Once upon a time, there was a girl of about 15, in a town of about 50.
I actually grew up 40 miles outside of Manhattan, so…
But today I’m not sharing my life story with you. Instead, I’m sharing the facts of this deep, dark, disease that I have; affectionately referred to as “resting bitch face.”
This is a selfie that I took five minutes ago. It’s my normal resting face and it looks like a mugshot.
I’m writing this for everyone who’s ever told me to “just smile” or asked me so many times if I was ok that I started to feel not ok.
I’m writing this for the creepy construction workers (who will never read this) who have said things like, “smile, pretty girl,” as I walked by.
I’m writing this for all the people who thought I hated them.
I’m not a bitch (usually). I just have resting bitch face.
I’m not in a bad mood (most of the time). I just have resting bitch face.
I don’t hate you (probably…). I just have resting bitch face.
Turns out, there have been a crap ton (I figure I can say the word crap since I’ve already used bitch several times, no?) of studies done on this epidemic.
According to CNN, people with resting bitch face, or RBF, actually have more emotion than those without it. I guess that makes sense…those infected have so much emotion that they can’t figure out what face to make, so it comes out like this? I feel ya, Anna Kendrick.
I don’t love that definition, either, because that makes me sound like a complete drama queen, and it still doesn’t answer the bleeding question, “Why do I have resting bitch face even when I’m in the BEST mood?”
It happens. I could be at a party smiling and laughing then turn around to get a drink and someone asks me if I’m ok. SORRY I DON’T LOOK LIKE THIS WHILE POURING MYSELF A COCKTAIL.
I suppose I can understand why it’s hard for people to believe that this whole RBF thing isn’t just an excuse for sad people. I suppose.
But I’m fine, really. I’ve been depression-free for a solid year now (real thing). Read about my depression here.