It turns out that constantly wearing a smile can drain your spirit down to mere ashes.
Written by Mia Chen
Updated: March 4, 2022
Originally Published: March 2, 2022
During my college years, I took on the morning shift at a coffee shop, which meant dragging myself there by 5:30 a.m., feeling half-asleep and completely unprepared for social interaction. Yet, as the regulars arrived with their travel mugs, I stifled my yawns and plastered a grin on my face, as if it were a badge of honor. For six hours each morning, I became the cheerful barista, eager to serve coffee and positive vibes.
The customer service experience ingrained in me a habit of smiling, a reflex that stuck around long after I left that job. Even now, I feel the urge to smile at the UPS worker handling my package returns, the sanitation crew passing by, or the dad at pickup who often seems overwhelmed. In my younger days, I found myself smiling at various men on the subway, chatty professors, and colleagues who commented on my clothing choices (“Not to be weird, but I really like that outfit.” Seriously, how is that not weird?). My smile became a shield, warding off any doubts about my being a friendly and harmless member of society.
The reality is that the relentless need to smile can truly sap your vitality.
As a child, I often appeared sullen. Old photos from the ‘90s show me with a scowl reminiscent of a lead singer in a grunge band. As I transitioned into my teenage years, I compensated for those earlier unsmiling moments by offering grins to anyone who made eye contact. I soon realized that, especially for women, a smile can serve as a form of social currency or even a survival tactic in tense situations. It can defuse conflicts, enhance approachability, and in my Vietnamese American family, a smile symbolized femininity—a highly valued trait. I smiled to disarm people—often those in positions of authority—communicating silently, “I may be different, but I’m nice!”
A friend once shared her experience of having a contractor in her home who displayed troubling hostility. She felt the need to placate him with sweetness, fearing retaliation since he knew where she lived. She kept up her smiling facade until he left, exhaling a sigh of relief. The consequences of angering a man—whether a flirtatious stranger, a powerful boss, or anyone on the street—can be frightening for women.
Once, while at an airport in Ho Chi Minh City, I encountered a stranger who got uncomfortably close and gestured with his fingers, forming a smile on his own face. “Where’s your smile?” he demanded. “Pretty girls should always smile.” To my everlasting regret, I obliged and smiled back, simply because he told me to.
This pattern continued for years until I became a mother. As soon as my daughter opened her tiny fists, I became fiercely protective of her autonomy. Occasionally, I’d glance at her through the car mirror and see her content face—no anger or tears, just no smile. I would ask, “Are you okay? You sure, sweetheart?” until she’d finally offer a forced grin to reassure me. I realized I was asking her to perform her happiness for my comfort, just as society had expected of me—and all women—for as long as I could remember.
When the pandemic hit, my in-person interactions dwindled. On the rare occasions I did venture out, I wore a mask, leading to a freeing realization: No one could see my mouth. I could smile, frown, or even stick out my tongue without judgment, as there were no unspoken assessments of my expressions. This newfound freedom allowed my face to relax like it hadn’t in years. Not smiling felt almost euphoric. I could breathe and focus on the conversations around me, no longer rehearsing social cues or “fixing my face.” Behind the mask, I could finally be my authentic self. Those masks provided more than just physical protection.
Nowadays, I find myself smiling far less often, and I’m perfectly okay with it. When I do smile, it’s spontaneous—triggered by something delightful my daughter has done, a friend’s joke, my husband’s weekend donut run, or a quirky tweet. What no longer earns my smile? Lengthy meetings, microaggressions, sexist remarks, and unwanted attention—issues I had brushed off for years. I’ve become a bit less likable to some, with smiles that are harder to earn and no longer a guaranteed social lubricant.
Yet, despite the reduction in my smiling, I’m happier than I’ve ever been. This joy—genuine, spontaneous, and free from gender expectations—is what I aspire to show my daughter, who continually finds unique ways to express her true self.
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This article reflects a personal journey of finding freedom from societal expectations surrounding smiles and embracing authentic joy.