As an advocate for authentic autistic representation in media and a keen observer of the evolving landscape of reality television, the Netflix series Love on the Spectrum sparked a complex mix of anticipation and apprehension. Like many viewers, I approached the show with a hopeful yet cautious outlook, eager to see if it could break free from the often-misleading portrayals of autism that have dominated screens for far too long.
The premise itself held promise. Exploring dating, relationships, and love through the lens of autistic experiences offered a unique opportunity. While autistic individuals may encounter specific challenges in these areas, the universal human desire for connection makes love a relatable theme. This approach could potentially highlight both the shared humanity and the distinct perspectives within the autistic community, fostering understanding and empathy among diverse audiences. A truly insightful series could bridge the gap between autistic and non-autistic viewers, illuminating autistic lives without resorting to harmful stereotypes or reducing individuals to simplistic tropes.
Historically, media portrayals of autism and romance have frequently fallen short. However, Love on the Spectrum initially appeared to possess the potential to shift this narrative. By seemingly prioritizing the voices and experiences of its autistic participants, the show offered a glimpse beyond superficial representations. It allowed viewers to connect with individuals on the spectrum as multifaceted people with unique thoughts, desires, and needs. While this might seem like a fundamental aspect of storytelling, it remains a sadly rare occurrence in mainstream depictions of autism. For autistic viewers, seeing even a semblance of their lived realities reflected on screen can be profoundly impactful.
Fictional portrayals, even in recent times, have often been marred by a patronizing tone, created by and for neurotypical audiences. While independent films like Keep The Change (2017) have championed authentic autistic representation by casting autistic actors and valuing their input, they remain exceptions. Far more prevalent are narratives that center non-autistic perspectives on autism, such as Adam, which prioritizes the challenges faced by a neurotypical partner, or Jane Wants A Boyfriend, which frames the autistic character’s journey through the lens of her sister’s acceptance. Documentary formats offer greater potential for autistic participation, yet they also carry heightened risks of exploitation. The acclaimed documentary Autism in Love (2015) initially seemed like a positive step, depicting autistic individuals navigating relationships. However, subsequent revelations from its star, Lindsey Nebeker, regarding alleged mistreatment during production and promotion, serve as a stark reminder of the vulnerabilities inherent in non-fiction storytelling.
Love on the Spectrum
Even beyond overt manipulation, subtler forms of exploitation can arise from unintentional breaches of boundaries. This is a concern that resonates deeply, particularly for autistic individuals who have navigated the pressures of sharing personal narratives. Reflecting on my own experiences as a writer, especially while working on my memoir, I recall feeling a pressure to disclose more than I was entirely comfortable with, particularly regarding romantic relationships. This raises critical questions about the awareness of media professionals regarding the unique vulnerabilities of autistic individuals. Many autistic people have faced bullying and isolation, and a deep-seated desire to avoid further negative experiences might lead to a tendency to be overly accommodating or eager to please in media settings. Without a thorough understanding of this dynamic, producers and editors could inadvertently steer participants toward storylines or behaviors that are not genuinely reflective of their experiences or best interests. The potential consequences – filmed, streamed, discussed, and possibly memed – extend far beyond the show itself, impacting the real lives of participants long after the cameras stop rolling.
Despite these valid concerns, a sense of cautious optimism remains crucial. For many autistic individuals, pop culture has served as a vital tool for understanding neurotypical social norms and navigating the complexities of the world. There is an enduring hope that media, in turn, can play a powerful role in fostering understanding and acceptance of neurodiversity.
Love on the Spectrum largely presents itself as a well-intentioned and often endearing series. It offers a generally compassionate and non-judgmental glimpse into the romantic lives of diverse autistic individuals. Some participants are shown navigating established relationships and life transitions, while others are actively seeking connection. Relationship expert Jodi Rogers provides guidance, and a narrator interjects with factual information about autism to contextualize the narratives. Olivia, a particularly articulate and self-aware participant, emerges as a key voice, effectively explaining both her own experiences and broader autistic perspectives.
While remaining mindful of past instances where manipulative practices in autism documentaries were not immediately apparent, Love on the Spectrum largely avoids overt signs of exploitation. While the setup for the dates may feel somewhat contrived, the dates themselves appear genuine. Segments featuring couples like Ruth and Thomas, and Sharnae and Jimmy, convey a sense of authenticity. Creator Cian O’Clery has stated that consulting psychologists advised that the presence of a camera crew could actually alleviate tension and reduce feelings of isolation for participants on dates. While this perspective may not resonate universally – for some, the presence of cameras might amplify stress – it highlights the diverse ways autistic individuals may experience and react to such situations.
Moments of fourth-wall breaks, such as Amanda requesting a break during her date and Jessica interrupting Kelvin’s interview, offer glimpses into the participants’ awareness of the artificiality of reality television. These moments hint at a potentially richer narrative that could have explored the intersection of dating and reality TV production. Grappling with both the complexities of romantic relationships and the constructed nature of reality television simultaneously could have yielded a more honest and compelling portrayal, even if the latter is less universally relatable than dating itself.
Love on the Spectrum
Despite its generally positive presentation, Love on the Spectrum does fall short of fully realizing its potential. A significant critique lies in the demographic representation of the cast, which does not accurately reflect the diversity within the autistic community in terms of race, gender identity, and sexuality. Further concerns, perhaps more acutely felt by autistic viewers, include the somewhat saccharine musical score, the editing choices that juxtapose potentially awkward moments with unrelated interactions, and the close-up shots on clothing that could be interpreted as highlighting perceived eccentricities. The introductory descriptions that list participants’ “quirky” likes and dislikes also raise questions about whether they are genuinely informative or subtly infantilizing. These elements contribute to a lingering unease about whether audiences are encouraged to empathize with or pity – or even ridicule – the participants.
However, it is important to acknowledge that these concerns are intertwined with a broader sense of protectiveness that many autistic individuals feel towards younger members of their community entering the public eye. Reality television, even when focused on neurotypical individuals, is rarely a bastion of accurate or perfectly equitable representation. Misrepresentation and misinterpretation are inherent risks. Perhaps a crucial step toward equality lies in acknowledging that autistic reality television participants will inevitably face similar challenges and risks as their neurotypical counterparts – and in respecting the autonomy of those who choose to participate, while simultaneously advocating for more ethical and nuanced media practices.
This article is inspired by and expands upon the original review by Sarah Kurchak, author of the memoir I Overcame My Autism And All I Got Was This Lousy Anxiety Disorder (Douglas & McIntyre).
