Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes in December 2011. Photo: Getty
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Short men make better boyfriends and husbands

They’re less likely to divorce and they do an extra hour of housework each week.

Last year, Ann Friedman called on women everywhere to overthrow “the last acceptable dating prejudice” and give short men a chance. At 6’2”, she can’t restrict her dating pool to taller men, and she’s discovered that short men aren’t – shockingly – that bad: In fact, she writes, if a man is willing to go out with a taller woman, there’s a good chance he’s also secure enough to accept a woman who’s “competitive and outgoing and career-oriented”.

While Psychology Today kindly offers that women don’t “quite” see short men as “lepers”, Friedman is more accepting than most. When a 5’4” blogger added five inches to his height on his OkCupid profile, his response rate jumped from 16 to 29 per cent. In a more methodologically sound experiment, a pair of sociologists found that 48.9 per cent of women restricted their online dating searches to men who were taller than them. (Men were less picky: Just 13.5 per cent wouldn’t consider a taller woman.) Out of all 925 people, only three left the “desired height” category blank. When the same team took a survey of 181 college students, 29 per cent of women said they would feel “awkward” or “weird” dating a shorter guy, and both men and women in this sample were even more exacting about height: more than half of the women – 55 per cent – said they only wanted to date men who were taller, and 37 per cent of men said they would only go out with women who were shorter.

But a preliminary new study suggests that shorter men might actually make better partners: They do a greater share of housework, earn a greater proportion of household income, and are less likely than their taller peers to get divorced. In a working paper (it has not yet been peer reviewed), Dalton Conley, a sociologist at NYU, and Abigail Weitzman, a phD candidate, used data from the Panel Study of Income Dynamics – a University of Michigan project that’s been collecting demographic data on 5,000 families for almost 50 years – to look at how a man’s height impacts different areas of his relationship after the initial dating period.

They looked at two sets of data, from 1986 and 2009, and identified 3,033 heterosexual couples. (They restricted their sample to men between the ages of 23 and 45 cohabiting with a woman.) The men ranged in height from 4’6” to 7 feet; their height, in relation to their partners', ranged from 9 inches shorter to two feet taller. They categorised the men into three groups: “Short” men were defined as 5’6” or less in 1986, 5’7” or below in 2009; “tall” men were at least 6’1” in 1986 and 6’2” in 2009.

Short men turned out to be somewhat less likely to get married: at every age before 45, they marry at a rate 18 per cent lower than men of average height. “Short men may have a harder time getting married because they’re viewed as less masculine,” says Weitzman. “Women who have traditional gender ideals may find that less desirable.” If they do find a partner, though, they’re less likely to get divorced: divorce rates for tall and average men were basically indistinguishable, but 32 per cent lower for short men. Weitzman explains this by saying that women who are “resistant” to marrying short men are more likely to “opt out” before it gets to the point of marriage: “There’s something distinct about the women who marry short men.”

Or maybe it’s just that short men make better partners. They do a greater share of housework: On average, they perform 8 hours and 28 minutes per week of housework – constituting about 28 per cent of the total – compared to 7 hours 38 minutes for average men and 7 hours 30 minutes for tall men. And they’re more likely to be the breadwinners: Conley and Weitzman estimate that 78 per cent of short men out-earn their partners, compared to 69 per cent of average men and 71 per cent of tall men. Although other research has suggested that taller men earn more – perhaps because of employers’ biases – they didn’t find evidence of income disparity among the different height groups. Tall men may be, in Weitzman’s words, “aware of the status that is conferred by their tallness” – which might make them less motivated to pitch in at home.  

Short men are more likely to partner with women who are older and less educated. Twenty-one per cent of the short men in the sample coupled with women who had not completed high school, compared with 16 per cent of average men and just 12 per cent of tall men: Overall, short men are 75 per cent more likely to couple with someone who hasn’t graduated from high school. Across the whole sample, only 9 per cent of men partnered with a woman who was more than three years older, but these men were likely to come from the short cohort. “Short men may be considered immature, and one way they could get around this threat to their masculinity would be by partnering with women who are younger than them,” said Weitzman. “Tall men don't necessarily have that same threat and may feel more comfortable partnering with women who are older than them.” That doesn’t sound so far from Friedman’s argument.

