When I was about 12, a dentist told my parents I needed braces. My teeth were too crowded in my tiny mouth and crooked in spots. My parents, who afforded me a remarkable amount of autonomy, let me choose whether to get that mouthful of metal. You can guess what happened. Or, I should say, didn’t.

Many years later, as my teeth continued to shift, I’d notice when someone else had a perfect smile. I grew a bit self-conscious about mine. My teeth didn’t look so terrible that I refused to smile, but I did regret not getting braces.

Straighter teeth, I learned the hard way, weren’t just nice to look at. As a few dentists had warned me in adulthood, crowded teeth were harder to clean between—that and my crossbite were causing gum recession. The crossbite also was putting pressure on some teeth.

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