Do you suffer from Resting Bitch Face Syndrome?
Aahhhhhhhhhh… Gold ole’ RBF aka CBF (Chronic Bitch Face). I would like to think that this is something I am just now realizing about myself, but I would be lying. Sadly, I was just a young lassie the first time I realized I suffered from this awful condition (though it would take me a few years to discover the name of it):
It was the 8th grade and I was in English Literature class. We were reading “A Tale of Two Cities.” It was an interesting read. One that I would eventually re-read because I enjoyed it the first time. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” I have always been an avid reader. And English Literature has always been a favorite subject of mine. So imagine my surprise when my teacher stopped in the middle of her lecture to call me out: “Rebecca, are we boring you?”
Huh? Wait. What?! I managed to stutter out that of course the class wasn’t boring me! Mrs. Uptight Prissy Shit wasn’t buying it. She accused me of not paying attention and looking miserable with my current situation. That just pissed me off. She had already called me out in front of the entire class and now she was trying to make me out to be some illiterate fool?! Oh hell no!
Disclaimer: I was usually always the Teacher’s Pet. I was just really fucking amazing at getting my teachers to love me so that if I screwed up I could talk my way into an A or at least some extra credit. #HonorRollBitches #HatersGonnaHate
So the idea of being book-shamed in front of a class full of clowns who had no idea who Lucie Manette was, was not going to fly with me. I proceeded to tell her that I had actually really enjoyed reading the book and that it was a “Far, far better thing” to read it alone at home then to follow along in class. She just looked at me for a few seconds and then went back to teaching. For those that have never read the book, you won’t get it. But basically, I had already finished the book while the class was still analyzing Chapter 4.
At the time, I had no idea what RBF was. But I now know that in that moment I must have been giving off some seriously bitchy facial cues.
The thing is, unless you catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror or a window, there is no way you would ever know you suffer from RBF unless someone told you. Which, believe me, I have been told. But there are so many oblivious and innocent souls out there who have no idea that they too are suffering from this condition. It is heartbreaking. So here are a few things that can help you recognize if you are one of us. Resting Bitch Face Sufferers Unite!
– A coworker walks by and says, “It can’t be that bad! Smile!” What the fuck is this guy talking about?!?
– At least once a day someone asks, “Are you ok?” and/or “Is there something bothering you?” YES. Yes there is something bothering me. YOUR FACE.
– People automatically assume that you are in a bad mood because you don’t have a scary, clown-like smile plastered on your face at all times. It hurts my face muscles. Please don’t make me.
– When people are talking to you about whatever, they often stop in the middle of a sentence to ask if they said something that offended you. OMG. No fuckface you didn’t. But now I’m offended by you breathing the same air as me. UUgghhhh.
– You have actually been asked if you have committed murder. Because bitchface.
These are just a few signs you may be suffering from RBF. I know… It’s a tough pill to swallow. I often find myself walking around trying to force a smile on my face when I see someone approaching because if I don’t I am clearly screaming, “I’m a dick!! Keep walking.” I have also noticed that it helps to not rest your chin on your hand while reading a 200-page brief. I mean, you and I both know that I am doing this because my neck is tired of holding up my enormously large head. However, if someone walks by and sees this, they automatically rush over and ask if someone upset me.
Why can’t I just live my liifffffeeeee!!! I AM NOT YOUR SUNSHINE!!!
Most recently, I was reminded of my RBF on the day of my wedding. Oh sweet Jesus… I really thought I was going to dick punch my photographer. Let’s just say I don’t have the most pleasant “natural face.” I can’t tell you how many times my photographer said, “Try not smiling so much, Rebecca. Just relax and show me your natural face.” Was this guy serious?! I am wearing this smile because it is my wedding day and I don’t want to look like an asshole in my pictures!!!
So I would stop smiling and I would try really hard to give him that “I don’t care; I am brooding and beautiful” face. Nope. He would let out these horrendous sighs and just kept telling me to Reelllaaxxxx. I finally had to tell him that I was relaxed. That this was just my face. I had to tell him that I naturally have Resting Bitch Face and he wasn’t going to get that dream profile of me looking into the sun. Just let me fucking smile dude! Needless to say, it will be interesting to see the wedding pictures when they are ready. There are going to be soooooo many of me looking pissed off and completely miserable, which I wasn’t either of those things. I was excited and happy that day!! It was an amazing day! But RBF strikes again!!
It’s tough out there. I can’t go anywhere without giving myself a little pep-talk that today is the day I will overcome RBF. I will walk into a room and I will not give off the “I am an asshole” vibe. Because I am not an asshole! I swear, I love cool peeps! I am a great conversationalist and I welcome meeting new people. So if you ever see me walking down the street or attending a fabulous celebrity party, please come say hi. I promise I will only walk away from you if you smell like a bag of dirty, old, sweaty balls. It’s not a judgemental thing. I just have an overly heightened sense of smell. I wouldn’t want to vomit on my brand new Vera Wang. A girl has to have limits.
XOXO Rebecca
P.S. I am pretty sure that I will end up making a collage of all my RBF Wedding Day Pics and make that into its own blog post so that I can help girls around the world feel a little bit better about themselves. Hey, it’s what I’m here for. You’re welcome.
The Slightly Spiked Latte 