Smile and the whole world smiles with you
Feels like a lifetime ago now, but I vividly remember that sunny summer day in Glasgow when a complete stranger, a Scot, stopped me as I was walking down the street and, with a sincere face, full of smiles, said to me: ‘‘Cheer up, love’’.
I was 18 then, and fresh out of the early years of revolutionary Iran where, at the time, smiles in public were inconceivable and unheard of. The last great revolution of the 20th century demanded blood, tears and piety – or else, dished out severe punishment. And so it was that all of us, especially women, quickly learnt the art of the deep frown to ward off street harassment from the morality police and other unscrupulous men.
My stern public face stayed with me years after I was made aware of it by that lovely man in Glasgow. Moving to London didn’t help. After three years of living in super-friendly Scotland, where everyone treated me like I was their favourite first cousin, London felt cold and robotic. Anyone who has ever travelled on the Tube knows exactly what I mean. It’s incredible how artful Londoners are at avoiding eye contact when jammed in like sardines.
Maybe this is not such a bad thing. Sometimes, it’s quite relaxing to be around people without the threat of interruption. My overseas friends are often amazed when I tell them about the sort of lengthy conversations Kiwi supermarket cashiers can engage you in.
Also, having lived in big cities, disinterested and disengaged human faces have always been quite familiar to me – that is until recently, when I find myself noticing the absence of smiles in people’s faces in megacities like London and Los Angeles. Of course, the hardship and stark inequalities in big cities mean people, in general, have fewer reasons to smile.
During my current long stay in London, I have seen ample evidence of this. Homelessness and impoverishment are rife.
Come winter, many people have to face the juggle between eating and heating. All this on top of the political division that exists among the nations that make up the now dis-United Kingdom.
In New Zealand, we are not entirely immune to the global misery of post-Covid either – but I find that the Kiwi smile is not influenced much by externalities. For many Kiwis, the smile comes as a reflexive habit to acknowledge and extend kindness to other human beings.
Psychotherapist Charlotte Fox Weber has created a list of 12 universal wants. Among them are: to love and be loved, understanding, attention, to belong and to connect. It seems to me that smiling at someone gives them a useful emotional affirmation.
When my Kiwi parents-in-law visited Iran in 2003, they brought their smiles with them. In a country where women are discouraged from smiling in public, my mother-in-law’s wide smiles attracted intense interest from the locals who saw it as an invitation to engage. Everywhere we went, people flocked to Patricia, eager to assuage their curiosity about foreigners and their strange ways (such as smiling at complete strangers). Unfazed, and equally curious, Pat greeted everyone warmly and talked with those whose English was good enough to hold a conversation.
Ordinarily, though, the Kiwi smile is not an invitation to engage. The locals in Iran misinterpreted it, perhaps luckily, because my parents-in-law welcomed it. But it is not just overseas that the Kiwi smile can be misinterpreted. An Iranian friend, who is a relatively new immigrant to New Zealand, once asked me if the Kiwis who smiled at him were interested in becoming his friend.
When I explained that many Kiwis smiled as a matter of habit, whether sad or happy, interested or disinterested, my friend was very surprised. He thought Kiwis were betraying the emotions behind a real smile by offering it indiscriminately in such an empty way. I must admit, I hadn’t thought of it in this way. It’s an interesting perspective.
The fact is, smiling and laughing, even when completely fake, as in laughter yoga, are supposed to be good for us. When we smile at someone, they often smile back. For this reason alone, I don’t see any harm in smiling at strangers.
Funnily enough, about three years ago I was told by an Iranian I met overseas that I smiled too abundantly for an Iranian woman. Most Iranian women, he explained, were far more reserved.
I wonder what happened to that 18-year-old who wore a frown in public and had to be reminded by a Scot that the world was not out to get her? I think I know what happened: 19 years of living in peaceful, friendly New Zealand. I might not always realise it, but Kiwi culture and habits are rubbing off on me, making me more of a true Iranian-Kiwi than I have ever been.
When we smile at someone, they often smile back.