Turn that frown upside down...you're about to start pushing!
For as long as I can remember, I received the same feedback in my corporate career during annual reviews:
“You don’t look friendly enough.”
When I was starting out, the feedback was less funny: “You need to smile more.”
I was in my early 20s, fresh out of college, and naïve enough to believe they always knew best. I was also not very wise, because I voluntarily participated in one of those anonymous 360 reviews where people can give you feedback without having to look you in the face.
Yup. Anonymous.
And saying my feelings were not hurt by comments like “Melina always looks miserable” and “Melina looks bored” would be like saying I look forward to putting up my Christmas tree this year.
Later in my corporate career, the feedback became slightly more elegant. A CEO once called me after a zoom call and said, “You could never play poker. I can see what you’re thinking on your face.”
He was not wrong.
Then there was the time I discovered that I apparently roll my eyes without realizing it—and, of course, my camera was on during a Zoom call. It is no secret that my mom and Aunt Aimee do this, so apparently I inherited it. I was just the last person to realize I was also guilty. Needless to say, watching the recording was not pretty.
At work, no one ever prepared me for the constant smiling that apparently was required. I always believed my work would speak for itself. That once people got to know me, they would realize I was, in fact, a decent human being.
Apparently, my face was getting in the way.
And for the record, I do not enjoy being told to turn my frown upside down. I did not enjoy it when my OBGYN told me while I was in labor with my first child, and I don’t enjoy it today: "Turn that frown upside down. You're having a Hanukkah baby!"
One of my best and dearest friends—and the mother of my goddaughter—was actually my interviewer for a job I landed early in my career.
Yup. That’s how we met.
During the interview, she asked where I lived. I told her.
She said, “Oh my God! I live right near you!”
I guess she was expecting me to respond with something along the lines of, “Oh my God! We have so much in common! Let’s be best friends!”
Instead, I said, “Oh. That’s nice.” And continued with the interview.
After I landed the job and we became friendly, we eventually went back to that moment. She looked at me and said, “Man, I was afraid of you during that interview.”
Fast-forward to today, and I am serving as a moral compass to her daughter.
You see how things work out?
Then, two years ago, I attended a women’s group meeting with another woman. Afterward, we were debriefing, and because apparently I love walking into these situations voluntarily, I asked her for feedback.
She told me I look very serious all the time. She said people who don’t know me can sometimes find me intimidating—or, in her words, may think I’m a bitch. Her concern was that people might not feel comfortable approaching me.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was about to stop the car, get out, and start doing cartwheels.
Because somewhere along the way, something had changed.
I no longer wanted fake smiles in my life. And I certainly didn’t feel the need to manufacture one on my face so that other people could feel more comfortable around me.
If I meet someone and we hit it off, wonderful. If we become friends, even better. I am always game for good, genuine people. But I have become much more interested in authenticity than likability.
There is also something exhausting about the expectation that women should go through life looking like everything is fine.
We have jobs. Families. Children. Friends. Aging parents. Bills. Deadlines. Bad days. Hard conversations. Grief. Stress. Ambition. Disappointment. Joy. All of it. And somehow, we are still expected to walk around with a pleasant expression on our faces, reassuring everyone else that we are doing just fine.
Sometimes I am fine. Sometimes I am thinking, annoyed, overwhelmed or genuinely happy. And sometimes my face simply has nothing to say.
I have always been more of an observer than a talker. These days, I find myself observing even more—myself, other people, relationships, rooms, conversations.
And what I’ve noticed is that a smile tells you very little.
Some people smile because they are happy. Some because they are nervous. Some because they are being polite. Some because they have perfected the art of looking like everything is fine. And some of us apparently just look like we are plotting something.
And then there are the smiles that fade over time.
Why?
Who knows.
Maybe people become comfortable enough to stop performing. Maybe the relationship changes. Or maybe what you thought was genuine warmth simply wasn’t as genuine as you believed.
I think that is one of the stranger things about getting older. You begin to realize that a smile is not a guarantee of anything.
People can smile at you and disagree with you. Smile at you and compete with you. Smile at you and not necessarily want the best for you. And yes, sometimes people can smile in your face while quietly hoping you don’t succeed.
That’s not cynicism. It’s reality.
The trick, I’ve learned, is not to become suspicious of everyone who smiles at me. It’s to stop assuming that a smile tells me who someone is.
Time usually does a much better job of that.
Still, I find this realization very unsettling. Because we are taught from such a young age to associate a smile with warmth, kindness, safety and acceptance. We learn to read the smile before we read the person.
And I am learning that those are not necessarily the same thing.
Maybe that is why I have become less interested in whether someone looks friendly and much more interested in whether they are actually kind.
Give me consistency over charm. Give me honesty over a perfectly pleasant expression. Give me someone who can disagree with me without pretending otherwise.
And when it comes to me, I actually love to laugh. Not the polite little chuckle you give someone because you are supposed to. I mean the kind where you lose your breath, your stomach hurts and you have to wipe your eyes.
But it has to be genuinely funny.
I don’t laugh because I’m supposed to. I laugh because I mean it.
Maybe I will always have a serious face. Maybe I will roll my eyes without knowing it. Maybe I will occasionally look bored when I am actually thinking. And maybe I will never master the art of looking effortlessly approachable at all times.
I am ok with that now.
I’ve spent enough of my life worrying about whether my face makes other people comfortable. I’m not here to audition for “most approachable person in the room.”
I’m here to be myself.
And if that comes with fewer smiles and more belly laughs?
I’ll take it.
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