A new kind of RBF

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By: Olivia Bello

Have you ever walked up to someone and instantly felt as if they were judging you, or thinking that you were about to lie to them as soon as you open your mouth?  Well for me, that is every single time I try to get into a bar or a 21-and-over event.  Some people have the traditional RBF (“resting b**** face”), but for me, it’s “resting babyface.”

Ever since I was a little girl, I have had those cute cherub cheeks that are a little bit round and full of freckles.  Now don’t get me wrong, I like the way I look, but ever since I was in about eighth grade, I realized that I look considerably younger than the rest of my friends.  It was like everyone grew up, while I still looked like a little kid.  Even my voice sounds like that of a little kid… don’t get me started on what it’s like to answer the phone and have the person on the other line ask if they can speak to my “mommy and daddy”… seriously?

While I think it’s a bit funny when someone asks me when I will graduate from high school or if I have my driver’s license, my RBF has become increasingly annoying in the past few months since I have turned 21.  I walk up to the bouncer, ID in hand, trying not to smile like a 5-year-old, but somehow, they always examine my ID the way a TSA officer would examine a questionable, oversized bottle of shampoo in a traveler’s bag.

First, they will flex my ID, then they compare me to the picture.  Next, they swipe it through a scanner and place it under a blacklight to see the shape of my home state, New Jersey.  Finally, my personal favorite, they ask me to repeat my birthday and address, as if somehow I will magically not know.

While I would love to blame these issues on the fact that I am usually out of state when I go out, or that bouncers are just trying to cover their butts so their bosses don’t get in trouble for allowing underage people into their establishment, the only thing I can blame this on with certainty is genetics. Unfortunately, I come from a long line of babyfaced individuals. My dad was and still is a babyface. He is almost sixty, and in the wrong lighting, he still gets carded.  My cousins all have babyfaces, and even my great-grandfather had the cursed babyface.

So to anyone also struggling with RBF, I leave you with one thought that my mom has always so kindly said to me:  “Honey, someday, when you and all of your friends are in your 40s, you will still look like a young 30-something, and everyone else will be jealous of you.”

Do not fear, in 20 or so years, your babyface (as well as mine) will be the biggest blessing in the world.

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