By Rachel McLaren
Love on the Spectrum is a reality TV show about dating whose main participants are all on the autism spectrum. The show, specifically Season 2, is based and filmed in Australia and centers around seven adults who are exploring relationships, dating, and love. The presence of neurodivergent people in the reality TV genre is sorely lacking, and Love on the Spectrum may offer candid and well-needed representation. Often in times of sparse media representation for social minorities, criticism of these media pieces that provide such representation is discouraged. Love on the Spectrum, to the casual viewer, could be considered a show with the potential to educate audiences who are unfamiliar with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), open up a dialogue about love in the neurodivergent community, and present genuine experiences of people on the spectrum. Instead, the show fails to completely fulfill that potential because of the lack of intersectionality within the casting, its filming, and post-filming artistic choices. The original intent of the creators falls short of portraying all the realities of the autism spectrum community.
Utilizing intersectionality in media representation of marginalized identities is important when appealing to the diversity of groups and their authentic portrayals. As Kimberlé Crenshaw, a professor at UCLA and Columbia who coined “intersectionality, explains in Katy Steinmetz’s article on intersectionality, “Intersectionality is simply about how certain aspects of who you are will increase your access to the good things or your exposure to the bad things in life” (Steinmetz). Depiction of these identities in TV, film, and art helps to increase the accessibility to these “good things” by normalizing double, triple, and multi-faceted social identities, as well as demarginalizing them. The portrayal of intersectional identities helps to dispel stereotypes and harmful attitudes that the face of any identity is only a specific version of a person. Love on The Spectrum fails to produce a wide array of different genders (there are no non-binary, trans, or genderqueer persons) within the cast, with five out of seven participants in the second season being cisgender men, despite those on the autistic spectrum being “…more likely than neurotypical people to be gender diverse…gender-diverse people are more likely to have autism than cisgender people” (Spectrum News). The disjunction between the portrayal of gender diversity on the show and the reality of the variety of the actual ASD community does a disservice to the much-needed representation.
On another axis of diversity, in conjunction with having a disability, the ethnic and racial assortment of the show is quite homogenous. There is only one Asian person and one Aboriginal person within the show (including both seasons) with the rest of the cast being White, and no other races or ethnicities are identified. Racial and ethnic discrimination in both representation and diagnoses is an emerging and important issue to consider as studies find that there “[A]re marked racial and ethnic disparities in diagnosis and services for individuals on the autism spectrum, yet race and ethnicity are underreported and under-examined in autism research” (Steinbrenner et Al.) Media pieces have the opportunity to represent those intersectional identities in a positive light, but a failure to do so, as we see here, makes these groups feel invisible in just the same way that is occurring in the research and science fields. So while we find an arguably adequate level of diverse representation by depicting neurodivergent identities in a field where we find very little, the show fails to include those who are on the axis of many identities.
The “love counselor,” Jodie Rodgers, a sexologist and counselor, is featured on the show to act as a character of wisdom and objectivity for the participants, who are newly navigating the dating world. Jodie Rodgers gives actionable advice to her clients, the participants of the show, in order to aid them in their dating journey. But as I will demonstrate, the depiction of Autism Spectrum Disorder and her actions through this counseling only succeed in creating a muddied representation of the characters and their concerns. In Season 2, Episode 3, Rodgers works with Teo but does not offer dating advice specific to her personality and disability; she seems to, instead, continuously pacify her fears and give her behaviors to enact on these dates that are typical of allistic, neurotypical dating. Rodgers wants Teo to try and conform to how a neurotypical person would act on a date. Further, she appears frustrated at Teo’s thoughts toward dating, such as fear of being judged or misunderstood, which are influenced by her autism. It may be easy to write Jodi Rodgers off as a useless, even ableist part of the cast because she doesn’t seem to be effective in her work counseling autistic people, but that may not be the whole story. Rodgers has spoken on how she comes across in Love on the Spectrum and possible ableist interpretations she receives: “People say, ‘Gee, you did so well in three minutes,’”… “Or I’ve got somebody saying, ‘How dare you say that to so and so?’ I’m like, ‘That was 30 seconds of our conversation’” (Safronova). The ambiguity of Jodi Rodgers’ methods and portrayal versus her interpretation therein speak to the larger problem of editing and media production of this show and its blurring of the lines between authenticity and television. Although Jodi Rodgers, as a qualified sexologist, might be well equipped to help her patients, the show’s production itself stifles her ability to do so, contributing to the misinformation about the participants and her viable advice for neurodivergent people.
