Why Is Everyone Obsessed with Dating Someone Tall?
Maybe I’m new here, but I’ve been bopping around under the assumption that personal dating preferences range farther and wider than what most anyone can imagine. But if dating apps have taught me—a heterosexual adult woman in this age of 21st-century courtship—anything at all, it’s that a dude’s height is paramount to most other pleasing physical features he could possibly possess (like a Very Nice Face™, my personal preference). “Tall, dark, and handsome,” “tall drink of water”—old-timey phrasing loves to position tall men as the quintessential romantic ideal, but of all the kinks and quirks we’ve adopted into our modern love languages and sexual flavor profiles, tallness remains as dependable as vanilla ice cream on apple pie.
Many apps offer a baked-in option to list your stature, even allowing users to filter their height preferences for a nominal fee (because thirst is not immune to capitalism, no sir). In apps that don’t, however, I find a reference to height in a dude’s profile 99 percent of the time. Either it’s a perfunctory numeral (6’2) occasionally followed by a bio written in emoji, or a slightly snarky “For those who care, I’m 6’1” tacked onto the end of a brief, cryptic bio, like a disclaimer to ensure you read the entire thing to get to the crux. Rarely does any man mention his height if it’s below six feet, I’ve noticed.
I asked friends who swipe if their experiences were similar. Male friends tell me that so many women ask them point-blank how tall they are right off the bat, it’s easier to just include that info in the bio. Male-liking friends of mine tell me, more often than not, that they really prefer tallbois: “He’s gotta be at least six-foot.”
Maybe I’m new here, but I’ve been bopping around under the assumption that personal dating preferences range farther and wider than what most anyone can imagine. But if dating apps have taught me—a heterosexual adult woman in this age of 21st-century courtship—anything at all, it’s that a dude’s height is paramount to most other pleasing physical features he could possibly possess (like a Very Nice Face™, my personal preference). “Tall, dark, and handsome,” “tall drink of water”—old-timey phrasing loves to position tall men as the quintessential romantic ideal, but of all the kinks and quirks we’ve adopted into our modern love languages and sexual flavor profiles, tallness remains as dependable as vanilla ice cream on apple pie.
Many apps offer a baked-in option to list your stature, even allowing users to filter their height preferences for a nominal fee (because thirst is not immune to capitalism, no sir). In apps that don’t, however, I find a reference to height in a dude’s profile 99 percent of the time. Either it’s a perfunctory numeral (6’2) occasionally followed by a bio written in emoji, or a slightly snarky “For those who care, I’m 6’1” tacked onto the end of a brief, cryptic bio, like a disclaimer to ensure you read the entire thing to get to the crux. Rarely does any man mention his height if it’s below six feet, I’ve noticed.
I asked friends who swipe if their experiences were similar. Male friends tell me that so many women ask them point-blank how tall they are right off the bat, it’s easier to just include that info in the bio. Male-liking friends of mine tell me, more often than not, that they really prefer tallbois: “He’s gotta be at least six-foot.”
