Seven months into lockdown, it’s impossible to trick the mind into thinking things aren’t rubbish when they patently are
One of my first jobs was flogging double-glazing appointments on the phone. The manager would walk around, pointing at his deranged forced grin as a reminder to smile when speaking. “Happiness is contagious,” he’d say. “If you smile, they smile, and if they smile, they spend.” So even though my hands trembled as I lifted the receiver, I forced a smile, and kept it even when my cheeks hurt.
Perhaps that was the moment I became a believer in the “brave face”. My own brave face is modelled on the duck, both in terms of my Instagram pout (because nothing says “I am coping with life!” like going in for a snog with a screen), and in terms of channelling effortlessness: I try to look as if I’m gliding, even if I’m frantically treading water to keep afloat.
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