I just binge-watched the whole series (8 episodes) in a day, and I wanna say I really got into it. I’m not going to say it’s my favorite show (Barry from HBO still has that spot), but it was really a good watch.
Spoiler free short review: I loved that every autistic character is played by an autistic actor, and there are even a few neurotypical characters played by autistic actors, according to an interview I’ve read from the cast.
Some of the situations depicted in this show won’t speak to everyone, but I was myself deeply touched, cried a few times and recognized myself quite a lot in this show.
I’m really hoping for a second season to help some characters to be a bit more nuanced and maybe to help me like some of them (because, without going into detail, there are definitely a few characters I hated, but the narrative didn’t necessarily treated me as being in the wrong for that).
More than anything else, I loved the little details that helped to make the show highly relatable. For example, you’re gonna see that one of the characters is sleeping with a weighted blanket, and their stimming is also quite noticeable and feels natural.
It’s definitely a show I would recommend for autistic representation, if just for the fact that the main cast is autistic and visibly gave their input about a lot of things. I feel like it could have used some LGBT representation as well, but who knows, maybe in season 2?
Now, onto the spoilers:
Throughout the show, I was terrified that they would have Violet leaving to the treatment care center. I recognized myself quite a bit in this character (except in the sexual side of her, because I’m ace myself), and one of my biggest fears has always been to lose the independence I spent so long fighting for.
Violet has been infantilized by her brother most of her life, and it shows. I really hated the brother sometimes, and I wanted to knock some sense into him, because he really didn’t allow Violet to shine on and find her place in the world by treating her like a child all the time (taking her phone away, preventing her from meeting guys etc.).
Worse, it definitely let her know that she shouldn’t trust him with her secrets, keeping things from him until it was too late and he was warned by someone else.
So, I was incredibly relieved when he finally realized that he needed to let Violet figure her things out, and decided not to send her to the center. Violet was visibly distraught over it, and she wouldn’t have been happy if she had been forced to be there.
I loved following everyone’s stories and finding myself in quite a few scenes, stims, ways of communicating. It’s so rare to find shows where I can actually fully relate to something and understand it, and it was the case here.
Like I get why Harrison got overly attached to Mandy, why Rick tried to have everything under control when he learned his dad got cancer, and why Violet was so upset that her brother didn’t trust her on her own. It’s familiar. It’s relatable.
Among the neurotypical characters, Nicole, Harrison’s sister, is definitely the MVP. From the get-go, she wants to treat her brother like the adult that he is, is mad that her parents aren’t honest with him, and she’s delighted to have him at her graduation party.
They could have portrayed her as a teenager/young adult being ashamed to have her autistic brother around, but no, she was always great, and I hope we’ll see more of her in a future season.
I don’t quite know what to think about Mandy. On one hand, she was definitely caring, and I loved her moments with Violet, but I wasn’t too interested in her romantic side stories and I feel that she’s a bit too condescending sometimes with the main trio?
Like in that cheerful way that people working in the autism field tend to be around autistic people? I don’t know, I’ll have to see more of her in the next season to really form an opinion about her.
Same about Douglas, Violet’s love interest. Like, sometimes, he’s really sweet, but he also seems too insisting and even creepy at times (the way he just sighed when Violet held him against her during the trust exercice, not liking it), and I don’t know. The way they got together at the end seemed too fast, not natural enough. I’ll have to see more of them in the next season to judge that.
All in all, it was a really nice show. I would love to watch more shows featuring autistic characters in a story that doesn’t necessarily focus mostly on autism (like an adventure or fantasy show or whatnot), but I still think it’s important to showcase this kind of represensation, given how far behind we are towards autism acceptance, even to this day.
One downside I would mention is how insistent they are with using first-person language, but I managed to overlook it after a little while.
I would love to see a nonverbal character in the next season in the main cast, played by a nonverbal autistic actor. To show how different we can be, and how communication doesn’t have to be verbal to be listened to and valued.
Sometimes, what we percieve as problematic truly is necessary for a better understanding of others.
Oh
That’s honestly a great way of looking at it; that just because Julia’s traits are somewhat exaggerated compared to a lot of autistic people you might come across doesn’t mean it doesn’t serve its purpose. Because Sesame Street is for kids and has always been ahead of its time in diversity inclusion. So since kids (and heck, adults too) don’t always pick up on subtleties, it’s probably a good thing. Because autism awareness doesn’t help anyone, and autism acceptance is harder to learn even though it’s what’s needed. So starting young kids learning that autistic friends are just another kind of friend is absolutely the way to go.
