My face is clay, but I am a dreadful artist.

“When I first met you I thought you were an incel.”

What? Why the hell would you think that?

“I don’t know. Maybe it was the receding hairline.”

What does a hairline have to do with being an incel?

This wasn’t the first time a so-called “friend” recounted their not-so-great first impression of me, but this is certainly the worst (best?) example I can offer. I know this isn’t an unusual experience for people, because they tell me so:

“You seemed really pissed-off.”

“You looked a little scary.”

“I thought you were kind of a dick, at first.”

“You just seemed really uncomfortable.”

Okay, that last one is probably accurate.

When people tell me these things, my assumption is they are doing so in good faith, as a “fun” way to reminisce on the past, a chance to laugh with hindsight. Maybe I enable this behavior by smiling and laughing along, as if it is not-at-all hurtful and actually a really funny anecdote they’re telling me.

In actuality, it’s quite painful. Unfortunately, this is a recurring pattern. Most people I form some kind of friendly relationship with eventually tell me how unapproachable I once seemed.

“You’re not so bad once I got to know you, though!”

Growing up, I was constantly pestered by family, teachers, and peers: What’s wrong? Smile! You look depressed. Are you not having any fun at all? I eventually pieced together that these inquiries were often feigning concern, and were instead veiled attempts at telling me to look happier. My natural state made people uncomfortable, I suppose.

In my first week at university, the cashier at my dining hall told me I looked miserable. “Nah, I just have Resting Bitch Face,” I said, offering a meek smile. She laughed. I followed suit.

I don’t really like the term “Resting Bitch Face.” It’s rather rude. To use it in regard to myself feels very self-deprecating, and consequently invalidating. But it usually incites laughter and defuses awkward situations where someone has questioned why I’m like that, so I continue to use it because it’s easy. Do I want to explain that I have difficulty managing my facial expressions and moving in a way other people deem “normal” and “acceptable”? No, not really. Especially not to someone that thinks “Smile!” is an appropriate thing to say to a person.

It’s ironic that people find my face so offensive and my presence so intimidating, because in reality I’m quite inoffensive. I go to great lengths to make myself as invisible as possible; I’m practically a walking doormat:

What’s that? You want to me to do a big favor for you even though I barely know you and you have zero-intention of ever reciprocating? Absolutely! It’s my pleasure to serve.

No, I do not actually say those things, although sometimes I feel like I really ought to. Perhaps I’ve shaped my personality in a way to try to compensate for my. . . Resting Bitch Face. Of course, it isn’t my intention to appear scary, sad, or [insert negative adjective here]. I would love to appear enthusiastic, friendly, or non-threatening. However, my face does what it does. I can’t help it. I’ve tried.

I often visualize how I want my face to be. In this moment, I want to look happy, I tell myself. I picture my face in my mind and mold it like I’m a Renaissance artist according to the situation’s needs: the extent to which I should curl my lips upward, how open my eyes should be, where my eyebrows should lie. Once satisfied, I send off the image of the expression from my brain to be replicated by my face. Later, I imagine that expression again and observe it form in the mirror, and I’m met with frustration and disappointment as I watch my face barely move. It feels like it moved, and I even try to be a little over-expressive. Yet, I can clearly see the results, or lack thereof, staring back at me. It’s no wonder why people often feel intimidated by me. I honestly can’t blame them.

At some point in high school, I recognized this about myself. I decided it meant that I had a pretty good poker face, and I should use that to my advantage. I doubled-down on my stoic face and tried playing the “dark and mysterious” type, hoping I could intrigue people into wanting to be friends with me.

That didn’t work. I had the “dark” part down, but seriously lacked any intriguing mystery. Or, perhaps my peers just weren’t interested in playing Detective with Sage, in which case, fair enough.

Now, I’m in the back-half of my 20’s. I’ve mostly accepted that this is just how I am. I haven’t figured out how to present my face in a way that others find acceptable in two-and-a-half decades, and I probably never will.

Apparently people form their first impressions of someone in the first seven seconds or so. Is that actually true? I dunno. It sounds like one of those presumed-to-be-true facts that everyone passes around, is actually total bullshit, but no one can be bothered to look it up and see. Regardless, if it is true, I’m screwed. I’m forever going to be fighting an uphill battle against the preconceptions formed of me based off a quick glance or two. I guess I should hope that whatever meaning people read into my Resting Bitch Face isn’t too horrible.

…incel? Seriously?