The symptoms began in high school, where wearing your emotions on your face was so uncool. This was also the time of “heroin chic” fashion — think Kate Moss on the runway. Smiles were frowned up, no pun intended. So imagine a school full of teens masking their real emotions with stone faces. Wait, I’m describing every high school in America.
But anyway, it turns out I found something I was particularly good at. Making I-don’t-give-a-damn faces came naturally to me, and when you’re young and clueless, you cling to what you know. My Resting Bitch Face soon snowballed from symptomatic to serious affliction.