"Muka Awam": The new Malaysian insult

In today’s hyper-connected world, being a public figure—especially a celebrity—means living under constant scrutiny, often becoming the target of keyboard warriors who weaponize terms like 'muka awam' to mock and diminish, as if ordinariness were a flaw.

Photo credit: Gempak

Disclaimer: This photo is used for illustrative purposes only and does not reflect the official position or endorsement of GC.

Loosely translated, “muka awam” means “peasant face” — but not in the noble sense of public service or civic duty. No, in the Malaysian social lexicon, muka awam refers to a certain aesthetic: the painfully average, the uninspiringly plain, the unremarkable visage of someone who, according to the speaker’s unfiltered opinion, simply does not "look the part."

It’s not about being ugly, per se. It’s about being... undistinguished. Background character energy. The kind of face you wouldn’t swipe on, walk past without remembering, or trust to represent a brand, or a cause.

And yet, “muka awam” has become a term of mockery — slung around with self-satisfied precision, often online, where the cowardice of anonymity meets the audacity of critique.

But what does it say about us as a society when we coin such a term?

Photo credit: Jom Kupas

Disclaimer: This photo is used for illustrative purposes only and does not reflect the official position or endorsement of GC.

At its core, muka awam reveals an obsession with hierarchy — not just in class or wealth, but in beauty, charisma, and perceived value. In a society where social media filters are default, where influencers are the new aristocracy, and where being “basic” is a cultural sin, the idea of the muka awam person becomes the scapegoat for our collective insecurities. We are trained to look for spectacle. And when we don’t find it, we dismiss.

Ironically, the very people who mock others as muka awam are often no different. Their criticism stems not from a place of superiority, but from the terror of blending into the crowd. It’s a self-loathing disguised as cultural commentary.

There’s also a darker undercurrent — a flattening of individuality. The assumption that you must look interesting to be interesting. It’s the kind of thinking that tells you that unless you look like a TV host, you shouldn’t be speaking. Unless you look like a CEO, you shouldn't be leading. Unless you look like a model, you shouldn’t be admired.

And yet, these "public faces" — these so-called muka awam — are the ones who fill our trains, build our cities, raise our families, run our shops, teach our children. They are the public. They are the Malaysia that matters. But in a world obsessed with exceptionalism, the ordinary becomes invisible. Worse — it becomes offensive.

It begs the question: who exactly gets to decide what “public” should look like? Is it the same people who confuse viral with value? Who confuse aesthetic with authenticity? Who look in the mirror, see average, and then scramble to insult it in others?

So here we are, in a nation that worships labels yet fears being labeled. Where we are all marhaen when it suits us, netizens when we’re angry, and apparently “muka awam” when we’ve run out of ways to feel superior.

And to those keyboard warriors who gave Malaysian this latest gift; a final question: when was the last time your face made someone pause, for the right reasons?

Or were you just hoping no one called you what you feared most?

Muka awam, perhaps?