Another problem that plagues the show is the harmful stereotypes about autistic people that the production of the show plays into, such as the infantilization of autistic people and the idea of people with disabilities as public property. The producers focus on concepts and narratives that would fit neurotypical people in love rather than those on the autistic spectrum demonstrated through their coaching and questions to the participants. An instance of this dynamic is found in Season 2, Episode 5, when Jimmy and Sharnae, an engaged couple who are both on the spectrum, are asked if they have “consummated their relationship.” The desexualization of those on the spectrum is normalized, and this cultural norm often leads to this question. It suggests that they may believe autistic people, who have been in a long-term committed relationship in this case would not have sex yet, where we can reasonably infer, they would not assume that of a neurotypical couple of that same length and depth of relationship. The idea of infantilization and desexualization of disabled people is not the only one that contributes to this sort of question. When the sexuality of disabled people is allowed to exist in space, the probing “How does it work?” type of question that people with disabilities are often asked by their able-bodied peers feels inevitable. The problem with these questions is that it makes people with disabilities feel like “suddenly [their] body and [their] life experiences…are public property” (Sauder) This popular exchange contributes to the dehumanization of those with disabilities. Furthermore, this sort of communication treats them as spectacles and abnormal. Even so far removed from the “regular” human experience, they feel it would be appropriate to question the basic human activity and functions of this group.
Reality television shows are a complex art: there’s an expectation for an “authentic” portrayal with the added element of being recorded and a necessity for good ratings and compelling content. Because of these needs, editing, narrating, and the scoring process become elements of managing this dynamic. In the show, the narrator takes on a whimsical, matter-of-fact, typically “national geographic” (a channel highlighting observation of nature and animals) tone. This choice to approach a reality dating show as similar to a show based on scientific knowledge creates a parallel between people on the spectrum and scientific specimens, portraying them as abnormal, or people to observe instead of with which to emphasize. As Kim Sauder, a Critical Disabilities Studies Ph.D. student and blogger puts it, “disabled people have been culturally desexualized” (Parr. 13), and rather than working against these norms, the Love on the Spectrum production continues to perpetuate it through their editing and filming processes. In the television show, a bubbly, effervescent scoring track plays when the characters are interacting with their dates or significant others. Now, one could interpret this as indicative of a more relaxed approach to the raunchiness of regular reality dating TV shows (that often utilize R&B, Pop, and sexually-explicit music) but that big difference is what continues to infantilize and marginalize those who are on the spectrum. Instead of more mature, adult music being played during these scenes where people are having romantic interaction, the music, which has a markedly juvenile mood, instead treats the picture as an exhibition of an oddity, or a comedy, mirroring a common, disrespectful attitude of ableists towards the dating disabled people.
Finally, an important component of this reality television experience that needs to be examined is the intent behind the creation of the show. Creating a show just for people on the spectrum to display the struggles of dating on the spectrum and the everyday details of it can seem benign and even generous to a community that is oft underrepresented. Cian O’Cleary, the creator and director of the show, has not identified as a neurodivergent individual looking to display his own community, but rather, as someone who wanted to capture the experiences of people who weren’t “[P]icture-perfect, incredible-looking, vying for Instagram followers on an honest romantic journey” (Romanova). This statement can be interpreted as being directly exploitative and condescending to the participants and autistic community, due to its undermining of the attractivity of those who are on the autistic spectrum. More importantly, this sentiment speaks to how Cian O’Cleary might see those with ASD, as an outlying group with major potential to entertain audiences because of their obvious differences. The opinion and intention of Cian O’Cleary, despite being able to be construed as being well-meaning, unwittingly become parallel to the white savior complex. The white savior complex can be described as “an ideology that is acted upon when a white person, from a position of superiority, attempts to help or rescue a BIPOC person or community” with “the underlying belief that they know best or that they have skills that BIPOC people don’t have” (Murphy). In this case those who are neurodivergent fill the role of BIPOC and neurotypical professionals being the ‘white saviors.’ Moreover, and especially in this situation, these saviors may use a marginalized community for profit, and at the same time, position the action as beneficent, which ultimately benefits themselves. Instead of creating a platform for producers, directors, writers, and others in the media industry that are on the spectrum to participate in their own media portrayal, Cian O’Cleary and other contributors, who have not identified as neurodivergent or on the autistic spectrum, dominate the production and representation of a community.
Questions we are left with as an audience are: 1) although the fabrication of the show missteps in being the perfect representation that the community needs, are the mistakes so big that they dip into the range of being harmful?, and 2) is this show an attempt to exploit the entertainment value of watching an “other,” as opposed to a genuine attempt to do something out of the ordinary that will provide positive media, which falls a little short of being completely helpful? While these questions have been satisfied to a large degree by this paper and can be completely answered by the reader’s interpretation, the intensity of change and meaning prompted by these answers is only up to the readers. One way this change and meaning can manifest is in how the analysis of this show can act as a model of how we should approach all media that includes marginalized, underrepresented identities. So while we can celebrate the triumph of neurodivergent peoples’ emergent presence in a neurotypical space (or any minority in a space that discourages their existence), I believe we should not tolerate an inaccurate portrait of identities that is already so misinterpreted by societal attitudes.
Work Cited
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