Chris Stead highlights the challenges tall people face on flights, especially in economy class. Photo / Supplied
How’s the weather up there? At 194cm or six-foot-four, Chris Stead knows the answer, and the pain of planes.
There are certainly benefits to being a human selfie stick. A giraffe. A vertical overachiever. We can always see the lead guitarist at a gig, for example. The top shelf is a functional storage space. And we’re truly excellent at clearing out spider webs … with our face.
Yet when it comes to flights, the human periscopes among us are left seeing blue. We’re an economy class hazard deemed not economically viable. After all, if you made seats for us, well, there would be one less row.
But it doesn’t need to be like this; in fact, it didn’t used to be.
When I first started long-haul flying around the globe, checking in was done manually. You know, by a human (remember them?). I’d wait in line, kicking my backpack along the floor inch-by-inch, until it was time to stride across to the counter – my long gait making the distance in a jiffy. Passport in hand and big, dumb, young smile ear-to-ear.
You’d see the steward’s head come up from the keyboard … and up … their eyes clearly wondering when the chest will end and a head appear. When they eventually found my face, I’d rarely even have to ask. “We’ll put you in an exit row,” they’d say, or at worst, “This seat has a spare next to it.” And inside my heart would be doing backflips of joy.
Because it meant no pain.
But then things changed. They monetised exit rows. Then they monetised seat selections. And soon enough, there was no human to talk to at all. Even if I can afford an exit row, they’re usually sold out by the time I come looking for one.
For days leading up to a flight, the anxiety and stress of my automated seat selection have a huge toll on my mental health. If I don’t luck out, the physical impact can ruin the trip.
Nobody feels great on a long-haul flight and tall people aren’t the only people suffering, but here are a few things you might not realise. Did you know that most headrests don’t extend high enough? Instead, our heads float in the air while the pads dig uncomfortably into our traps.
When the seat in front reclines, we can no longer see the TV as it’s angled at our chests. Tray tables don’t go flat, as our knees are wedged too high against the hard metal arms of the row in front. Even if it does, don’t expect to get your laptop out. The screen hits the chair in front before it can fold open enough to be seen.
And forget storing a water bottle in the little pouch in front. In fact, the in-flight magazine is the first thing evicted. There is also many a plane where we can’t stand in the bathroom as the cabin’s curve crushes your head. In turbulence, your melon drums We Will Rock You against the hard plastic.
When you’re tall, every time someone in front shifts in their seat or plonks down, it’s like driving daggers into your kneecaps. Many times, I’ve been wedged into economy so tightly my femur prevents the seat in front from reclining. Only for the occupant to slam their back down a half-dozen times thinking their seat is broken.
But you know what’s worst of all? That look on everyone’s face when you walk down the aisle; look at the number beneath the luggage compartment; cast your eye down to that empty middle and say, “I’m so sorry, but that’s my seat.”
And I am genuinely sorry. Because they didn’t call the ceiling inspector, and not only is my flight a punishment, but also the person to the right, and left, and the poor sod in front. We’re all stuffed. It’s geometry.
You can imagine how it feels to see seats next to empty seats when you’re told at the desk, “the plane is completely full”. Or to walk down the plane and see exit rows filled with people whose feet barely touch the ground. It’s not their fault; it’s airline policy.
It doesn’t have to be like this. There are numerous mobility and medical conditions that airlines are happy to accommodate, from severe arthritis to joint replacements, but not height. Even though at 194cm, I’m 96% more likely to get deep vein thrombosis on an economy flight than someone 171cm, largely because of leg room.
Perhaps it’s time airlines stopped propagating this problem and began solving it. Not all seats need to be randomly allocated – even an extra few millimetres can save a flight. Surely it can’t be that hard to record the height of passengers against their frequent flyer number and to get the seating algorithm to minimise the discomfort economy seats inflict not just on the tall timber, but the forest that surrounds.
Because being tall isn’t a choice.
Until then, I’ll keep folding myself into 17B like a hairy sack of badly packed tent poles.