I’VE had this “resting bitch face” (RBF) for as long as I can remember. “You should smile more often,” my mother used to tell me. I’d roll my eyes. I was not going to succumb to this fakery—even if social convention dictated it.
Many decades later, I would find the perfect comeback to my mother’s constant badgering for me to smile more often. Looking through old portraits of my mother’s family, I discover something that redeems me.
“Look at the portraits of your family members,” I tell my mother, “they all have long faces.” This unsmiling expression actually comes from your side of the family. This ended the smiling squabble.
Now this made me smile. Genuinely.
A week ago, I was at the salon having my hair done. I’ve been going to the same hair stylist for over two decades so my hair stylist knows me very well but the faces of her assistants have changed over the last twenty years.
About eight months ago, the assistant who has handled me in the last five years is moved to office work so her alternate takes over. Now this alternate has handled me in the past but perhaps only twice in the last five years.
This year, though, she’s handled me three consecutive times. Last week, after lots of storytelling and laughing, the assistant musters the nerve to tell me something that makes me smile. Genuinely.
“Ma-am, do you know how scared I was of you before? Do you know that each time you walked into the salon in the last five years, I would pass you off to another assistant? I just want to say sorry to you, Ma-am, for doing that but I was really scared of you. Mura man gud ka ug stricta ug maldita, Ma-am. (You seemed strict and mean, Ma-am.)”
In brief, I seem like a total bitch.
I burst out laughing. “It’s okay,” I tell her. “I AM strict and mean but only when the occasion calls for it.”
There are many theories to the “resting bitch face” syndrome but perhaps, the one that I relate to best is the theory that it is often utilized as a shield.
When I was young, I travelled alone often. My parents drummed into my head the dangers of striking up conversations with strangers. So I subconsciously maintained this “resting bitch face” to ward off unwanted attempts by strangers to socialize with me. It might have kept criminal elements at bay too. Would you try to mug someone who always seems ready to slug you?
When my niece was a child, she used to say, “You know why people don’t talk to you, Auntie? You’re so unfriendly.” Her words made me smile. Genuinely.
Through time, my protective mechanism became permanent, so I’ve had this “resting bitch face” for as long as I can remember. It’s been an edge as well as an obstacle. In the overall, I can say that my mother is right. It really doesn’t hurt to smile more often.
I hope this is making my mother smile now. Genuinely.