Ekaterina continued walking toward the Arno River. She thought of her medal from the 2008 Olympics—bronze, heavy and cold. She thought of the Guinness World Record she held for the longest legs. She thought of the men on dating apps who messaged her: Can you step on me? and Do you play basketball? (Always the same two questions.)
A cold wind rattled the plane trees. She pulled her coat tighter and looked at her reflection in a dark shop window. A giant. A model. An athlete. ekaterina lisina
The man blushed. “I… yes. Sorry.”
Tonight, she was in Milan, walking a runway for a couture designer who didn't have to hem his pants. The theme was "Giants of the Earth." She almost laughed at the irony. For most of her life, people had treated her height as a spectacle, a freak-show banner. In Russia, the boys on the basketball court called her Spichka —Matchstick. Not out of cruelty, but out of a fear they couldn't name. Ekaterina continued walking toward the Arno River
Ekaterina Lisina loved the quiet hum of the hotel elevator. For sixty seconds, she was alone. The doors would slide open to reveal the gasps, the double-takes, and the inevitable, “ Bozhe moi —how tall are you?” She thought of the men on dating apps
Basketball had taught her the geometry of space. She could see over the defense, pass into pockets of air that didn't exist to shorter players. But modeling taught her something stranger: the power of owning the vertical.
“Would you like the photo to be straight?” she asked in clear, accented English.
