This essay contains minor spoilers for Wonder Man.
Some years ago, before Twitter became X, I tweeted two images one contemplative afternoon: one of Daniel Kaluuya as Otis "OJ" Haywood Jr. in Jordan Peele's meta horror narrative, Nope (2022), and one of Tyler James Williams as Gregory Eddie from Quinta Brunson's hit mockumentary series, Abbott Elementary. I included a simple, straightforward caption: Black autistic icons. It turned out to be perhaps my most controversial tweet.
While it garnered plenty of responses from others who also saw these characters as autistic-coded, there was also plenty of outrage. Some people insisted that OJ and Gregory are just "weird" and "quirky" or "socially awkward" and "kinda quiet," but definitely not autistic. For me to even suggest as much was deeply offensive.
To them, "autistic" was a bad word. An insult, not an affirmation. I was accused of both racism and ableism, called a liar, told I should be ashamed of myself. Months later, I was still getting angry, harassing messages, all because of my audacity to suggest that two beloved Black characters from recent popular media are coded as autistic.
Autism diagnoses have steadily increased over the last 20 years as the diagnostic criteria has been expanded and more evaluators are trained in cultural competency. While the rates of autism diagnoses for Black individuals have improved, we are still more likely to go undiagnosed for longer, as autistic traits in Black folks tend to go unrecognized or misinterpreted due to systemic bias and anti-Black stereotypes. This means "Black autistic children, adolescents, adults, seniors, and their families experience disproportionate systemic barriers to services and unmet mental health care needs."
Scholarly research mostly ignores Black autistic individuals and experiences, especially Black autistic adults. This scholarly neglect "exacerbates the misconception that autism is inherently white." Our societal and cultural understandings of autism are largely exclusionary of people like OJ and Gregory, but the autistic coding of their characters is there to see for anyone who is willing to see it. And I see similar coding in Wonder Man.
In the new Marvel series, Simon Williams (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II) is an actor struggling to find, and keep, work in Hollywood. When he meets fellow actor Trevor Slattery (Ben Kingsley) and gets the chance to audition for a re-imagining of Wonder Man by an esteemed director, Simon finds himself on a personal and professional odyssey. Across eight episodes, we witness a moving and rare superhuman story that's more about a tender, offbeat friendship than it is about superheroism. It's rather refreshing.
As the child of Haitian immigrants, Simon's position as a first-generation Haitian American is not insignificant to my understanding of his character—particularly within the current xenophobic climate in which the state has escalated violence against immigrant communities and the sitting president has targeted Haitian immigrants specifically. Simon has always felt markedly different, and his feelings of isolation being from an immigrant family were only compounded by his undisclosed "difference" as a superhuman.
The Wonder Man series arrives in the Marvel Cinematic Universe as a precursor to the debut of the X-Men in Avengers: Doomsday, and that debut will undoubtedly come with the government surveillance and criminalization of superpowered individuals known as mutants that the X-Men franchise famously contends with.
Unbeknownst to Simon, he has been determined an "extraordinary threat" and is being hunted by Agent Cleary of the Department of Damage Control (DODC), a government agency specializing in clearing post-battle damage and debris, monitoring alien technologies, and policing "enhanced individuals." According to Cleary, "Simon Williams is superpowered. He's unstable and incredibly dangerous. This country isn't safe until he's in [DODC] custody."
The DODC functions as an arm of the carceral state—in which autists "disproportionately experience police violence" and are overrepresented in prisons and jails. Deputy Secretary Heyerdahl tells a team of DODC agents, "Supernatural threats. That's our simple directive. Protect this country from supernatural threats." The government has built an "incredibly expensive, state-of-the-art, high-security prison" to house these supernatural threats, but the prison still sits "half-empty" and the Congressional Budget Office isn't happy. Heyerdahl's objective is to fill the prison to justify the existence of the DODC and ensure the agency keeps its funding (Meanwhile, in our reality, investors in the for-profit prison industry complain on earnings calls that ICE has not detained "as many immigrants as investors hoped"). Putting bodies in cages for profit is the DODC's preeminent purpose. As another agent tells Cleary after an arrest, "A body is a body."
It's within this climate that we find Simon, who resents his powers, is desperate to keep them hidden, and is locked in an intense internal struggle. Throughout the season, the emotional beats of this struggle and significant insights into his character are marked by traits, experiences, and behaviors that reflect the realities of autistic masking and the psychological toll it takes.
The remake of Wonder Man represents more to Simon than a major role in a feature film directed by a celebrated filmmaker. His love of the original film is something he shared with his father, who whisked young Simon to the movie theater one day after he was bullied at school. "At this age, kids are cruel. They sniff out anyone who's different," his father says. "But sometimes, different can also be great."
Autists experience bullying at much higher rates than their neurotypical peers, especially as children. Others often find autists to be off-putting, even without knowing they're autistic. Jessica L. Penot, an autistic licensed counselor, writes:
"Research has shown that most neurotypical people find autistic adults to be aversive. They find us annoying and think there is something 'off' about us. We are called weirdos or freaks. We are the 'too much' people or the 'too quiet' people. These perceptions that others have of us shape our lives. The truth is that most neurotypicals dislike us and we know it."
Simon's struggles with interpersonal relationships extend beyond grade school bullies and into his home and community. Various relatives and family friends openly dislike and insult him. Meanwhile, his ex thinks he's "self-centered"—an accusation often leveled at autists—and criticizes his inability to open up and "let [her] in."
A significant part of Simon's disconnect from others lies in communication differences. He wears mostly neutral facial expressions and is often visibly uncomfortable. His focus tends to be single-minded, he definitely cannot "read the room," and he directly delivers what many people would call "brutal honesty," telling one rude acquaintance, "You think you're being nice, but you're actually condescending as shit." Due to these noticeable communication differences and his anxiety surrounding them, he typically needs a buffer in social situations.
