The grade was an “A,” but the comment on my report card felt like a ruler whacking my hand. My teacher praised my work but criticized my “attitude” in class. It wasn’t about chatting with classmates or disrupting lessons; it was my facial expressions that he found lacking, particularly my insufficient smiling, which he interpreted as disrespect.
In simpler terms, 15-year-old me had Resting Bitch Face (RBF). This term, which gained popularity in the early 2000s, refers to someone whose neutral expression unwittingly suggests annoyance or disdain. It predominantly targets women, subtly reinforcing the notion that females should always appear cheerful and approachable. Anything beyond that is often deemed “bitchy.”
Fortunately, my mom had challenged this notion long before RBF was a buzzword. She had always taken a thoughtful approach when advocating for me in school, recognizing that overreacting to every minor issue wouldn’t serve me well. However, this was one issue she was ready to confront head-on.
She immediately set up a meeting with my teacher. Although I dreaded the thought, she encouraged me to use this opportunity to show him my true self, hoping to foster a better rapport and reduce his tendency to judge based on my unsmiling demeanor. Little did I know, this meeting would change perceptions and ultimately lead to a college recommendation letter and a prestigious award from the very same teacher by the end of high school.
As a mother of both daughters and a son, I witness daily the differing expectations imposed on them regarding how they should present themselves. I’ve lost count of how often my daughters have been teased—albeit jokingly—by teachers for not smiling at school drop-off. I mean, it’s early, cold, and they’re wearing masks due to a pandemic—would you expect grinning? Notably, no one seems to comment on my son’s expression.
My mom recognized this inequality long ago, back when I would apologize for my resting face. Her intention for the meeting was not to admit any fault on my part but to allow my teacher to see me in a more nuanced light. She was right, as she usually is (which can be a bit annoying!).
I can’t envision ever telling my kids to smile more, aside from the occasional family photo. They express their feelings authentically—smiling when happy, crying when upset, and showing anger with scrunched faces. The rest of the time, their faces are simply their unique expressions.
I hope my mom, an early advocate against RBF, will witness its decline in societal expectations. Meanwhile, we can all continue to master our side-eye, a powerful form of expression that transcends gender.
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In summary, my mother’s proactive approach to addressing the unfair expectations surrounding facial expressions has left a lasting impact on my life. It’s crucial to challenge these stereotypes and embrace our authentic selves, free from societal pressures.