This article first appeared on newrepublic.com

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Hot or not: why teens can't stop rating each other online

From Instagram to Snapchat, teenagers are using popular apps to request, and award, appraisals. But what does it mean for teens' well-being?

Before there was Facebook, there was Facemash. Launched by Mark Zuckerberg in October 2003, this site placed two Harvard students’ pictures side by side and asked users to vote on who was more attractive. The game was quickly shut down by the university and Zuckerberg faced charges – which were later dropped – of violating people’s privacy. “One thing is certain,” he wrote at the time, “and it’s that I’m a jerk for making this site. Oh well. Someone had to do it eventually.”

In the 2000s, there was hotornot.com – a site where people rated each other out of ten. Then came Fitsort, a Facebook plug-in allowing users to see where they ranked in attractiveness compared to friends. But social media remains the biggest offender, teenagers using hashtags and captions to invite judgement. The means may have changed but the ends are the same. Teens are obsessed with rating each other’s looks online. As you might guess, this is often a far from pleasant experience.

“I didn’t start really getting comfortable with myself until this year,” says Natalie Sheehan, a 17-year-old from Oregon who, between the ages of ten and 15, was often rated four or five out of ten by her peers. “When I got rated low numbers, it really took a toll on my self-confidence and for the longest time I was uncomfortable with who I was and how I looked.”

On the whole, being rated is an “opt-in” experience. In 2012, however, many young Facebook users began to create “hot or not” videos, in which they reeled off their classmates’ names and rated them without their consent. Mostly, however, users are asked to “like” Instagram or Facebook pictures, or send an “X” on Snapchat in exchange for a rating. So, why are teens so keen to open themselves up to this kind of judgement?

“The teenage years are typically a time where a young person develops their self-identity, and they do this through comparisons,” says Angharad Rudkin, a chartered child clinical psychologist, when I ask her why every recent generation seems to do this. “Fitting in and being accepted by peers is a critical aspect of this developmental stage, so this rating system is revealing a process that has taken place for many generations, but in a much less explicit way.”

But it is the explicit nature of the ratings that causes problems. Although some users privately message each other, most post publicly. Ania Hałuszczak, a 15-year-old from Shipley, Yorkshire, tells me that popular people get more “likes” on their “like for a rate” statuses because their opinion is more valued. The potential for humiliation is huge.

“The ‘online disinhibition effect’ is the tendency for people to say or do things online that they typically wouldn’t in the in-person world,” says John Suler, the author of Psychology of the Digital Age: Humans Become Electric. “We all know that in high school there is a lot of cruelty going on, and so that will happen online, too, often in a magnified way. People think that what’s online is not ‘real’, or that it’s all some kind of game, so why does it matter if you’re cruel to others?”

Cruelty doesn’t have to be oblique to have an impact. “One of my friends wrote a status: ‘Like for an honest rating on looks.’ I liked it, telling myself I wouldn’t think twice about the outcome,” Ania says. “She wrote ‘8 xx’. The rating upset me even though I didn’t want it to. I can remember thinking, ‘What made her give me an eight? Where did I lose those two points?’ I decided that I just wasn’t pretty enough. After all, she was being honest.”

Ania and Natalie say that, as they got older, rating became less common. But like playground chants and clapping games, these practices are handed down to the next generation and they seem to be most popular with ten-to-14-year-olds. “As they get older, teenagers tend to prefer more intensive one-to-one relationships, where the group process is slightly less influential,” Rudkin explains. Yet does being rated poorly have a lasting effect on a teen’s psychological well-being?

“I definitely look back and laugh at it now, since I don’t take any of those ratings from when I was in middle school seriously,” Natalie says. “I have grown up since then and now I know that it doesn’t matter what people think.”

Nonetheless, she confesses that she wishes she had never rated people, nor given others the opportunity to rate her. “My appearance isn’t for judging. My appearance isn’t who I am,” she says. “I am who I am. My looks don’t define me. So boys and girls who continue to rate people’s beauty on a scale of one to ten, please do yourself a favour and try to love yourself.” 

Amelia Tait is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 18 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Corbyn’s revenge