To illustrate, Rosie tells me a story about when she had post-pregnancy Bell’s palsy, which paralyzed the muscles on one side of her face. A male stranger came up to her on the street and suggested that she smile — her, this new mother, this tough Navy veteran now dealing with a scary facial condition. She nodded and gladly gave him what she could: The sloppiest, most insane-looking, lopsided grin the man had ever seen. “He backed away quick,” Rosie says.

Before I can even finish laughing about this smiler’s revenge, she tells me another story — a story that wasn’t about the man, but rather a story about the imprint that men can leave.

Recently Rosie was getting ready to leave the house, and she thought to herself, “Wow, no one has catcalled me in a while.” This set her into a brief moment of panic: Am I getting older? Do I need to smile more? Is there something wrong with me? And then she realized what was happening: “Smile!” has infected even her own brain.

“That’s the problem right there, isn’t it? I realized that this affected me internally,” she says. “That it probably affects all of us.”