Also love the fact that op needed to specify that cannibalism was not intended.
I remember, a while ago, writing a story that had an autistic main character, but when it came to workshopping it in class, I had people telling me that I wasn’t writing him right because it wasn’t as intense as they were used to through their experiences with autistic people or it didn’t fit the cliche tropes and characteristics of autistic people. It made me mad then and it makes me mad now, because autism is not cookie-cutter, it’s different for everyone.
My brother is autistic, two of the boys I babysit–one of which I’ve babysat since he was born–are autistic, and one of my closest friends is autistic. I’ve had many experiences with people who have varying degrees of autism. But apparently my character wasn’t “autistic enough”.
Then I got feedback from one person who read the story and they told me that the character was great and that they related to them because they’re a ‘functional’ autistic and a lot of people told them that they didn’t 'seem’ autistic or were dismissive of it because they didn’t fit the stereotypes of autism.
I want to say that this is why representation matters, becasue it means something to some people and becasue we need to break the stereotypes.
I’m alone at The Abbey, a queer bar in West Hollywood, hiding in the bathroom. I’m hyperventilating, plugging my ears, frantically tapping on all my iPhone apps to calm myself down and pass the time. My friends aren’t here yet, so I don’t dare go back to the bar, where there’s loud music, harsh air conditioning, flashing lights, overlapping conversations, people brushing up against me, and the risk of having drinks spilled on me. This is an autistic nightmare. At worst, I will feel awkward, alone, in pain, and physically ill as a result of tonight’s outing; perhaps so nauseous from the sensory input that I cannot drive home. At best, I might dissociate completely, ceasing to register my body, my pain, and my needs.
Tonight is my friend Zara’s coming out party, and I want to be there for her. I vow to try my best. My friends finally arrive, and we claim our private, roped-off section of the dance floor. Drinks are circulating. Everyone around me is dancing and having a great time. I want to ask a bartender for water, but only after I’m certain that no one is waiting to order before me. At last, I see an opening. I blurt out the phrase I have been rehearsing in my head for the past ten minutes: “Excuse me, can I just have a plain glass of water?” I perform a head tilt and furrow my brow — something I’ve noticed other people do when asking for things. Rehearsing phrases is something I’ve done since I was little, to avoid saying the wrong thing, embarrassing myself, or giving the wrong impression when left to my own communication devices. Many friendly inflections and gestures don’t come naturally to me. Tonight, I succeed. The bartender delivers my water swiftly.
As a human being in this world, I need the following things: good friends, genuine connections, comfort and safety, pride, community. As a queer person, I need queer comrades, as well as safety and comfort in my queer community. In attempts to get these needs met, I force myself through scenarios like Zara’s coming out party. Unfortunately, as a queer autistic person, it is shockingly rare to encounter queer (and non-queer) spaces that are accessible and that feel welcoming.
Many queer spaces, events, and practices do not welcome autistic people. These spaces may not explicitly aim to exclude us, but they are not designed or planned with people like me, who have sensory sensitivities, an intense need for structure, and atypical social behaviors, in mind. Crowded parties, nightclubs, protests, and parades trigger sensory overload, something that happens whenever my senses are overstimulated by the environment. Seemingly small details, like cold weather, smoke, coconut scent, or unexpected splashes of water can be a deal breaker in regards to whether or not I can withstand being in a particular place.
Moreover, social gatherings can be unpredictable and vague. It is rare that I consider attending something if I don’t have ample details and a schedule in advance, which causes me to miss out on seeing lots of friends, going to concerts, and dating. I have to put up massive facades to make it through most events, or risk enduring painful comments on my overly formal conversation style, my pickiness, and stolid face. An overstimulating event — like a party at a bar — can leave me feeling hungover and sick for days.
This lack of awareness and accommodation for the autistic community — even among other marginalized people like in LGBTQ+ spaces — is a result of ableism: discrimination and prejudice against disabled people. Whether deliberate or accidental, ableism is harmful, as it sends the implicit message that disabled people are not welcome. Ableism gets in the way of my access to the queer community and in turn makes me less proud to be part of that community. While I feel comfortable in autistic spaces, I do not always feel visible and affirmed as a queer, nonbinary person. I am always dividing myself into fractions in order to be socially accepted; I can never show up as my full queer, autistic self.
