I’m not nice…

That being said, I’m not mean, but if you asked those near and dear to me to describe me in 3 words, none of them would say “she’s so nice!”

You may hear descriptors like “funny, assertive or great eyebrows” but never “nice,” and I’m very okay with that. Nice is overrated. Nice is smiling and saying yes when you want to say no. Nice is baking cupcakes for your coworkers for no reason. Nice is going along with ridiculous out of town birthday plans (insert limo to Niagara Falls here) past the age of 23.

Nice isn’t authentic to me.

The ever documented and blogged about “Resting Bitch Face” is in my blood. It came to be on a sunny morning in May, twenty eight years ago when yours truly was born. I look mean when I’m going about my day, oblivious to those around me. I wear my emotions on my face; I’m expressive without even realizing it. This, according to the never ending collection of strangers in the street telling me to smile, isn’t very nice.

Fortunately for me, I couldn’t care less because more important than appearing nice, is being kind. I give my leftovers to homeless people. I stop to give directions and I help old ladies when they spill the contents of their bag on a busy sidewalk. I just don’t talk about it (yes, I know I’m talking about it right now) and I would rather take a vow of silence than endure five minutes of small talk. Society is so hot and heavy for “nice girls” they need a cold shower. I’ll take slightly aloof but kind, over nice any day.

My general feeling is that anyone who walks around with a maniacal smile on their face day in and day out, trailing rays of sunshine and flower petals in their wake, is probably a psychopath. I on the other hand look extremely focused and slightly curmudgeonly, and that’s okay.

My point is, you can say no. You can skip events you don’t care to attend and you can save your smiles for when they’re warranted and you don’t need to apologize for it. We live in a world where nice equals good, but nice is also how someone describes their new shirt. You are not a shirt.

So stop worrying about why I’m not smiling, or why I look so mean when I’m in line ordering my coffee in the morning. I’m probably deep in thought over the Cineplex snowman commercial I saw 3 months ago, but can’t shake (it gets me every time).

When something funny happens I’ll laugh and when I tell you your new shirt is nice, you’ll know I mean it because I don’t just throw that word around.

-Alissa D’Andrea