By Katie Manzer
On more than one occasion I have told someone close to me that I’m autistic, to which they have responded, “no you’re not,” as if they know more about me than myself or my doctor. I don’t blame the denier for finding it difficult to believe, as the representation of women with autism spectrum disorder (ASD) has been notoriously poor due to the tumultuous history of female disability diagnostics. In the case of ASD specifically, it was long believed to be a disability limited only to men and that females simply could not have it unless it presented exactly the way it does in males. Through years of continuous testing, however, it was revealed that women actually experience ASD at very similar rates to men but that it may manifest differently due to the way females are socialized, as well as some genealogical and biological factors.
In popular media, disabled people, and disabled women in particular, are often excluded from talks of diverse and accurate portrayals and, when they are included, are often not able to tell their own stories. This lack of inclusivity has resulted in the “sick” or “ill girl” trope, as well as the “magical” or “inspirational disabled person,” leaving the disabled character as a device for others in the plot to use. Often, this character’s story does not revolve around them pursuing a goal while dealing with their illness or disability, nor does it focus on learning to manage day-to-day living. Rather, the stories of disabled characters are typically framed around an able-bodied person who has their life changed by a character who is defined by their illness.
This can be seen in films like Music (2020), Sweet November (2001), and A Walk to Remember (2002), in which ill or disabled female leads seem to exist solely to change the lives of the able-bodied people they connect with. This trope is generally featured in romances, as it reinforces the idea that female love interests are not only disposable but that they exist only to further someone else’s — typically a man’s — character development. This ill character often has a very upbeat outlook on life despite their dire situation and stands as a beacon of positivity to the cynical lead. They exist as a tragic symbol of seizing the moment before it’s gone and living life to the fullest because, as a disabled or sick person, they cannot do so themselves. This is a patronizing outlook on the lives of people dealing with illnesses, as it implies they have no inner desires of their own or that they are unable to experience fulfilling, happy lives with their disabilities.
There is also something very important to be said about the gendered outlook of this trope, as it is considerably more common with female characters than males. While stories of ill or disabled men exist, like Rain Man (1988), Forest Gump (1994), and The Theory of Everything (2015), none of these films opt for the paternalistic angle that is so common in their female-led counterparts. Instead, the men in these movies exist as central characters who exhibit extraordinary talents or lead inspirational lives in spite of their illnesses. These stories exist as a kind of “inspiration porn” for able-bodied audiences as the characters are typically wholesome and aspirational, leading many to believe disabled people aren’t worth writing about if they do not have some sort of superpower or incorruptible spirit. When comparing the treatment of males and females within this trope, we can see a shared trait of purity being cast onto these characters and an ability to inspire and change the lives of others. However, male characters do not share the total lack of agency that is commonly afforded to the women, with disabled female characters often being sidelined in their own stories.
Recently, we have seen a steady shift away from the one-dimensional, manic-pixie sick girl trope with films such as Me, Earl and the Dying Girl (2015) and The Big Sick (2017). These films attempt to show the ugly side of illness, displaying its female leads not as tragic, pure helpers but as complex people dealing with something complicated that affects their worldview. Unfortunately, this perspective on disability has not quite reached the same standard of care, especially with disabled females. For example, Sia’s new film, Music, is a prime example of how far we still have to go in ensuring fair and honest representations of disabled women and girls, especially those with neurological or developmental disorders like ASD. Films like The Peanut Butter Falcon (2019) and The Sound of Metal (2020) and shows like Special (2019) make strides in placing disabled leads in full control of their own stories and do not undermine their perspectives. Of course, the commonality between these three projects is that their main characters are male, thus showcasing how the depiction of disability among females has not reached the heights it could.
Disabled women sit at an intersection between the feminist movement and the disabled rights movement and can very often be left out of both. In the case of disabled rights, the stories of men are often prized above those of women and, especially in the case of social or developmental disabilities, women often go undiagnosed or are diagnosed much later in life due to a gender bias. This can be seen in the case of ASD as discussed, where many diagnostic practices simply did not consider women as test subjects. In the feminist movement, many disabled activists have criticized the lack of disabled women’s voices sharing their unique perspectives. Even within the new wave of intersectional feminism, which seeks to display the ways in which patriarchy distinctly affects those of different races, classes, or sexual orientations, disability is still very often left out of these discussions.
For a girl like me who has grown up with ASD or any other disability or disorder, there is not much by way of full, proper representation. For now, we are constantly affronted with manic-pixie disabled girls, inspirationally disabled protagonists, or characters who are sidelined from telling their own stories. All of this seems to be a result of writers and producers who do not trust a story about disability to relate to a non-disabled audience. However, the more we continue to address these issues and let disabled creators helm the writer’s room, the more empathy and understanding can be afforded to the accounts and publicization of our existence.