Sine Cura
How Gen Z's blank stare became workplace rebellion
The working world is performative at best. At worst, it's performative positivity. And people gladly call it professionalism.
Don't get me wrong: sometimes this performance comes from good intentions. We want healthy, supportive environments where people feel encouraged. But it can turn toxic too, when the act becomes more important than the truth.
When I started my career in 2007, I quickly learned the most important rule: always smile in meetings. Not real smiles—just quick, polite ones that appeared and disappeared like pop-up ads. When your manager spoke, you nodded. When a coworker shared an idea (even a bad one), you smiled. It wasn't about whether you agreed. It was about keeping things smooth.
Your actual feelings didn't matter. Maybe you were confused. Maybe you thought the idea was terrible. Maybe you were exhausted. None of that showed on your face. You put on the same supportive expression as everyone else, like we were all wearing matching masks. This was normal. This was professional. This was survival.
I started calling this "fake positivity." It was the invisible glue that held office culture together. We didn't just do our jobs—we performed a constant background track of "that's great!" and "love it!" and "awesome idea!"
To be honest though, some teams value more openness and directness, but I still find workplaces are performative at best.
Then, a few years ago, I started hearing about something new: the Gen Z stare.
Social media began buzzing with videos and discussions about this phenomenon. Young people in workplaces, sitting in meetings with completely neutral faces. Not angry stares or mean looks. Just... nothing. Eyes looking straight ahead, face blank, mouth neither smiling nor frowning.
From what I read and saw online, it was throwing off managers and older colleagues. They'd present ideas, expecting the familiar chorus of polite smiles, and instead would get some people nodding encouragingly… and others, usually younger, simply staring. No nod. No reaction. No verbal support. Just quiet attention.
At first, many assumed it was disengagement. Maybe these young workers were bored, multitasking, scrolling social media. But as the conversation developed, a different picture emerged: the stare wasn't empty. It was intentional. They were listening, but refusing to perform.
Psychologist Tara Well explained this shift in Psychology Today:
"The Gen Z stare isn't just a blank look — it's an important signal. It pushes back against older norms of digital self-presentation, reflects changing attitudes toward visibility and authenticity, and may also be a subtle form of emotional boundary-setting in an age of constant exposure."
When I read that, it hit me: maybe this wasn't rudeness at all, but a rejection of the fake smiles I had been trained to give.
I started thinking about how different generations treat the workplace like theater. Baby Boomers built the stage, set up the lights, made everyone wear suits. Millennials like me came along and tried to make things more relaxed, but we still followed the basic script: we still smiled through boring meetings, still laughed at our boss's bad jokes, still kept our LinkedIn profiles full of humble success stories. I guess, that is.
Gen Z? They walked onto the same stage and simply refused to applaud.
That's what the stare really is.
It's a quiet rebellion against fake positivity. Not shouting, not complaining, not quitting. Just refusing to give the automatic reactions everyone expects.
The blank expression says: I'm here. I'm listening. But I won't pretend to feel something I don't feel.
Clinical psychologist Ellen Hendriksen noticed this too:
"Gen Z might be less willing to do the people-pleasing part, but that means that some of the professionalism has also gotten lost."
She's right, it can feel shocking when the polite rituals you learned suddenly disappear. What looks like coldness might really be a refusal to fake enthusiasm.
What I began to understand is that the stare might not be emptiness at all. It could be processing time… or more importantly, it could be a form of protest. Which, I think, I am mostly inclined to agree with.
Psychology lecturer Dr. Shane Rogers explains this generational difference:
"The stare could also be used to pause and consider a response… [whereas] older generations were more likely to instantly respond."
The silence wasn't laziness or disrespect. It was thinking happening in real time.
Sometimes, though, the stare is about protecting yourself emotionally. Social researcher Mark McCrindle put it this way:
"They might say it's authenticity … but it does come across as being a bit cold or uncaring. It's not that they don't care, it's just that they want to be real and not put on the fake voice and the fake warmth."
This makes sense to me. For Millennials like me, politeness was like paying rent… the cost of being accepted. For Gen Z, being honest seems more important than being liked.
Therapist Jacalyn Wetzel agrees:
"Many Gen Z simply don't see the point in performing social niceties with strangers or people they don't plan to build community with. They're not uncomfortable with silence, awkward or otherwise."
Of course, sometimes the stare is just about being new to work.
Clinical psychologist Meg Jay, who has worked with young adults for decades, reminds us:
"Blank stares you receive from young workers may be more about not knowing what to do and not feeling confident on the job than about their trying to be (passively) aggressively Gen Z."
In other words, sometimes it's not rebellion. It's just learning how things work. And that's completely normal.
But other times, it definitely is rebellion.
Nineteen-year-old TikTok creator Efe Ahworegba, who helped make the term "Gen Z stare" popular, said it clearly:
"The Gen Z stare is basically us saying the customer is not always right."
That's a huge shift. Entire industries are built on the idea that employees must smile through anything, must happily accept poor treatment while grinning. Gen Z's neutral expression says: not anymore.
Looking back at my early career, I wish I had been brave enough to stare sometimes. To sit calmly instead of nodding along. To show that I was thinking, not just agreeing with everything.
But I was taught that positivity was like money. You bought acceptance with smiles. You kept things running smoothly by being pleasant all the time.
Maybe Gen Z is right to reject this deal. Maybe the blank look is the most honest thing happening in the room.
So now, when I see the stare, I don't get nervous. I don't rush to fill the quiet. I try to see it as an invitation. A chance to be real. To drop the act. To say what I actually mean.
Because sometimes, in a workplace full of fake positivity, the most powerful thing you can do is simply stare back. If you are brave enough, perhaps, you can say it loud.