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Abe Lincoln did not state or post his height, ever. My how times have changed.
| Klebold | 09/29/25 |
| Klebold | 09/29/25 |
| Klebold | 09/29/25 |
Poast new message in this thread
Date: September 29th, 2025 7:46 AM Author: Klebold Abraham Lincoln did not make a habit of publicly stating his exact height in speeches, campaign literature, or formal discourse. His remarkable stature—generally accepted as 6’4” (193 cm)—was widely remarked upon by contemporaries, but it was something others commented on rather than something Lincoln himself emphasized in his own words. Here’s what is known: Contemporary Accounts: Many observers, journalists, and opponents described him as extraordinarily tall and lanky during the 1858 Lincoln–Douglas debates and the 1860 presidential campaign. Newspapers often mentioned that he was “a full six feet four” or “six feet three or four,” but these were third-party descriptions. Autobiographical Sketch (1860): For campaign use in 1860, Lincoln provided a short autobiography for newspapers and political allies. He described his upbringing, work, and career, but he did not include his height. Personal Letters: Surviving letters and notes by Lincoln also do not contain a self-reported measurement. He occasionally joked about his lankiness or being awkwardly tall but never gave a figure. Physical Measurements After Death: His height was precisely recorded at 6’4” during postmortem examinations (measured without shoes), which matches the many eyewitness estimates. In short, Lincoln’s height was a talking point of others—newspapers, opponents, and supporters alike—but there’s no evidence that he himself ever said, “I am six foot four,” in any campaign speech or document. |
Date: September 29th, 2025 7:54 AM Author: Klebold But why? Guys on the internet state their height constantly, particularly the Tall. What changed? ChatGPT said: Great question—and it gets at a deep cultural shift in how height is signaled and valued socially. 1. 19th-Century Norms: Height Was Obvious In Lincoln’s time, photography was new, public appearances were frequent, and men met face-to-face. A person’s stature was self-evident the moment he walked into a room or onto a debating platform. Stating a number would have felt redundant—like announcing your hair color. Height was remarked upon by others (“six feet four if an inch!”) as part of the press’s descriptive duty, not something a gentleman would self-advertise. 2. Honor Culture vs. Measurement Culture Mid-19th-century America was still close to an honor code society where modesty signaled character. Self-quantification of the body—height, weight, chest size—was considered vain or even slightly ridiculous outside of medical or military contexts. Campaign biographies highlighted virtue, frontier struggle, and self-education, not bodily stats. 3. The Rise of the Numbered Self (20th century onward) Industrialization & mass media introduced standardized measurements (driver’s licenses, sports rosters, medical charts). The 20th century’s obsession with **metrics—IQ, batting averages, BMI—**made numerical self-description normal. Today’s internet dating profiles, social media, and “manosphere” forums turn height into a competitive credential, so men—especially tall ones—state it as a quick status marker. 4. Visibility vs. Textuality Lincoln’s world was one of embodied presence; ours is a world of disembodied text. Online, where people can’t see you, declaring the number substitutes for physical proof. The taller the man, the more the number functions as social leverage (“6’4” becomes a badge). In short: Lincoln didn’t need to say he was 6’4” because everyone who mattered could see it, and saying it would have felt gauche. Modern men proclaim their height precisely because no one can see it—and because metrics have become a form of social capital |
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Date: September 29th, 2025 7:55 AM Author: Klebold Phenotype (visible traits like height, race, physique, beauty) has become more salient in modern social life, and Clique Theory—with its taxonomy of Jocks, Preps, Nerds, Scumbags, etc.—is a surprisingly sharp lens for understanding why. 1. The Collapse of Old Gatekeepers In Lincoln’s era, honor codes and small communities mediated status. Reputation was earned through conduct and testimony. Physical traits mattered, but they were filtered through church, town, profession. Today, the mediators (church, unions, neighborhood elders) have weakened. Status is increasingly direct-to-market: dating apps, social media, viral video. With fewer narrative buffers, raw phenotype—height, bone structure, charisma—hits the social marketplace unsoftened. 2. Clique Theory and the New Visibility Clique Theory holds that people sort into immutable groups—Preps, Jocks, Nerds, Scumbags, etc.—each with a life-trajectory and behavioral code. In the pre-digital age, these groups were enforced by local observation. Online life globalizes the sorting while erasing context. Height, jawline, skin tone, body type become instant “tags” for Jock or Prep or Loser, even across continents. The result: phenotype ≈ destiny feels truer because the signals are so naked and scalable. 3. The New “Honor” Where the old honor prized character witnessed by neighbors, the new honor is algorithmic visibility: a Prep flaunts vacations and brand logos, a Jock flexes his body and height, a Nerd signals IQ with data or code. Each Clique now performs its essence for an invisible audience, chasing likes rather than local respect. 4. Implications Height inflation (men rounding up on dating apps) is the logical end of phenotype salience: you cannot duel for honor, but you can add an inch. Loser lanes become harsher because there is no refuge of quiet competence; metrics expose everything. The Scumbag archetype—once a marginal menace—is oddly liberated, thriving in niches that reward shamelessness. Bottom Line Modernity hasn’t erased Cliques; it has digitized them. With honor codes gone, raw phenotype becomes the opening bid, and digital metrics decide the rest. Clique Theory, far from quaint, reads like a field manual for surviving a world where what you look like sets the algorithm before you’ve typed a word. |