There are a few extremely important things to filter for when drowning in navigating the online dating cesspool: fuckboyness, serial killer potensh, and height. Now I know you might think that height shouldn’t be as big of a deal as probability of murder, but we all know you spend more time analyzing the likelihood of him actually being the 5’7″-plus he claims to be than you do pondering whether or not you’ll make it home alive (btw share your location with at least one friend during all first internet dates).
The shorties have two options when approaching their height on dating apps: either they lie to get a date and have to be the perfect man (which they aren’t because they lied AND they are short) to get a second one, or they are honest about their vertical deficiency and live in No Match Land for the rest of their lives. One might argue that as a betch who is 5’3″ on a good day (like when I wear one of those beanies with the little balls on top), I am lucky that legit everyone is taller than me and I should just shut the fuck up about it and match with them. And really, some of the best guys I know are under 5’7″: my cousins (one of which recently won a reality show, is Instagram verified and is like, a millionaire), and the now live-in boyfriend of my brave friend who defied all odds and gave a shot to a five-foot-six-er. But despite glaring evidence that short guys are worth a shot, I just can’t give my number out to someone who I haven’t been able to verify with photographic evidence (full body shot next to someone they are taller than) is over 5’7″). And on the days that I feel particularly vulnerable and consider taking a risk on a short looking match, I end up thinking to myself:
“But what if people see us holding hands and say: ‘Aww cute, look at that miniature couple'”? Poodles and golf should be miniature, me in a couple should not be. Or, God forbid we get married and have children, our kids would definitely be short—I don’t want them to suffer the way we had to. And, fuck, what if I weigh more than him? Given my current eating habits, that’s highly possible.
And in the end I just don’t do it, and let’s be honest—neither do you. And you know what, maybe we are seriously missing out on a gigantic pool of untouched 5’4″-5’7″ winners: maybe fuckboys don’t even come in sizes smaller than 5’7″, and maybe fear of commitment is just a symptom of being taller than me, but fuck it. If I am going to maybe get serial killed by my date, he should at least be a tall serial killer.
So no, I will not ruin the one good thing about online dating—where ladies have the power to decide who they will allow to fuck with our emotions offer to buy us a drink. And if you can’t tower over me when I wear three-inch heels, change my smoke detector batteries without a ladder, or snuggle me like the tiny little spoon I was meant to be, then you CANNOT slide into my DM’s. But if you are over 5’10” and a total asshole—hit me up.