A new piece of research has shown that women prefer tall men because they’re better at fighting – something about downward punches being more powerful (despite the LIES cartoons have pedalled about upper-cuts sending people flying through the air).
The taller the caveman, the better he was at fighting off woolly mammoths and T-Rexs* and blokes who wanted to bash us on the head with a big stick and drag us to their semi-detached cave. Which meant our offspring would be safe, assuring the future of the human race and guaranteeing that one day, you’d get to read a wonderful blog about short men.
Let me clear one thing up first: like most women, I do like a tall man. Having dated a burly, 6ft 3in-er, I can see the benefits. Plus, I know that tall men enjoy the benefits of their size too. While they do have to shop for their own Mens Big and Tall clothing, there are so many natural advantages that exist as a result of being tall.
There’s nothing nicer than having to stand on tiptoes to kiss someone, partly because looking up rather than down is very flattering, chin-wise. And as Caroline in the office just pointed out, tall men make you feel smaller, which is always lovely.
But I still think there’s nothing wrong with a diminutive fella. The man I was with for eight years was 5ft 6in (he insisted he was 5ft 7-and-a-half, but I was the one with the tape measure), just two inches taller than me.
If he’d cared about being a bit on the short side, maybe I’d have cared too. If he’d banned me from wearing heels, got in a huff whenever taller men hove into view, or had a Napoleon Complex, it probably would have mattered a lot.
But he didn’t give a hoot. He was confident and relaxed in his own skin, and thought anyone who cared how tall he was must be a bit of an idiot. And although, admittedly, I wished he was a bit taller at first, I soon realised that his laid-back confidence was actually one of the things I found most attractive about him – and his height was part and parcel of that.
Okay, so thanks to his longish hair, people often mistook us for two women when we kissed in public, which wasn’t great for his ego. But on the plus side, if he ever got leaves stuck in his hair, I spotted them right away.
It would be nice if the next man I fall for is tall. But I don’t mind if he’s not, as long as he’s got the confidence to pull it off. And I probably don’t have the choice anyway, seeing as my single friends’ new catchphrase seems to be, “You don’t mind short men, so I get the tall one.”
As Caroline further points out (she is very wise), when you find someone you really like, your wish-list goes out of the window. So forget tall men – the only thing that really counts is whether you click.