The Self-Styled Scholar

I’ve noticed a pattern—subtle, seemingly innocuous—that threads the autistic community together.

I could be wrong, but it seems that while people want to be understood, they also hate it. At first, I kind of related to this feeling, but that was a while back, before I got my bearings in self-awareness (and I don’t throw around that word lightly).

I didn’t know I was autistic. And while I still have feelings of uncertainty around such a diagnosis—maybe some insecurity, too—nevertheless I feel an immediate “ick” at my own temptation to go “special.”

Autism doesn’t make you special. It makes you autistic.

The quiet culture I’m talking about is reinforced by people on the spectrum and by so-called “neurotypical” people alike. It’s crept in, entrenched itself, and been repackaged into AI-generated Facebook posts and neurodiverse-aware influencers with an attitude.

Even when they say, “Remember, there’s no right way to think!” the sentiment often comes coded with something else: I’m reclaiming a stance of power—one the majority shouldn’t have, and should never have had.

I don’t know, man. I get the theory. I just don’t feel its truth. And truth is everything to me, autistic or not.

A lot of these bloggers and creators feel cold to the touch—probably from life experience—but as the saying goes, your trauma is not another person’s responsibility. They have every right to be heard for their story, but not when it refuses to cross-contextualize itself with a broader narrative.

A little humor, a little self-deprecation, would do wonders—not just for rapidly digested social media, but for academic and wider social spaces too.

The Internet is quickly turning “dead,” and it’s not because of generative tools. It’s more likely from people’s brains.

I’ve seen people make genuine attempts at awareness for atypical cognition. They research. They provide sources. You know—the usual markers of scholarship and authority. But doctorates (earned or honorary) don’t guarantee raw ability. Sometimes they reflect historic wealth, slipping past barriers, or this year’s favorite buzz-phrase: “brain rot.”

And I say this as someone who always planned on pursuing one.

Let that sink in for a moment.

Now—what do you conclude?

With Internet culture and tech access firmly cemented in many societies—and increasingly available elsewhere—the global population seems to vibrate as one massive feedback loop every time a politician makes a move, a celebrity gets married, or a meme goes viral.

And understanding goes straight out the window. Not that it was ever doing that great.

With autism, though, things get messier. You have people earnestly trying to understand social norms while chasing multiple moving targets, and not doing too well at launch.

And then—

You get rigidity amplified on both sides.

Yes, there are meaningful differences between styles of cognition. But many autistic people blame “the neurotypicals” for woes they didn’t cause, steam pouring from their ears. Meanwhile, “the neurotypicals” unite in condescension while attempting to galvanize support for their “neurodiverse brothers in arms.”

Alright. Fine.

Let’s keep it to the Internet, where we can fire off a nasty comment and move on. Or show up to a PTA meeting in a “don’t dis my ability” shirt.

But if everyone’s supposed to have access to the World Wide Web—and I don’t disagree—then everyone can also look at the muddy footprints you tracked in on that X account.

That means politicos get to declare strong stances—one way or the other—fueling a culture war.

Though I have to ask: over what, exactly?

When I think about these two groups, I don’t see enemies. I see different communicators. People with different sensory preferences. Some who struggle with movement, some who don’t.

And even that generalizes too much.

The spectrum gradates too severely. The diagnostic criteria break down. The politics crumble.

So what are we standing on?

In the United States, we rename monuments and buildings depending on who holds which seat. That makes me think all we really have is dirt.

I love my country. I take pride in myself. But I don’t kowtow to either camp.

So I have to ask: when will we be able—whether as global citizens or simply as critically thinking individuals—to say:

There is no right way to be human.
But there is a right way to frame context.
And maybe—even—understand things the way they’re meant to be understood.

Then again, I don’t know if I want the rants and raging to end. They make good fodder for sharpening my own analysis skills.

If you got this far, thank you for reading. And know that I don’t mean offense. I talk a big game, but I’m a humanist at heart.