Funny, You Don't Look Autistic: A Comedian's Guide to Life on the Spectrum

by Michael McCreary

I wasn’t diagnosed as a comedian until much later, though I always loved to perform and make people laugh.

When I started doing stand-up in my teens, I realized that I could use comedy to help demystify autism and break down stereotypes.

met a woman recently and happened to mention that I am autistic. She responded, “That’s ridiculous, you’re doing great!” I don’t believe the terms are mutually exclusive.

That was just enough time for me to hop off the chair, rip the curtains off the wall, and completely ransack the room as my parents sat in stunned horror. When the doctor opened the door, I was sitting in the middle of the chaos, smiling and twiddling my thumbs. All I needed was a cat to stroke, and my Bond-villain aesthetic would have been complete.

It’s kind of like being Doctor Manhattan from the comic Watchmen: you’re seeing several time lines happening simultaneously. But unlike Doctor Manhattan, you can’t teleport to Mars every time you feel overwhelmed, so you shut down and remove yourself socially.

This is how I thought all relationships started. You pretend to love each other, and after a while, you become so used to pretending that it becomes true. Come to think of it, that might not be totally inaccurate.

Here’s what I ended up with: “I was talking to this guy. I thought we really connected. I told him everything, then suddenly he snapped at me. I was so embarrassed and didn’t know what to do. So I left the confessional.”

Some people have default expressions that make them look mean. Mine makes me look constipated. I get it.

Neil Gaiman,