It’s a special moment. At sunset, in a field deep in the Kent countryside, my husband Dale and I are dancing to one of our favourite songs, Modern Love by David Bowie. We’ve just watched two of our closest friends get married, and we’ve had a beautiful day.
It takes me a moment to realise that one of the other wedding guests is trying to catch our attention.
I look up, and notice a tall man, swaying, holding a bottle with his shirt untucked. I vaguely recognise him as a cousin of the groom. He looked slightly more presentable a few hours ago.
‘You don’t see that every day,’ he says, gesturing to us.
‘Right!’ I smile. I have no idea what he’s talking about.
‘I mean, you’re so tall, and he’s short! You’re hilarious! It’s Little and Large!’ he says, laughing.
‘OK,’ says Dale warily. ‘You have a good night.’
We watch our ‘friend’ stagger away. I squeeze Dale’s hand and say, ‘Should I take my heels off?’
‘Absolutely not,’ he says, before stretching up, ever so slightly, to kiss me.
At 5ft 7in, I’m three inches taller than Dale, who’s 5ft 4in. Add my three-inch heels and I do tower over him. The height difference often provokes second glances, if not drunken comments.
The height difference between Daisy and her husband Dale often provokes second glances
In a world that seems to be more accepting of difference than ever before, a woman who is significantly taller than her male partner still attracts gentle ridicule.
People have always been fascinated by ‘mismatched’ relationships, whether that’s a visible age gap, a class divide or a noticeable discrepancy in looks, weight – but particularly height.
Look at the surprise and speculation about the likes of Sophie Dahl (6ft) and Jamie Cullum (5ft 5in), or actor Daniel Radcliffe (5ft 5in) and his actress partner Erin Darke (5ft 7in), and Tom Holland (5ft 8in) and Zendaya (5ft 10in).
In our case, I feel the snide comments more than my husband. It’s rude to tell a man that he’s short, but it’s somehow acceptable to mock a woman for being ‘too tall’. And it’s very annoying.
That said, I must admit that before we met I had always hoped to meet a man who was at least 6ft – to the extent that I specified a height requirement on dating websites. This was partly because of peer pressure. I had plenty of single friends, and we’d all specified ‘tall’ in our dating profiles.
After all, every classic love story and fairy tale ever written starred a romantic lead who was ‘tall, dark and handsome’.
Cinderella’s dainty glass slipper is supposed to fit neatly in Prince Charming’s palm. In Disney’s Beauty And The Beast, Belle falls for the physically imposing Beast. She does not start making eyes at the diminutive Cogsworth the Clock.
Perhaps that was the other part of the problem. I wanted to meet a man who would make me feel like a storybook princess – delicate and diminutive.
Sophie Dahl (6ft) and Jamie Cullum (5ft 5in) have been together since 2007 (pictured in 2016)
Tom Holland (5ft 8in) met Zendaya (5ft 10in) while working on the Spider-Man films (pictured in 2021)
Growing up, I always felt too big, too tall, and horribly self-conscious. I was more Ursula the sea-witch than Ariel. At primary school, I towered over every boy in my class, and I was significantly heavier than them, too.
Long before any of us were old enough to date, it seemed this could prove a disadvantage in my romantic life. My mission was clear. When I grew up, I’d marry a tall man. Finally, I’d get to feel small.
When I was 15, I met my first boyfriend, Will, at a school disco. He fitted the brief – tall, dark, handsome and so moody he made Heathcliff look chilled out. He was 5ft 11in – but as far as he was concerned, he was 6ft and would get very, very upset if anyone pointed out the missing inch.
He made me feel small, all right – he criticised me, he put me down, and he had surprisingly strong opinions about what I wore, especially if it was revealing in any way. The relationship rumbled on until I was 21.
After that came James, a sweet 6ft 2in golf obsessive who dumped me for his housemate. Then Pete, a 6ft 1in workaholic, then Alistair, another 5ft 11in man who criticised my weight and resented anyone who reminded him that he wasn’t – actually – 6ft.
I don’t think height was to blame for these relationships not working out. I was chronically insecure, and I attracted insecure people. I believed that if I could shrink myself in some way, my self-esteem would grow. I hoped I’d meet a man who would make me see myself differently and accept myself.
Because I didn’t know how to love my height, or my body, I was looking for someone who would provide me with that feeling. Instead, I found men who were looking for a woman they could criticise. It felt as though every man I dated set incredibly high standards for me and, ironically, I always fell short.
After my break-up with Alistair at 26, I felt lost. I realised that when it came to finding romantic partners, I’d made a series of increasingly poor decisions but I couldn’t work out what I was doing wrong. Spending time alone felt terrifying, so I threw myself into dating and flirting.
I signed up to every dating website I could find. And I discovered that it was possible to meet lots of men on X, then known as Twitter. Looking for potential partners on social media felt like speed dating, only much less awkward. I was drawn to anyone who was fast, funny and full of personality.
