It turns out that the ongoing habit of smiling can truly sap your spirit, leaving it in a desolate state.
During my college years, I was a barista with early morning shifts, dragging myself to work by 5:30 a.m. Looking less than presentable, I nevertheless greeted the stream of regular customers with a forced smile, which became my identity for six long hours. Even now, years later, I find myself compelled to smile, whether anyone is watching or not. From the UPS cashier handling my returns to the trash collectors rolling down my street, I offered smiles indiscriminately. In my younger days, I would even smile at men who seemed overly confident or made unwanted comments about my attire. My smile became a shield, crafted to ward off any doubts about my character.
It’s interesting to reflect on how the necessity of smiling can erode one’s inner self. As a child, I was often serious and reserved, captured in photos looking like a brooding rock star. However, as I reached my teenage years, I began to compensate for those early days by smiling at everyone. I quickly learned that for women, smiling can serve as a form of social currency or even a survival tactic. In my Vietnamese American family, a smile symbolized femininity, a trait that was highly valued. To ease tensions and gain acceptance from authority figures—often white teachers or law enforcement—I smiled, silently conveying that I might be different but was, above all, agreeable.
A friend once shared a terrifying experience of having a hostile contractor in her home. To protect herself, she felt the need to shower him with kindness, fearing his potential wrath. This is a reality many women face—angering a man can lead to frightening consequences.
I remember a moment at an airport in Saigon when a stranger, invading my personal space, told me I should always smile because “pretty girls” were expected to do so. To my shame, I complied.
This cycle continued until I became a mother. The moment my daughter entered the world, I became more attuned to her autonomy than I had ever been with my own. I would often catch her in the car, not smiling, just existing. I found myself asking if she was okay, prompting her to force a smile for my reassurance. In that moment, it dawned on me that I was asking her to perform happiness to soothe my own discomfort—a societal expectation that I had internalized for years.
When the pandemic hit, my world changed. With masks covering my face, I discovered the liberating truth: no one could see whether I was smiling or frowning behind the fabric. Suddenly, I felt free to express my emotions without the pressure of social expectations. Not smiling became an exhilarating experience; I could breathe and engage with those around me without rehearsing social niceties. It was a revelation that masks provided more than just physical protection.
Now, I find that I smile less frequently, but I don’t mind. When I do find joy, it’s spontaneous—sparked by my daughter’s antics, a well-timed joke from a friend, or a delightful surprise from my husband. I no longer feel obliged to smile through uncomfortable situations or dismissive comments, and I realize that I might be perceived as less likable by some. My smiles are no longer an automatic response, nor a ticket to social acceptance.
Despite this shift, I am happier than I have ever been. My joy is genuine, unencumbered by societal expectations, and I aim to model this authenticity for my daughter, who finds unique ways to express her feelings each day.
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In summary, the act of smiling has often been a societal expectation, particularly for women. However, the pandemic provided a unique opportunity to redefine this behavior, allowing for genuine self-expression. By shedding the need to smile constantly, I have embraced authenticity, which I hope to pass on to my daughter.
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