming.
The long goodnight
Have you ever seen a 6ft 5in man in the foetal position? It's absurd, I promise you. There's just too much anatomy, and it's all squished together and grotesquely arranged, like a murder victim stuffed into a suitcase. I know this, reader, because I was that overgrown foetus – every night, in my own bed – for the first 15 years of my adult life.
At 6ft 5in, I do not fit comfortably into many beds – and none in the various rental properties I lived in as a younger man. My feet either dangle over the end or I lie diagonally, much to the outrage of my wife. When there's no other option, I tuck my knees up pathetically and fall asleep looking like that weird Voldemort creature at the end of the last Harry Potter film.
When we bought our house 10 years ago, I insisted on a super-king bed. The vast mattress, a full 2m (or 6ft 6in) in length, was a revelation. I've slept wonderfully ever since. And yes, once or twice in the intervening years, I may have referred to myself as a super king, but who could blame me? I am quite literally above average.
There are also more serious consequences of being lanky. Researchers find that tall people have a greater risk of some cancers because, with more cells in our bodies, there are more chances of a dodgy mutation. There are also irregular heartbeats, bad backs, skin and bone infections. On the plus side, tall people are less likely to suffer coronary heart disease, high blood pressure or high cholesterol.
And that's it. Being tall has its ups and downs, just like everyone else. Yes, there are times when I am forced to bow – again, literally – to the average-sized tyranny of the modern world. But I'm a big boy. I can take it.