In February 2012, I started following Dale. When I read one of his tweets – a joke about changing duvet covers and pretending to be a ghost – I laughed out loud. He was a fellow writer too, so it felt as though we had lots in common. Chatting to him soon became the highlight of my day. After a couple of weeks, I realised that I really wanted to meet him, so I sent him a message asking if he’d like to go for a drink.
My friends were cautious. ‘You have no idea who this man is!’ said Lizzy, a concerned colleague. ‘You don’t know how old he is, or if he’s single – you barely know what he looks like! You’ve seen one tiny picture of his face!’
I shrugged: ‘It’s no different from other online dating. Everyone lies about their height and their age, and they use old photos. At least I know that I like his personality.’
We’d arranged to meet at a cocktail bar in south London. I was a little early, so I stood outside – and soon I was greeted by an attractive man in a beautiful tweed suit.
‘Daisy?’ he said, hesitantly. My heart didn’t sink, exactly, but it dipped. So this was Dale. He was dark and handsome, but a whole head shorter than me. Still, I smiled, gamely. No matter what happened that night, I was confident we’d have a great conversation.
‘Those are great shoes,’ he said, warmly of my grey suede stilettos, with cream bows at the ankle. ‘Shall we go in?’
From the moment we sat down at the bar, I stopped thinking about our respective heights. Dale was even funnier than he was on Twitter.
Genuinely charming, he was curious, too. I’d never been on a date with someone who asked me so many questions and listened to the answers.
We talked about books, films and comedy, and I was thrilled to discover that we had so much in common. Unlike some of my old partners, he didn’t talk down to me or explain anything to me. From the start, he assumed we were equals.
We decided to leave the bar and go for dinner. We walked hand in hand.
For a moment, I wondered whether we looked unusual, or whether anyone was judging us. Then I thought, ‘Who cares? I’m on the best date of my life!’
At the end of the evening, when Dale kissed me by the Tube barriers, I didn’t think about the fact that I was leaning down, not reaching up. I was hooked.
His diminutive stature did inform my first worry though. I wondered if I’d soon discover Dale had a Napoleon complex – a social stereotype associated with shorter men who like to throw their weight around and behave in an aggressive, domineering way to compensate for a lack of height. Thankfully not so in Dale’s case.
He commanded respect by being respectful. He treated everyone politely and with kindness, and that’s how they treated him.
One of the most attractive things about him was his courage. He would always stop and help if he encountered conflict or drama when out in London. And I remember him helping an older man who was a little shaken after he came off his bike. He had the big-hearted confidence of a giant.
If Lucy had remained convinced that the man of her dreams had to be taller than her, she would have missed out on meeting the love of her life
In other relationships, I’d always tried to shrink myself to fit the needs of my partner. But when I was with Dale, I started to walk a little taller. I felt so proud to be with him, and proud that he had chosen me.
If I’d stayed fixated on height and remained convinced that the man of my dreams had to be taller than me, I would have missed out on meeting the love of my life.
When I introduced him to Lizzy, I wondered whether she’d mention the height difference. I thought I might get an ‘I told you so’ about meeting strange men from the internet.
‘I’ll admit that at first I was surprised,’ she said. ‘He didn’t seem like your normal type. But after spending some time with you both, I think that might be a good thing. He’s perfect for you in every other way.’
Even so, for the first few months of the relationship, I held my breath. My dating history had taught me that people could change quickly after the honeymoon stage.
I wondered whether Dale would decide that I didn’t make him feel like enough of a man, once the novelty had worn off. Would he want me to stop wearing heels? Would he leave me for a slim, petite woman that could physically look up to him?
Eventually, I met a couple of his ex-girlfriends at his friend’s house party. I was scared I was going to discover he was still hung up on a woman who looked like Polly Pocket. But I was reassured to discover that he didn’t seem to have a ‘type’ – physically, these women didn’t seem to have a lot in common. One was about an inch taller than me, and one was about an inch shorter.
Still, about six months into the relationship, I was curious enough to ask him whether size mattered to him. ‘Honestly, I’ve never really thought about height too much,’ he told me. ‘I think I’ve generally been attracted to women who are a little taller than me, but that’s probably a coincidence as much as anything. I like women who are fun to spend time with.’
‘Honestly, I’ve never really thought about height too much,’ he told me. ‘I think I’ve generally been attracted to women who are a little taller than me, but that’s probably a coincidence as much as anything. I like women who are fun to spend time with.’
We married in 2015, and I swapped my heels for customised Converse on the dancefloor. Even so, our photographer was nervous about capturing the height difference. ‘I’ll do some close-ups,’ he reassured me. ‘So you don’t have to worry about looking too tall next to your husband!’
‘No need!’ I grinned. ‘Just shoot us exactly as we are.’
Now 40, I have been with Dale, 54, for almost 14 years. He has loved me for exactly who I am, and being with a man who is happy with his height has helped me to embrace mine.
Finally, I’ve stopped trying to shrink myself to fit someone else’s idea of what a woman ought to look like. Dale has made me feel secure, because he’s so secure in himself.
I feel like a golden retriever who has finally stopped wanting to be a chihuahua. There’s nothing more attractive than a man who is happy to see his partner standing tall.