PHIZ SHORTS*
"Resting Rizz Phiz”: People talk about resting bitch face. I, however, have developed a resting sad face. The girls are constantly asking me “What’s wrong?” “Are you okay?” “What happened?” Age and gravity apparently manifest as melancholy. I thought I could train my face to “rest” with a more upbeat countenance. My goal was to develop something of an enigmatic Mona Lisa smile, so that I would always have a mildly pleasant, approachable look on my face. Or at least not look sad. I used my dog walking time as an opportunity to imprint 'resting friendly face' into muscle memory. While I was working on this self improvement project I passed this woman from our neighbourhood who always walks with a full smile on her face. As we smiled at each other - me with my subtle smirk, her with her clown grin - I realized that we both looked mildly insane.
“Smile with your Eyes”: I don't tend to partake in guilty pleasure TV, but for a time, I watched America’s Next Top Model.[1] The very first challenge that Tyra Banks put the contestants through was the “Passport Photo Challenge”. The objective is to look like a supermodel in a black and white passport photo. The photographer would direct them to “smile with their eyes”. They all managed to look fabulous (well, all but the poor sod who failed and got kicked off the show that week). I am reminded of this every time I have to get my drivers license photo renewed. One time, (I have no idea what I was trying to go for - smouldering? Seems unlikely I could carry that off) I squinted my eyes. The result was one eye was basically closed. I looked drunk. Ironic for a driver's license. The next time, in an effort to self correct, I did the opposite, and for four years I looked startled, my eyes unnaturally wide open. Like I was on amphetamines, another bad look for a driver's license. This past time, I intentionally did not try to “work the camera” and did my neutral face. Unfortunately, it would seem that I have evolved from Resting Sad Face, to Resting Axe Murderer Face. If I am smiling with my eyes - it’s with the eyes of a psychopath.
“Like Mother Like Daughter”: I was recently helping my 85 year old mother renew her passport. In her passport photo she looked alarming - cadaver meets zombie meets mummy. Not to be mean - she said the same thing about the photo herself. It was messed how bad a photo it was. When I went to the check in at the Passport office, the service agent looked at the photo and then looked up at me, and said “Applying for your mother, I see.”
“Aging Gracefully?”: I was still in my forties when I transitioned into being referred to as “ma’am” by cashiers. Weirdly, this only happens with female attendants. Men do the opposite, calling me “miss”, which is patently ridiculous. (I assume because I am female and short?). Either way, just don’t use a title.[2] I was also in my forties when I was first asked for my Seniors Card at the drug store. At this point, I was still vainly (both definitions) dying my hair, so it must have been my wrinkles.[3] Also, I am used to being wrinkly. I have really dry skin (my brothers used to call me "Crocodile K”). My hands as a teenager looked like the example of hands ruined by dishwashing in those old “Soak in it” Palmolive commercials. At a high school party, a super cute boy shook my hand when getting introduced and then asked “do you play a racket sport?” And, to be fair, I have a good amount of wrinkles at this stage of my life. Most are from smiling and laughing, some are from squinting in the sun, some are from the way I drink. I think you should be awarded seniors discounts as soon as you look old enough - obviously I have lived beyond my years.
“Can I see some ID?”: I got carded around the same time when we were in New Orleans. I was flattered before realizing every person, no matter the age, has to show ID on Bourbon street. But then the bouncer (who had yet to look up at my face) was studying my date of birth for a really, really long time. Trying to do the math, but it wasn’t calculating. Finally, I said you don't have to worry about it this much, my age is “old”. He then looked up, “Oh” when he realized I was a middled aged tourist, not an underaged drunk. As I was writing this post, we got carded on the way into a Barcade and then again at Grateful Dead cover band concert. I am now thinking that certain venues are like time travelling. You are the age you were when you originally went to the Dead or to the arcade - in our case an age where we would have been carded. Also, everyone is ‘forever young’ at a Dead concert, even if you have more than a little “touch of grey”.
——————
*For those of you who didn't make it to the “P” section of Scrabble Words of Wisdom (Fair. The post was, in M’s words, “long” (insert the adjective “too”)), the P word was Phiz, meaning “face”.
[1] except if I am invited to watch Love Island with the girls. I love being included, so have to try my hardest not to say anything to put myself in the category of someone who will “wreck it” (read: any Dad). But I do often need clarification on why peoples lips and lashes look like a snap chat filter has been applied to their faces
[2] Why do titles still exist? Among my top ten pet peeves in life are forms that force me to select between Miss, Ms (“Mizz” - which in the 80s was the equivalent to labelling oneself a divorSAY cougar), or Mrs (which technically comes from the word Mistress, but feels unsettlingly like "Mr’s”). As we debate the ability to select from a drop down list of gender identities, it boggles my mind that the forms will allow me to pick “two spirited” but then force me to opt between Mr, Ms, Miss and Mrs. If Dr. Is there, I pick that one as the closest applicable (one day I will write about my many, many half degrees - but all in I figure it equates to a Phd, at least in cost)
[3] When I stopped I was complimented on my “fun blue streaks” at a party (it was white).