By Dennis D. Montoya
I caught my reflection mid-thought the other day — jaw tight, eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed like I was interrogating my own mirror. Classic resting-bitch face.
The truth? I was just trying to remember the word metaphor.
I’ve been told I look angry when I think. Not passionate or focused — angry. I blame the eyebrows. They’re thick, serious things. If left untrimmed, they could probably claim diplomatic status. When they furrow, I go from approachable to “you’ve disappointed the council” in half a second.
It’s funny, how the face doesn’t always match the feeling. Inside, I might be turning over an idea or replaying a conversation or working on wordle, but to the outside world, I look like I’m plotting revenge.
Sometimes I don’t know how anyone manages to be friends with me. I walk around with this permanent look of disapproval, like a school principal in search of a clipboard. Maybe that’s why I have a new sympathy for Victoria Beckham — Posh Spice herself — who’s spent decades being told she looks unapproachable. I get it now. That’s me: brow furrowed, eyes intense, quietly delighted about something you can’t quite see.
Maybe it’s like a bulldog — all wrinkles and attitude until you notice the tail wagging. A face that says trouble, hiding a temperament that’s probably just happy to be here.
I’ve learned to combat the resting bitch face with a counter-move — I raise my eyebrows and plaster on a grin. The result isn’t exactly reassuring; I just shift from “annoyed” to “can’t tell if he’s kidding.” But it’s progress. At least now I look approachable in a slightly unhinged way.
The truth is, most of us have some version of this—a face that doesn’t tell the full story. Some people smile when they’re nervous. Others laugh when they’re sad. I just look perpetually irritated when I’m thinking. Maybe the point isn’t to fix it, but to let people in long enough to see the wagging tail.
Maybe that’s all we can really ask of each other — to be patient enough to look past the expression and see what’s underneath. Most of us aren’t angry or distant; we’re just caught up in thought, or trying to make sense of something bigger than words. So if you catch me staring into space with that “resting irritated look,” don’t worry. I’m probably not judging you. I’m just trying to remember the word metaphor again.
At the Forge
When I wrote this, I realized the face we show the world is rarely the one we mean to. Maybe that’s part of the comedy of being human — everyone misreads the surface. The trick, I think, is to laugh at it and keep showing up anyway, furrowed brow and all.
— Dennis D. Montoya
Stories Forged in Ink and Ash
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Dennis D Montoya 