When Your Shoes and Pants Are Louder Than You Are
And all the Tall Girls go like this: We may have "legs for days", but we deserve pants that know what to do with them.
Hi, I’m Lisa, and I’m 6 feet tall.
Before you picture me striding through life in glamorous wide-leg trousers that kiss the floor with every step, let me stop you right there. Growing up tall wasn’t exactly a “legs for days” fashion editorial. Oh no, it was more like “legs for floods” and the unending trauma of specialty shopping.
Here’s the scene: I’m 12 years old, awkward as hell, and constantly relegated to the back of every school photo. Cute, petite, ponytailed girls are front and center—strategically selected for their compact, camera-friendly stature. And then there’s me, looming in the back row like a chaperone who snuck into the shot.
Tall girl life? Chic in theory. In practice? A horror show.
But it gets worse.
There I was, optimistically digging through racks at the mall, trying on pant after pant in a desperate, finger-crossing haze. Please let this pair slide up my hips. Please let them cover my ankles. Spoiler: They didn’t. I’d look down, only to see three inches of air between the hem and the ground.
And then came the death knell. The sadistic words uttered by a saleswoman who clearly enjoyed watching tween girl dreams die: “Have you tried the Tall Women’s Shop?”
Nooooo. I begged my mom—Let’s try another store. Anywhere else, please. But my fate was sealed. Off we went to the Tall Women’s Shop: a vortex where fun patterns and trends went to die a slow death.
You know those racks filled with practical, durable beige? That’s the Tall Women’s Shop. Everything was functional. Everything was durable. Nothing—nothing—was cute.
Imagine an entire store curated by someone who thinks khaki is too bold. The pants fit, sure, but the fabrics screamed “I work at the DMV.” Shirts were designed for women who seemed to exclusively attend PTA meetings and referee soccer games.
Meanwhile, petite girls got to shop in trendy, brightly lit stores filled with sparkly tops, fun patterns, and clothes designed for, you know, joy. I got options like “sturdy denim” and “slacks you can pair with orthopedic loafers.”
Speaking of Orthopedic loafers
Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, there I was decked out in my very functional pants and in came the brown duck shoes—a Christmas gift from my mom, complete with a cheery, “Aren’t they so cute?!” Yeah. She was twisted like that.
If you’re unfamiliar, duck shoes are those gummy, rubber-soled atrocities from LL Bean designed for rainy days and hiking trails. Functional, sure. Fashionable? Absolutely not. The soles on mine? A good inch and a half thick and chicken-fat yellow. The vibe? Pure humiliation.
While other kids were rocking Keds in pastel colors or trendy Docs that screamed I’m cooler than you, I clomped through middle school hallways like a human chew toy. Squeaking and squawking down the linoleum floors, my shoes announced my arrival like I was the town crier of tween awkwardness.
But wait, there’s more.
While other girls got to remove their cute pink, red, and yellow rainbow wellies and swap them for ballet slippers or Mary Janes from their lockers, I was left clomping around like a utility worker in gum soles.
“They’re cute!” she’d chirp, fully ignoring the fact that I sounded like a rubber band snapping in surround sound.
Now, you’d think that since she loved them so much, she might have owned a pair herself, right? Nope. Not even close. She wouldn’t be caught dead in them. She just thought I should be. Like I said—she was twisted like that.
So there I was: 6 feet tall, in flood pants, with rubber-soled megaphones on my feet. Not only was I seen, I was heard. Every step was a squeaky reminder that I wasn’t blending in anytime soon.
The final indignity? Duck shoes made a comeback recently, and people are wearing them voluntarily. I guarantee they’re changing out of them the second they’re indoors (because honestly, wouldn’t you?). Clearly, they had different mothers than mine.
(And listen to be fair, my mom wasn’t the only one to contribute to the tall girl blues. My dad had his moments too. He loved measuring my height in the kitchen doorway and cheerfully declaring, “Keep growing and you’ll qualify for the Tall Women’s Club of Colorado!” I’m still not convinced this club was real and I’m unsure if the Club was a reward or threat, but I have no doubt it involved beige pants and some light despair.)
“Hey Lisa, where’s the flood?”
Hilarious. Like I haven’t heard that one before.
But let’s fast forward, shall we? It’s time to bring this story to the present—right here, right now, to the reason we’re gathered around this Substack post today.
Let’s talk about pants. Specifically, pants that look at you—tall, leggy, stunning—and scream “flood!”
It’s 2025. We’ve got smart fridges, rings that track our sleep cycles, and yet somehow, no one’s figured out how to make pants that don’t leave a 34” inseam girl out here like a middle schooler whose mom “bought them with room to grow.” Spoiler: we’re not growing, we’re just growing tired. And our ankles are cold.
Let’s do this in my lifetime, okay?
For my fellow tall girls: I see you. The ankle-baring, hem-checking, “maybe these cropped ones were intentional?”negotiations we make in the dressing room every time we shop. And don’t even get me started on dresses that double as tunics or the extra fee for anything labeled “tall.” (It’s giving discrimination. That’s right, I said it.)
But here’s the thing: while the world’s out here acting like petite girls are the only ones who need specialty sizing, we’re quietly holding it down—legs for days and nowhere to put them. It’s time for brands to do better for all sizes, shapes and bodies.
The Bright Side: Brands That Love On Us Tall Girls
Not all is lost in the tall girl fashion wilderness—there are brands that are doing it right. And when they get it right? Chef’s kiss.
Madewell: No longer relegating us to the tall-girl corner of shame, they’ve nailed a range of styles that actually fit my 29/34 frame. The best part? Their online selection is just as solid—no more mall traumas for this girl.
AYR (All Year Round): Dream pants that fit everywhere—hips, booty, and length—without sacrificing an ounce of style. Practically unheard of. When I put them on, I’m not just wearing pants; I’m having a moment.
Vintage Levi’s: My holy grail. I scour Depop like it’s my part-time job, hunting for that perfect pair. Sure, the best styles require sacrifices—sizing up, wearing them low on the hips, and accepting a little extra bagginess in the booty—but they’re cozy and worth it. And they give me that effortless-cool vibe like I rolled out of a 90s grunge music video.
A Piece Apart: Okay, we need to talk about the coat. A long, wool duster that fits like a dream—no wrist bones awkwardly poking out, no compromise on sleeve length. When I wear it, I’m not just dressed. I am a queen. And darling, when I glide through the world in that coat? Worship accordingly.
I want generously long, glorious pants that graze the floor without screaming flood! Pants that make me feel not just seen, but celebrated.
All women deserve to feel this good because it’s not just about tall girls. Finding clothes that fit and feel good shouldn’t feel like an impossible quest for anyone. All shapes, all sizes, all bodies deserve to feel comfortable, stylish, and seen.
Brands, Are You Listening? We’re Not a Niche We’re a Market
And here’s the thing: tall girls are loyal. Crack the code, and we’re yours forever. When I find them—the dream pants, the perfect fits, the pieces that make you feel like a star—you better believe I’ll update this post faster than you can say inseam. Because you know I’d never gatekeep this from you.
P.S.
If you’ve got brands you swear by, tall girl tips, or just a flood pants horror story, drop them below. I want to hear it all.