Smiling too much
(Why I'll Always Mask When I'm Alone in Public)
Existing while female means having a random dude-bro tell you that, “You’re smiling too much” because somehow men got the message that telling a woman in public they should smile more is not okay while also not understanding that if she’s not smiling, then maybe she doesn’t want to be spoken to. Maybe, like me, she was pondering whether to buy naan or make a homemade batch later… looking for the King’s Hawaiian rolls and remembering that the garam masala was in the aisle I walked in on, on my way to get my vaccine.
This is how my day got derailed.
My first mistake… and clearly, it’s absolutely MY mistake for not only being a woman in public alone but for having my long red hair pulled up in a ponytail and deciding to put on enough makeup to cover my hyperpigmentation and define my eyes just a little…
My first mistake after that was deciding to not wear a mask into the grocery store/pharmacy where I was getting my COVID vaccine booster.
This wasn’t an easy decision. We have managed to avoid COVID *knocks on wood* because we mask in most public places, use a nasal spray, and are fully boosted. We both work from home and usually get groceries curbside, but today I needed to get my vaccine, pick up prescriptions for myself, my husband, and our dog, and maybe grab a couple small things while I was in the grocery store.
COVID numbers are generally down, and it was mid-morning on a Thursday… hardly peak shopping hours, and the parking lot reflected this.
The mask-or-don’t-mask calculations also include the social capital. That’s another way of saying the ability to walk around a public space without being glared at and instead smiling at strangers and making small talk in the checkout line.
People don’t mask around here anymore, not even in medical facilities. At a doctor’s appointment last month, I told the nurse, “I’m not sick, just trying to keep it that way,” after which she relaxed and warmed up… a stark contrast to the icy glares I got from other patients and the front desk clerk in the waiting room.
I’m generally a really social person.
I’ll strike up conversations with anyone, anywhere. And when my anxiety over being in a public place is low, I’ll walk slowly, make eye contact, and smile at people as they pass.
I’ve also come to understand that I hold a certain amount of pretty privilege and am not ashamed to admit that I’ve used it to my advantage in certain situations. Being dressed down, naked-faced, in a baseball cap doesn’t change that. If anything, it’s shown that people view me as even more approachable when I’m out in the world that way.
This is just who I am in public. I’m a people person who often comes home feeling energized by the little low-attachment interactions of saying thank you and good morning to strangers as I run errands. But I was reminded of the other side of that today in the Safeway bakery section.
I wasn’t smiling at all because I was lost in thought.
I was debating making fresh naan and the string of thoughts that came with it from the timing of when I’d need to make the dough to whether or not to use all of the garlic I roasted yesterday to make hummus… and if I make hummus, should I also grab celery to eat with it? And where are the King’s Hawaiian rolls? They’ll go really well with all the soup I made yesterday… but maybe I should just bust out a batch of the copycat Roadhouse Rolls that my husband loves so much…?
And then I heard it.
“You’re smiling way too much!” from a dude-bro standing on the other side of a refrigerated case full of crescent rolls and OJ. That was all it took to go from planning my day to a full-blown panic attack. I looked up, gave a little chuckle then turned in my tracks toward the front of the store.
Never mind that the pharmacy line had dwindled since I arrived for my vaccine, and I needed to pick up three prescriptions. Never mind the garam masala or the half-priced Easter candy display I’d passed on the way in. TIME. TO. GO. NOW.
It wasn’t the comment itself that did it. I mean, it was just another way for a man to tell me I needed to smile more… something I’ve heard on the street and in public spaces more times than I can count.
It was all the other times I’ve been existing while female, only to be treated as though I was on display for a man’s viewing pleasure.
It was the time some rando honked at me at a stop light and took my picture when I turned to look at him. When I told the story on Facebook later that day, several male friends responded with some variation of “Well, you’re so pretty! I understand why he’d want a picture of you.”
It was the day I was standing in line at a convenience store and suddenly felt the knuckles of an old man with a cane passing across my ass as he walked too closely behind me. When I turned around and made a scene, everyone in the store (including my then-husband and so-called best friend) treated me like I was overreacting. I must have imagined it, or it was totally an accident. Why would an old man grope me like that?
It was walking into work in basic office attire- slacks, chunky heels, and a plain shirt, through a parking lot full of blue-collar workers who stared at my car and then wolf-whistled as I stepped out. When I got to my desk, shaking with adrenaline from the rage and fear the rest of the office treated me as though I was being overly sensitive, dramatic and why would they whistle at the office fat girl?
It was the last day of training at a different job when one of the instructors hissed at me under his breath, “You sure do know how to walk into a room,” as passed by his chair. Suddenly, I remembered the tests I’d taken with perfect scores and answers that were clearly wrong. I understood that my nomination of ‘most professional’ was more about how I filled out my slacks than how I spoke to callers and classmates. For the rest of the time I worked there, I had to listen to everyone else talk about what a great man he was and how much they missed him.
It was being 13 years old, walking with two other girls to the convenience store for Doritos and root beer when a car full of men passed by repeatedly, catcalling us from the windows. They then pulled into the vacant lot we were passing through, blocking our path. When they went to get out of the car, I told everyone to run, and we made it safely into the store. Panting, with tears streaming down our faces... we forgot the Doritos, and the cashier let me use the store’s phone to call my “dad” to ask for a ride home. We were afraid they would be waiting for us when we walked out. My dad refused to come get us and told me to just settle down.
It was every single time I’d been harassed by a man in public only to have the men in my life invalidate me when I spoke up.
But I’m me, and I can’t shut up, so I’m doing it again. I’m writing this hoping that someone else will finally realize that these things (and worse) happen to EVERY WOMAN YOU KNOW.
Not just women who dress in revealing clothing. Not just women of a specific body type. Not just women who you personally consider attractive.
We do not color our hair or put on makeup to be looked at. We don’t stand in our closets thinking, “Hmmm… which top might cause a small car accident in the Lowes parking lot?” or “Does this skirt make me look like I want a man’s opinion?”
We have bodies that we choose to adorn in our own way, not to make you look but because we have to leave the house to do the same things you do- get a vaccine, pick up something at the bakery, and maybe, next time… maybe remember to get all of the prescriptions.