Autistic women and the scourge of the manic pixie dream girl

It is time, once again, to talk about the manic pixie dream girl (MPDG) — the Hollywood trope of a blue-haired young woman with zero regard for social mores, a free spirit who sets her inner life aside to as she gleefully encourages a sullen main character to stop sulking, chase his dreams, and face life head-on. Coined and popularized in the early 2000s alongside greatest hits such as Scott Pilgrim’s Ramona Flowers or Elizabethtown’s Claire Colburn, this stock character is almost magical in her ability to provide important life lessons for the male lead while requiring no support, backstory, or character development of her own. Sometimes she’s bubbly, or edgy, or both, but unchangingly she wants nothing more than to be some guy’s source of motivation, whimsy, and love, until her role is no longer needed. And then, poof! She disappears, allowing him to do his thing without distractions.

The MPDG is a male power fantasy through and through, and there’s nothing wrong with that! So long as you can tell the difference between fantasy and reality, which many fail to do.

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I am an autistic woman. More often than not, men with “main character” syndrome find their real-life MPDGs in the form of autistic women. When men want to flirt with me, they usually start by calling me “weird, but in a good way.” (There are ways to make “weird” sound like a compliment, but this is not one of them.)

Sure, a lot of the time autistic women are quirky; we think differently than allistics, and therefore live differently than the average brooding, depressed neurotypical guy might be used to. In high school I was the person who said what other people thought, and now in my 30s I continue to say things I’m not “supposed” to say regularly — at work, among family and friends, and with strangers. Is this a good thing that benefits my social standing? Quite the opposite, usually. But from the outside looking in, a certain person might find my honesty refreshing. Not only that, we tend to match our weird actions with weirder aesthetics. I may not have blue hair (currently), but I’ve been told I “dress like an anime character” more than I’m willing to admit, and I like to pile my three-foot-long dreadlocks high atop my head in intricate styles I’m sure most people in my city have never seen before. So yeah. Weird.

If you’re the type of person to think women in movies are the same as women in real life, it’s easy to make the connection that the autistic woman in front of you is your quirky MPDG made manifest. We’re honest, and bold, and curious, and always down to try new things! We’re here to invigorate you and make your life worth living again!

And that’s where all of this puts a sour taste in my mouth.

Socially, autism is both invisible and hypervisible

Despite what people seem to think, we’re not all Sheldons and Sherlocks; there are multiple ways to be autistic. The average person cannot confidently identify every autist in the room just by looking at them. In my experience, I have to tell them, and sometimes when I do, they kindly inform me that I “don’t look autistic” (I do) and that I must be mistaken (I’m not). This phenomenon may be so prevalent in part because apparently, many people, some of them experts in psychiatry, do not believe autistic women are real¹. The somehow-still-popular trope of the socially inept, usually white cis-male super-genius encourages scientists and corporate America to research the living hell out of autistic boys. There’s money to be made, after all, in supporting the next big tech bro. But the cognition and behaviors of autistic women are vastly under-researched, to the point where many (usually neurotypical) autism researchers wholeheartedly believe that only boys can be autistic.

Those same scientists will also breathlessly insist that autistics lack a theory of mind², the thing that allows a person to identify and understand the emotions, thoughts, and mental states of others. Because of this lack, they say, we should not be allowed to control our own lives lest we harm ourselves or others. But if we’re all so infirm, broken and damaged, why are so many people tripping over themselves to hand me the reins to their emotional states and teach them how to enjoy their own lives?

(What’s more, if allistic strangers assume so often that I have nothing better to think about than how to support them, doesn’t this actually suggest allistics lack a theory of mind…? Food for thought.)

Anyway, to recap: the quirky stock female characters with no inner lives of their own (MPDGs) are purportedly real women, but actual women with needs, hopes, and dreams of their own who just happen to be quirkier than society is comfortable with (autistics) are not real. Does that make sense?

Treating people like Hollywood caricatures reduces them to, well, caricatures. At best, stereotypes. At worst, tools devoid of personhood³. We end up pursued specifically for our quirks (and the perceived benefits of said quirks) with no regard for who we are as people. If the relationship continues and they discover our traits aren’t always a net positive socially, we’re derided for the same quirks they’d reduced us to. It all smacks of narcissism, to me; as if we can be trained like dogs to present only the “fun” traits neurotypicals find endearing…and discard the rest.

Now that I mention it, this all sounds strangely familiar.

Allistic vs. autistic MPDGs

To be fair, both neurotypical and neurodivergent women — and sometimes men and non binaries — get shoved into the MPDG box. Allistics, however, don’t grow up with the gnawing belief that they’re constantly doing everything horribly wrong. Many autistic children grow up being reprimanded by friends, partners, parents, teachers, etc. for not following subtle and demanding norms that were never explicitly taught, only to become adults who get blindsided by pressure to perform in a power fantasy in which we give up our autonomy to make another person happy. It took me 32 years on this rock to realize this expectation is completely self-serving and not another ridiculous, mandatory cultural norm everyone performs in order to make friends!

As a society, we recognize the toxicity behind asking someone to abandon parts of themselves in order to “earn” our love or attention. But with women perceived as a MPDG, that “special someone” who, from day one, will take care of them, serve as our whimsical love interest, and want nothing in return, we assume this is their deepest desire in life. We assume they want to play the supporting character to a main character in need. And a lot of the time, we’re asking this of someone who is very seriously missing the cues because they had no idea they were playing a part in the first place.

We don’t want to be manic pixie dream girls. We didn’t ask for this, and we’re not getting anything out of it besides stress, confusion, and sometimes a broken heart.