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"Just a Little Bit of the Tism": The Fetishisation of Autistic Women on Dating Apps

Writer: Phoebe Morris
Phoebe Morris
4 days ago
8 min read

Updated: 3 days ago

Earlier this year, following a difficult breakup and at the suggestion of some of my close girlfriends, I joined the popular dating app, Hinge. As a young woman who had her sexuality set as ‘heterosexual’ and her preference listed as ‘men, aged 21-25’, you can probably imagine that this experience was, at times, totally strange, occasionally unpleasant, and entailed some truly surreal virtual interactions with members of the opposite sex. 


However, over time I began to notice something even more odd than I had naturally anticipated: a large volume of young men’s profiles whose prompts made some reference to looking for an autistic woman as their ideal partner, with things like ‘I go crazy for a slightly autistic blonde/brunette’ or ‘The way to win me over is by having a bit of the ‘tism’ being two alarming yet common examples. I started delving down various virtual rabbit holes in the hope of finding other people who had also noticed this strange pattern, and sure enough, it became abundantly clear that I was definitely not the first to notice this. From having conversations with friends on dating apps, reading Reddit threads by users who had noticed this pattern through their own experiences on Hinge, and watching a few TikToks and YouTube videos by autistic creators covering this issue, I started to realise just how common this seemed to be, and I found the whole thing incredibly unsettling. 


So, what is actually going on here? When did autism become a trait that could sit alongside ‘brunette’ or ‘sporty’ on a dating app profile, and what exactly is it that men think they are getting when they announce that they would like a ‘slightly’ autistic girlfriend (‘slightly’ or ‘a little bit’ being the operative word here, but this is something I will come back to)? The truth is that I’m not completely sure. As with most things, it is probably the result of a complex interplay of various social and cultural factors, likely exacerbated by social media influences in recent years. Although autistic creators across the internet are, rightly so, bringing more and more awareness to this issue, it remains relatively underexplored in an academic context.


One possible starting point, though, and a fascinating rabbit hole I fell into during my frantic search, surrounds the presentation of neurodivergent women in popular media, with the Manic Pixie Dream Girl trope being one example that came up time and time again. First coined by film critic Nathan Rabin in his 2007 review of Elizabethtown, the term describes a recurring feminine archetype in television and film: typically, she is eccentric, quirky, a little socially awkward, often naïve, with niche interests that conveniently align with the male protagonist’s. She is young and attractive, though often unique in her fashion choices, and is usually not the main love interest of the story; instead, she serves to facilitate the development of self-actualisation of a male lead. 


Though she is rarely explicitly portrayed as autistic, many - including Rabin himself - argue that several of her defining traits such as emotional intensity, unconventional or direct social communication styles and intense, niche interests, overlap heavily with those commonly associated with neurodivergence. 


This overlap is, however, problematic because of the perceptions it creates around autistic femininity and the extent to which it obscures the experiences, challenges and needs of autistic women in their real lives. This is discussed in a fascinating dissertation by a student at the University of Dundee which I stumbled across down my rabbit hole: Ryan (2026) argues that the Manic Pixie Dream Girl trope creates a form of ‘conditional acceptance’ around a ‘watered-down’ version of autism by packaging particular autistic-coded traits in a female character who is young, attractive, charming and entertaining. She is permitted to transgress social norms as her difference serves the emotional and character development of male characters, makes her entertaining, and remains non-disruptive. In this way, the trope detaches autistic traits from disability and repackages them as something aesthetic, charming and desirable so long as it is, in part, useful for others and can be consumed without discomfort. Meanwhile, autistic women in their real lives may be penalised for displaying traits which do not fit the aesthetic, such as shutdowns, visible stimming, or chronic burnout. 


This, of course, is not confined to film tropes. Anime fans have suggested a similar long-running equivalent in the “dandere archetype”, which describes a shy, socially awkward and often emotionless girl who is initially withdrawn but eventually “opens up” and becomes more emotionally expressive and affectionate through the relationship of a male love interest. Fans have suggested that several dandere-coded characters such as Rin Natsume in Little Busters! display numerous traits which map closely onto autism, particularly in their social behaviours, yet these traits are packaged as “moe”: an aestheticised cuteness designed to be desired rather than understood. 


The same dynamic plays out across social media too: a YouTube video I came across while writing this blog by the channel “Autistic AF” delves into the issue of autistic women being “hunted” on dating apps, with particular focus on the growing number of concerning “autistic girlfriend” POV videos on TikTok. These videos often infantilise their subjects: filming them from above so they look small, playful, and childlike, creating what feels more like a parent-child dynamic than an adult partnership. 


