Politics of power and life

The Social Expectations of Smiling and Emotional Labour

We’re taught from an early age to smile. “Smile more,” they say. “Why don’t you smile? You look so much prettier when you do!” “Cheer up, love.” “Don’t be so serious.” But in reality, I don’t owe you my smile. In fact, I don’t owe you anything –  not my energy, my time, or my smile. Not even a moment of my attention, just because you asked me for it. 

We’re socialised to be available – emotionally, physically, and in every other way. We’re taught that our presence should be pleasing, approachable, and appealing, even when we don’t feel like it. Smiling is the most basic, and perhaps the most subtle, way that society demands our emotional labour. We are conditioned to smile as a way of keeping the peace and smoothing over discomfort. And, more importantly, we’re taught that it’s our job to make others feel comfortable, even at the expense of our own comfort.

It’s not just about being nice – it’s about survival. When women don’t smile, when we’re not “polite” in the traditional sense, we risk being labeled as difficult, rude, or even unapproachable. Our very existence, when we don’t adhere to this stereotype, is seen as a challenge to the social order. Women are expected to present a certain kind of softness, an emotional labour that makes others feel at ease, even if it costs us our own peace of mind. It’s this embedded expectation – that our worth is measured by how much we’re willing to cater to peoples comfort – that makes our refusal to smile and simply exist feel so threatening.

Gendered Expectations 

A few weeks back, I was on the bus, headphones in, lost in my thoughts, trying to carve out a moment of peace following a hectic day at the library. The bus driver, a middle-aged man, looked back at me as he handed back my young scot card and said, “Give us a smile.” His words caught me off guard, and for a moment, I was frozen. Not as though it was the first time I’d heard something like that, but it still stung. Here I was, minding my own business, existing in a public space, and yet my personal expression was still up for comment. What stood out, however, was that the man behind me, who wore a similar expression to mine, was not met with the same request. Despite both of us exhibiting a neutral or less-than-enthusiastic demeanour, only my expression was commented on. This difference in how our emotions were addressed reflects the gendered expectations placed on women’s emotional labour. Women’s emotional states are often scrutinised and policed, with society placing the responsibility on them to maintain a certain level of warmth or approachability, while men’s expressions are rarely met with the same level of correction or expectation.

It wasn’t a compliment. It wasn’t an invitation for a friendly interaction. It was a demand that I perform happiness, that I mask whatever feelings I was having in that moment to appease someone else’s expectations. And it wasn’t just about smiling. It was about my very right to exist without performing femininity, without constantly curating my emotions to make those around me feel better. It felt like another way that women’s bodies are policed – our smiles, our moods, our comfort levels – are solely seen as something we owe to others. The message is clear: If a woman isn’t smiling, if she’s not expressing approachability, then she’s “off,” “too much,” or simply wrong. Women’s emotional labor is expected to be consistent, and anything less is met with discomfort or occasionally hostility. Our smiles are a way to reassure the world that we are safe, approachable, and above all, non-threatening.

Contradictory Expectations of Smiling and the Radical Act of Refusing

But here’s what we don’t talk about enough: refusing to smile is a soft rebellion. It’s a quiet act of resistance that says, “I exist for myself, not for your approval.” I’m not here to make you feel more comfortable in your discomfort. I’m not here to brighten your day because I’m supposed to at your request. In fact, it’s exhausting and uncomfortable to constantly perform a version of myself that makes others feel okay. The emotional energy it takes to keep up this act to be sweet can drain us to the core. What happens when we stop smiling? 

A smile has never made me feel safer when walking home late at night. A smile hasn’t shielded me from harassment or unwanted attention. In fact, the very act of smiling often puts us in situations where we are sexually assaulted, with the blame placed on us for “inviting” the unwanted attention. We are told that if we just smile, if we just act “friendly” or “polite,” we can avoid discomfort, or worse, danger. Yet, when we do smile or engage with the world in these ways, the message we receive is often that we are somehow asking for trouble. The underlying logic is contradictory: smile, and you’re seen as inviting, too accessible; don’t smile, and you’re seen as cold, unfriendly, or a potential threat. This leaves us trapped in a double bind – expected to perform femininity, charm, and warmth to avoid violence, but also blamed when those very same actions lead to victimisation.

In a world that constantly demands women’s emotional labour, this small act of resistance can be radical. You don’t owe anyone your smile. You don’t owe anyone your energy.