Simon reaches for his special interests when he doesn't know what else to say. Special interests, also known as circumscribed interests, are "characterized by an intense interest in specific objects or topics," and fall under the diagnostic criteria for autism. In one 2019 study, television was the most commonly reported special interest among a sample of autists, and research shows that between 75 and 95 percent of autists have at least one special interest. Autists often "organize their activities rigidly around these interests" as special interests provide "a sense of well-being [and] personal validation."
Film, television, and theater are Simon's comforts and he often deploys his knowledge about them in attempts to connect with others, spouting obscure details and random facts, sometimes at odd points in conversation. When they first meet, he surprises Trevor by immediately remembering the seasoned actor from a single episode of television from the 1970s, something Trevor admits most people have forgotten about. Simon can even recall what character Trevor played and the title of the episode.
While special interests are a source of joy for autists, they can also be a hindrance during social interactions. Simon's intense focus on the art of acting and everything surrounding it often leads to him alienating people on set. He is precise, perfectionistic, and analytical. He requires an inordinate amount of context for the scenes he's acting in and asks an unusual amount of questions because he thinks in great depth and detail about things others have never even considered. His talent agent gets on him for always "overthinking," telling him to "just be normal," and his inability to stop overthinking his roles sometimes ends with him getting fired from projects.
This is not an uncommon experience for autists. As Penot explains:
"At the most disabling end, social impairment can lead to difficulties with employment and finances. Coworkers can find you aversive—and HR managers may find you so off-putting that you aren't hired to begin with. Neurotypical social skills are often pivotal to finding and maintaining employment."
While others find Simon disagreeable, Trevor recognizes the "sensitive soul" in him. The two are able to bond through their love of acting and the arts. Simon's special interest just so happens to be Trevor's greatest passion. And so, they become friends.
Simon has never had a friend before. His mother laments, "You know, Simon never brought a friend to meet the family like this. Truthfully, he never really had a friend. Who doesn't ever make a friend?" Friendships are often hard for autists, both to form and maintain, despite a desire for connection and belonging. "All that time," his mother continues. "I thought he didn't mind how alone he was. I thought 'Okay, he has his acting, his Criterion DVD collection, all those movie posters on the wall. Maybe he doesn't feel alone.' But he was. And he felt it, even if he didn't say it… I'm glad he's got a friend."
The key to Simon and Trevor's friendship, I believe, is that Simon doesn't have to mask with Trevor. Masking is a form of social camouflage, much like code-switching. When masking, autists pretend to be "normal" in attempts to be more socially accepted and avoid abuse. It's a thing many autists learn to do at a young age, usually after being punished for displaying autistic traits that made others uncomfortable or angry.
Having people to safely unmask with is incredibly important, as masking "has been shown to increase suicidality and depression in autistic people and lower their quality of life." In Unmasking Autism: Discovering the New Faces of Neurodiversity, Devon Price, PhD calls masking "a state of exclusion forced onto us." The book explores the function and consequences of autistic masking, with stories about autists from multiple backgrounds who were diagnosed late in life due to masking. According to Price, research has demonstrated that "keeping our true selves locked away is emotionally and physically devastating. Conforming to neurotypical standards can earn us tentative acceptance, but it comes at a heavy existential cost." Simon has been masking his entire life, often exhibiting distinct anxiety about showing his "true self" in front of others, and it's leading to increasing meltdowns.
Meltdowns occur when autists become overwhelmed by an event or series of events, resulting in intense, uncontrollable physiological and emotional reactions—sometimes described as "explosions." They are "involuntary nervous system responses" to sensory overstimulation or emotional dysregulation, and have been described in terms such as "feeling 'flooded' or trapped" and feeling a "pressure-cooker sensation in the chest or head." Simon's anxiety and emotional overwhelm lead to meltdowns that manifest as waves of destructive energy—explosions.
Many autists show clear signs of distress leading up to a meltdown, what some refer to as the "rumble stage." Simon rumbles a lot. In the moments before the first explosive meltdown we witness, he hyperventilates and trembles, pleading with his own body, "No, no, no." He knows what's coming and he desperately wants to keep it at bay, but he is too overwhelmed by his emotions to control it. It's these meltdowns that represent Simon's "supernatural threat" throughout the season.
I believe reading Simon as autistic is essential to understanding the weight of his lifelong "difference" and how it has informed his relationships, career, emotional state, and inability to control his powers—the very things the Wonder Man series revolves around. His autistic traits, behaviors, and experiences are central to both his character arc and the narrative arc, making his autistic-coding not only important, but completely integral to the series.
Autistic-coded characters on screen don't typically look like Simon, which makes characters like him—and OJ and Gregory—rare gifts. I will be forever grateful for Black autistic-coded characters like Simon and his encyclopedic knowledge of film, television, and theater. I love that OJ talks to horses like humans and avoids eye contact. I appreciate Gregory's direct communication and food aversions. I welcome the presence of the anxious rambling Chidi Anagonye in The Good Place, the train-obsessed Lemon in Bullet Train (2022), and Euphoria's emotionally uneven Rue Bennett on my screen. I delight in the sharp intellect and obsessive birdwatching of Cordelia Cupp in The Residence (2025), the charming eccentricity of Darius in Atlanta, and more.
The more characters like these are seen, identified with, and emotionally invested in, the more people will have opportunities to understand that "autistic" is not a bad word—and that Black autists are more common, and more familiar, than some realize. They allow a multitude of real-life Black autists to see themselves and their autistic mannerisms, gestures, and sensitivities reflected in figures who are not stereotypical representations, but characters treated with care. Even if this wasn't the objective of their creators. And even if others can't see it, or simply refuse to.