I'm 27, 5'6", and I've been wearing height insoles for the past six months. Nobody knows. Not my mates, not the girl I've been seeing for three months, not my family. Just me. And honestly? I don't know if I'll ever tell them.

Before you judge me—and trust me, I've judged myself plenty—let me tell you what it's actually like being a short bloke in your late twenties. Not the "oh, height doesn't matter" bullshit people tell you. The real stuff nobody talks about.

The Moment I Broke

There was this girl. Let's call her Sarah. We'd been messaging for two weeks on Hinge—proper good conversations, lots of banter, seemed genuinely interested. We arranged to meet at a bar in town. I got there first, felt decent in what I was wearing, confident enough.

She walked in, saw me, and I watched her face change. Not dramatically—she's not a villain in a film. Just this tiny flicker of... disappointment? Recognition that I wasn't what she'd expected? She stayed for one drink. Made an excuse about an early morning. I never heard from her again.

The worst part wasn't the rejection. It was checking her Instagram later that week and seeing her with some tall bloke, both of them looking proper happy. And I just thought: that could've been me. Same personality, same jokes, same everything—just in a body that's three inches taller.

That's when something in me just... snapped. Not in an angry way. More like I was tired. Tired of being the short mate. Tired of feeling invisible in rooms full of people. Tired of my own reflection disappointing me.

The Google Rabbit Hole

I started researching at 2am. "How to look taller," "do height insoles work," "will people notice shoe lifts"—all the searches I'd been too proud to make before. I read every Reddit thread, every review, every before-and-after. Half of them looked dodgy as hell, to be fair. Cheap Chinese stuff that would sink after a week, or those ridiculous elevator shoes that scream "I'm insecure."

Then I found Inchmaxxers. I spent probably two hours on the site that first night. Reading testimonials from other blokes who'd been exactly where I was. The founder's story—Nathan, this electrician from Birmingham who just got sick of feeling small—that hit different. Wasn't some corporation trying to flog me something. Just a normal lad who'd had enough of the same shit I was dealing with.

I added them to my cart probably fifteen times before I actually bought them. Kept thinking: "Am I really that desperate? Is this pathetic?" But then I'd remember Sarah's face, or the way I felt at my cousin's wedding when all the lads stood together for photos and I was front and center because I'm always front and fucking center. Not by choice—by necessity.

At 3:47am, slightly drunk, I finally clicked "buy." Summit size. Go big or go home, I thought. Got them in black to match my trainers.

The First Day

When they arrived, I stared at the package for about ten minutes before opening it. This felt like a line I was crossing. Like admitting defeat somehow.

But I put them in my trainers, laced up, and stood in front of my bedroom mirror. And mate—I actually laughed. Not because it looked ridiculous. Because for the first time in my adult life, I looked like the version of myself I'd always pictured in my head. The proportions just... made sense.

I wore them to Tesco. Genuinely just needed milk, but I wanted to test them somewhere low-stakes. Nobody looked at my feet. Nobody pointed and laughed. The cashier—this older woman who's usually miserable—was actually pleasant to me. Probably coincidence. Probably.

But when I got home and took my shoes off, I felt smaller than I ever had before. It was like I'd gotten a taste of something I didn't know I was missing, and now going back felt impossible.

Six Months Later

I wear them everywhere now. Work meetings, dates, nights out, family gatherings. They've become part of my routine—like putting on deodorant or styling my hair. Nobody's said a word. Not one person has noticed, clocked it, or called me out.

But everything's changed.

I got a promotion at work. My manager actually said in the review that I'd been "stepping up" and showing more "executive presence." Could be coincidence. Could be that when you feel three inches taller, you stand differently, speak differently, take up space differently.

The girl I'm seeing—the one I mentioned earlier—I met her at a mate's birthday party. We were the same height when she was in heels. She later told me that was one of the things she noticed about me straight away. "You've got such good presence," she said. I just smiled and thanked her.

We've been together three months. It's going well. Really well. And yeah, there's this voice in my head sometimes that says I should tell her. That I'm being dishonest somehow. But then I think: does she tell me every time she's wearing makeup? Does she disclose which parts of her look are natural and which are enhanced?

We all do things to feel better about ourselves. She goes to the gym four times a week and watches what she eats. My mate Tom is on some hair loss medication. Another mate started using teeth whitening strips. Why is my thing different?

What I've Learned

Here's what nobody tells you about height insoles: after a while, you forget you're wearing them. I'm not walking around all day thinking "I'm a fraud." I'm just... living. Going to work, seeing my girlfriend, meeting my mates for pints. Except I'm doing it all with more confidence than I've had in years.

The biggest change isn't even the physical height. It's that I'm not spending mental energy anymore on being the short bloke. That constant background anxiety—wondering if people are judging me, if I'm being overlooked (literally and figuratively), if I'm enough—it's just... quieter now.

I read this thing once about how women describe feeling when they finally find a bra that properly fits. Like they'd been uncomfortable for so long that they'd forgotten what comfortable felt like. That's what this has been like for me.

The Guilt

Do I feel guilty? Sometimes. Usually late at night when I'm taking them out of my shoes, or when my girlfriend's being particularly sweet and genuine with me. There's this voice that says I should come clean. That I'm building my life on a lie.

But then I think: this isn't really a lie, is it? I'm still me. Same personality, same values, same shite sense of humor. I've just given myself the confidence boost that other people get naturally by winning the genetic lottery.

And honestly? My prime years aren't lasting forever. I'm 27. I've already wasted too much time being insecure about something I can't change. If wearing insoles means I actually live my twenties instead of just surviving them, I'm okay with that trade.

To Anyone Reading This Who's Considering It

If you're where I was six months ago—googling at 2am, adding them to your cart and deleting them, wondering if you're pathetic for even considering it—here's what I'd say:

You're not pathetic. You're practical. And you don't owe anyone an explanation for doing something that makes you feel more like yourself.

Will they change your life overnight? No. But they might give you the confidence to change your own life. And sometimes that's all you need—just a little boost to get started.

I'm not saying I'll wear them forever. Maybe one day I'll be secure enough not to need them. Or maybe I'll just keep wearing them because why the fuck not? Either way, it's my choice. And that feels powerful in itself.

So yeah, I've been living a lie for six months. Except it doesn't feel like a lie anymore. It just feels like living.