Smile!

Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.

Where we are: We’re still on Koh Libong, being as lazy as possible.

Smile!

I’m writing this on a tiny little island in the south of Thailand, which is also known as the Land of Smiles. People in Thailand are generally pretty smiley; it’s one of the (many) things I love about being here. Smiling is my default. I’m from the American South—my grandfather used to drive around his small town and literally wave at everyone he saw. I smile at strangers when I pass on the sidewalk, I smile when I say thank you, I smile at babies and children and the elderly and pretty much everyone in between. It takes a pretty significant snafu to wipe the smile off my face. It’s just how I grew up.

I even just randomly smile for no reason when I’m completely alone.

Americans are programmed to equate happiness with smiling, but that’s not true everywhere. A few years ago, at the end of an epic two-month tour of the Balkans, even my big-city-born husband (who is much less smiley that I am) said he was exhausted by the lack of smiling.

We even have a word for non-smilers in the US: resting bitch face.

Really?

The unsubtle implication: if I’m not smiling, I’m a bitch?

I don’t think the rest of the world sees it that way. In many countries, to smile at strangers is inappropriately intimate. As a matter of fact, years ago I read that much of the rest of the world (especially the western world, I find) equates smiling with feeble-mindedness.

The psychology of smiling is interesting to me—that of both the smiler and the recipient of the smile. What does it mean when someone smiles (or doesn’t), and why do people respond to a smile the way they do (or don’t)?

Such a small shift of the muscles, but it carries so many meanings.

There is actually a global stereotype about Americans—we all walk around smiling all the time. Okay, yes. I’m guilty as charged. I like my smiliness. I like that my feelings are usually visible on my face.

Here on this tiny island, Lee goes for a long walk to the nearest village every morning. Every morning, all the locals wave at him, enthusiastically showing off gap-toothed, crooked smiles. He loves it. (To be clear, he also thinks the word feeble-minded is funny, and uses it as often as possible, so perhaps he doesn’t really understand the assignment?)

Even so—even though I am the caricature of the goofy smiling American—I’m starting to feel like my face is going to crack at breakfast in our current beach hotel. So. Much. Smiling. We’ve been here almost two weeks, and it’s beginning to feel like a lot of social pressure.

So next time you’re wandering around a quaint European village wondering why the locals aren’t friendlier, just remember: they might just think you’re the grinning village idiot.

Take care,

Lisa

P.S. Thanks for reading, and feel free to share. If you have feedback, I’d love to hear it. And if someone forwarded this to you, thank them for me, and go to https://bookwoman.com/ to subscribe.