Summary

The author reflects on the inherited "resting b***h face" (RBF) expression among the women in their family, discussing its impact and their personal perspective on the phenomenon.

Abstract

The author recounts a car ride with their mother, realizing that her serious expression is not indicative of anger but rather a genetic trait of RBF, which is shared among the women in their family. This trait is humorously described as intimidating yet misunderstood, as it often leads to misinterpretations of their mood. The author reminisces about their grandmother, Nanny, whose stern appearance belied her loving nature and whose stories of hardship in Italy might have contributed to her expression. The piece explores the societal expectations of women to appear pleasant and the sexism inherent in the RBF label, questioning why women feel pressured to alter their natural expressions through surgery or excessive smiling. The author embraces their RBF, asserting that a genuine smile is more valuable than a constant, artificial cheerfulness.

Opinions

The author views RBF as a natural, inherited facial expression rather than a reflection of one's mood.
There is a societal expectation for women to look pleasant, which can lead to unfair judgments and the labeling of women with RBF using derogatory terms.
The author rejects the notion that women should alter their natural facial expressions through surgery or by forcing smiles to appease societal norms.
The piece suggests that RBF may be more about biology and family genetics than an individual's temperament or disposition.
The author implies that the RBF expression does not diminish their ability to express joy genuinely or have a good sense of humor.
There is an underlying critique of the sexism involved in the cultural perception of women's facial expressions, particularly the double standard that women are expected to be constantly cheerful.

The Women in Our Family Have One Expression

And one look was all it took

We were alone in the car.

Mom was giving me a ride to school. At the time, I was 15 years old, too young to drive, and it was a pleasure not to ride the bus. I was enjoying this special treatment from mom.

It was bright and sunny as were our dispositions, or so I thought until I looked at mom… I noticed her furrowed brow, her clenched jaw, and her narrowed eyes. She looked like she was frowning.

“ Mom, what’s wrong?” I asked. “Did something happen?”

“What do you mean, what’s wrong? Nothing is wrong. Why do you ask?”

“ Well, you look… angry,” I answered.

“Nope,” she said. “This is my natural countenance.”

She was sincere.

I realized that morning that I come from a long line of women with RBF, resting b***h face, and mom was one of them.

My grandmother, whom we called Nanny, scared away most little kids with just a glance. Her looks were intense and she looked like she was constantly irritated or in pain. It didn’t help that when she saw a small child she was drawn to, she would lunge down and grab them, put them on her lap, and proceed to pinch their cheeks and kiss them with such force that the little ones almost always started to cry.

It wasn’t just kids though. Adult neighbors were afraid of her and typically kept their distance. I really didn’t understand this.

As the oldest grandchild, who also lived nearby, I would often go to visit Nanny in the evening. Years after Pa had died, we would sit together in the living room and “watch” television together. She would make me an ice cream soda, made of 7up and Breyers vanilla ice cream, and I would sit next to her, happy as a clam, sipping my specially made ice cream soda.

Her favorite program “Wheel of Fortune” came on at 7:30 and Nanny loved to critique the clothing Vanna White was wearing. Since Nanny barely spoke English, she missed much of what was happening on “Wheel of Fortune” so she created her own narrative instead. She was convinced that Pat Sajak was having an affair with Vanna and he was flaunting this in front of the whole world. This was hands down her favorite program.

“Justa look a how he look at her,” she would say. Then she would use a few not-so-flattering Italian terms to describe them both. Her narrative never changed.

“Nowa you do a this, Ma-shella! You be a nica gal.” She would remind me.

“Ok, Nanny. Don’t worry.”

We would sit for hours as she told me about the old days and how hard it was for her in Italy. I loved listening to the stories, which often changed with each telling. They were hard years. Was that where the expression originated? Or was this pure biology?

Two of her daughters, my mom and one of my aunts had RBF, and a third aunt did not. The two were more serious than light-hearted and often mistakenly seen as concerned or distressed. Truthfully, no one messed with either of them. The other sister smiled much more and had Pa’s temperament. She got all the charm, in spades.

I recognize that I fall firmly in line with Nanny and Mom and my one aunt. When I am “thinking,” I especially look like I am in the throes of conflict.

I am told I look a little dazed and a bit upset; however, my emotion is less consternation and more just plain focus. I used to worry that my expression was misunderstood and perhaps even hurtful to some. I don’t worry anymore. It just is.

I try to smile. Honestly, I do! I have to have a reason to smile, though. I know I have a good sense of humor and can belly laugh when something truly is funny. But, if I am in a resting state, I look, well, a little pissed. And I’m not. Usually.

When I googled RBF, I found this as a definition: “a facial expression that unintentionally appears like a person is angry, annoyed, irritated, or contemptuous, particularly when the individual is relaxed, resting, or not expressing any particular emotion.”

Hmmmm… so it’s a thing if google says it is, I guess. I continued my research to find that some women — interestingly, no men — have various surgeries to make them look more pleasant. Brow lines and marionette lines are botoxed, and special makeup is used to reshape downcast eyes. I kid you not. People have surgery for this.

Not this person. I am able to smile and when I do, there is a reason I am smiling. I get that my smile can light up a room. But I will not be pretending to smile just to avoid having RBF.

Clearly, there is some sexism here. The B word, derogatory to the core, denigrates all women, and in this case, shames serious-looking women. Are we really that much of a threat if we aren’t smiling and cheery?

I suppose that something may be wrong when women bear a more serious resting facial expression; however, in our family, I think, plain and simple, it’s biology.

https://medium.com/@michelecambardella/membership