In sum, it is not hard to see how these presentations of autistic women in popular media may have helped to develop some inherently harmful perceptions of autistic women, particularly among the young men towards whom this content is targeted. It creates a romantic image of a young woman who is innocent, somewhat naïve, and at times even somewhat childlike; eccentric enough that she is ‘different from other girls’ but not so much that it requires the people around them to experience any discomfort or make any accommodations. Critically, this fetishisation of autism is NOT the same as understanding it; across all of these examples, one theme persists: the challenges, needs and lived experiences of real autistic women are completely omitted. 


This brings me back to my earlier point about the intentional use of the words ‘slightly’ or a ‘little bit of the ‘tism’ which so often come up across these young men’s dating profiles. Autistic AF makes a comparison in his video (which, by the way, I highly recommend) between looking for a ‘slight’ or ‘watered-down’ version of autism in a partner and creating a kind of ‘software specification’ for a relationship, which can create a considerable power imbalance. Within this specification, social awkwardness or directness is fine as long as it is endearing or quirky; intense or obsessive focus is desired as long as it is, at least in part, on the relationship; emotional intensity is tolerated when the partner can negotiate and manipulate it on their own terms. But when that same directness seeps into strong boundaries or resistance to coercion, or when sensory overload develops into shutdown, it immediately becomes undesirable. 


This is where the conversation gets more uncomfortable. What may look like a silly dating app trend on the surface may reflect a deeper issue: a cultural discourse which romanticises perceived lower social power, raising  important questions about what this might mean for real autistic women in their romantic lives. 


Importantly, we know that autistic traits are not inherent deficits; they are differences which shape how autistic people experience the world, and in many cases, pose huge strengths. Direct communication styles can foster excellent interpersonal and professional relationships, while strong interests and hyperfocus can develop into exceptional talents and careers. However, a misconception of autism that I worry is being exploited here is that the social and communication difficulties which form an integral part of the condition somehow automatically relegate autistic individuals - especially autistic women - to a position of lower social power or standing. 


This is particularly problematic given that evidence shows that autistic women are already facing elevated risk of sexual and interpersonal violence by comparison to non-autistic women. A study by Cazalis et al. (2022) surveyed 225 autistic women and found that almost nine out of ten women in their sample (88.4%) had experienced sexual violence, and 68.9% had experienced rape; two to three times higher than those among non-autistic women. Furthermore, a study by Douglas and Sedgewick (2024) found that almost all of their autistic participants (24 adults, aged 25-61) had experienced intimate partner violence or sexual assault in some form. Their thematic analysis showed that autistic people seem to experience much the same patterns of abuse that non-autistic individuals do, but, importantly, specific autism-related vulnerabilities, such as difficulties in interpreting harmful intentions and the use of autism against them, seemed to consistently underpin their participants’ experiences. In the wrong hands, a perception of autism as conferring a position of lower social power, limiting someone’s one’s ability to assert boundaries, or making it harder to recognise harmful intentions could be fundamentally dangerous for the autistic women who are being targeted.


Importantly, I want to make clear that I understand that this doesn’t exclusively apply to men’s profiles. Male friends I have spoken to have also noticed women doing the same thing on dating apps: describing their ideal partner as ‘slightly autistic’ or wanting someone with ‘a bit of the ‘tism’. However, my focus on women here is deliberate: Autistic women already have a long history of being missed, misunderstood and misdiagnosed, largely due to a male-centric approach to the condition in both an academic context and in public discourse. Now, it feels as though we are entering a new stage of that depersonalisation of autistic women and girls: one in which autistic women’s existence is at least recognised, but where various media influences have begun to normalise the fetishisation and hyper sexualisation of whichever traits are deemed attractive, while the real facets of autistic femininity that fall outside the aesthetic continue to be dismissed.


As a huge admirer of Gina Rippon and her work on The Lost Girls of Autism, I worry that if we do not start taking this conversation more seriously, we risk overlooking yet another barrier to autistic women, not just in terms of recognition, diagnosis and support, but also as a serious safety concern in their romantic lives. Very little research currently exists into autistic women’s experiences of romantic and sexual relationships, and even less into how dating app trends or media portrayals of autistic femininity are shaping them. Ultimately, this is not specifically a Hinge issue. These trends across Hinge and related dating apps are simply indicative of what may be a much more serious problem: a culture which detaches neurodivergence from disability, builds a fascination around it, and may even romanticise vulnerability. 


This is my motivation for writing this blog, and for wanting to open up a wider conversation about this issue; not just in an academic research context, but also in comment sections, group chats and in every other space where these trends take root. Autistic women and girls deserve to be understood, respected and protected in all aspects of their lives, and an integral part of doing so is recognising these seemingly small patterns as they emerge, introducing them into the conversation, and, most importantly of all, listening to autistic women’s experiences, thoughts and feelings. 


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