I remember watching the movie Gattaca and taking particular note of the scene where Ethan Hawke assumes the identity of someone else, in part, by undergoing a painful surgery in order to enhance his genetically inferior height.  That seemed worth it to me: suffer short-term torture in exchange for an extra three or four inches?  To rise out of the ranks (as it were) of the 5’8”, where men in a power and status conscious society are doomed to linger in a twilight limbo?  Sign me up.

5’8” isn’t 5’0”, of course, and I’m not saying that it is.  But it’s enough that many people see through you instead of at you: their internal sensors are tuned to register, say, 5’10” and above. It’s enough that I was never cast as the leading man in high school musicals, only as sidekick comic relief.  It’s enough that I sometimes find myself pinned against the back of elevators while a wall of suit-covered shoulders barricades the space in front of me.

I ruled out surgery in almost the same millisecond that I entertained the idea.  What kind of surgery lengthens your legs but keeps the rest of your body proportions the same?  That would look ridiculous. Imagine trying to flex your newfound height and social dominance to land a dream job.  You’d stand up to say goodbye to your interviewer:

“Thanks for your time and I look forward to hearing from you soon.”

“Uh...say.  Are you standing on stilts?”

“No, those are my legs.”

“But they’re about three fourths of your entire body.  Come on, you’re standing on stilts.”

”I’m not standing on stilts.”

And that would be that.  If there’s anything worse than short people losing their cool, it’s tall people.  Tall people are supposed to exude an air of quiet authority.  This is why I don’t trust would-be presidential candidate Fred Thompson:

The guy is 6’6” and he always looks like he’s on the verge of donning purple shorts and running berserk through downtown Manhattan.  If I were 6’6” I’d be a prophet of peace, not a harbinger of hate. My acolytes would flock to me and say “Why, yes, we Palestinians and Israelis should work out our differences. We know that what you say is true, because you are tall.”

I have other options, of course. I could act like other men I know who are less than average height.  They never joke. They rarely smile. Their skin is stretched tight across their face in a perennial scowl, and they move from point to point with an cold, eerie intensity as they seek to accumulate power and respect that will...well, elevate them.  This is how they live, and they won’t stop until they make the mistake of trying to invade Russia.

I have no interest in that, and I probably wouldn’t want surgery anymore even if it didn’t make me look hideous.  The fact is, I’m using to slipping around and through people in crowds. I’m used to sitting in airplane seats and having a cushion of space no matter who sits next to me.  I’m used to being able to go unnoticed when I need to, almost invisible, like a pint-sized ninja.  I’m a compact car, fast and agile; I’d be a staggering, ungainly mess if I suddenly became an SUV.

Still, on special occasions, it might be nice if it suddenly became the fashion for guys to wear heels.