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Smiling, Explained
And what picture day, facial recognition, and plastic surgery have to do with it.
“Smile,” the 40-year-old man with an ill-fitting shirt says for the 200th time that day.
“What kind of smile do you want?” I ask.
“A happy one!” he exclaims. The camera clicks.
The sky blue heavenly background looks in stark contrast to my smirk. The one that reads fuck off if you’re paying attention. He wasn’t.
Next! His assistant yells. I was in kindergarten.
Two weeks later, I bring home the familiar white packet with the proofs to my parents. There is their little angel, sporting a short bowl-cut hairstyle, round light blue glasses, and an expression that brings a ting of worry to their eyes.
They opt for the smallest package. That day forward, I get to pick out my outfit for picture day.
People say a picture can convey a 1,000 words. Happiness wouldn’t have made the cut on that one.
Flash forward to this past week on my usual trail walk.
I see a woman, probably 40-something, sporting Gucci from head to toe — Gucci track pants, Gucci Tee, Gucci Mickey Mouse kicks, Gucci hip pack, complete with a Gucci headband.
