Good lord, this was a tough one to write.
Also a long one.
Because it’s talking about neurodiversity, which can be a tough subject, and a personal one, and one that’s chock full of stigmas, stereotypes, and misconceptions. It’s a subject that’s hard to address comprehensively in a short, easily digested article (not that people haven’t tried, to varying levels of success).
When people talk about neurodiversity, that includes a lot of different situations — the (quite broad) autism spectrum and a number of learning disabilities and mental illnesses that fit under a general umbrella of “brain works different.” Every neurodivergent person experiences it differently, and every one has their own relationship with their divergence and their own sense of identity. It’s very much a you-had-to-be-there kind of thing.
Now, this would be a great place to cite a number or percentage of people in the advertising industry who are neurodivergent (also non-neurotypical or NNT, depending on who you’re talking to), but there aren’t a lot of those figures, because it’s not something a lot of neurodivergent people like to talk about — not in the sense that they’re ashamed, but in the sense that it’s a great way to become subject to stigmas or, on the other side of the coin, expectations that a person will be a Rain Man-esque performing monkey of creative genius.
Neurodivergent people (it’s such a clunky, technical term, but there aren’t a lot of better ones at the moment) aren’t a homogenous clump — each one has their own challenges and talents associated with their divergence. Each has their own way of coping/embracing their neurodivergence/making the most of those talents. Often, when they’re working to participate fully in the world as it is, their hard work is invisible, because the whole point of the hard work is to meet the demands of the world around them and, in some cases, to appear quote-normal-unquote.
Case in point: me.
If you’ve never thought about neurodivergence, and how it touches our industry and might even be touching your office right now, this one’s for you. And if you’re neurodivergent and have been keeping it quiet, or you’ve been feeling alone, this one’s for you, too.
The part about me
Or, Stuff That’s Really Difficult for Me Because My Brain Is Different.
Client presentations
Put me in front of people, and my brain locks up. (Hell, put me in the same room as people I don’t know, and half the time my brain locks up.) We’re not talking “fear of public speaking” here — we’re talking full vapor lock. Oddly enough, I get a lot of compliments on my performance in client presentations. It’s because my brain, lacking any cogent thought, goes on autopilot, and I’m lucky enough to have a really, really good autopilot. I have the Sully of autopilots, and thus I’ve made it nearly a decade in the industry without being politely ushered behind the scenes.
But make no mistake, speaking in front of people I don’t know is THE WORST. I spent a year as the president of AAF Birmingham (because I’m also really bad at saying no), which meant speaking in front of people so much, and if you’ve ever heard me speak and thought I sounded fluent and coherent, it’s an absolute certainty I wrote that sucker out and rehearsed it beforehand. Throw “Oh, don’t forget to mention it’s So-and-so’s birthday” at me after I’ve already got my opening remarks down, and watch me fall apart (before, for the record, promptly putting myself back together).
Networking
One of the toughest parts of being a freelancer is the necessity to network, and… just… y’all. Approaching people? Talking to people? Like, being in a room with lots of other people? Y’all. I’m very, very talented at standing in awkward silence or, alternately, monologuing while people nod politely. (Why did I even try speed dating that one time? Thanks a heap, Amanda.) My strategy is to get people talking and keep them that way, so I don’t have an opportunity to screw things up. It helps that I sincerely do love listening to people tell their story. And I don’t care what it is — if your life story is objectively boring, I’m still fascinated by it. It’s merely a bonus that every minute another person is talking is a minute I don’t have to try to talk. (Also: eye contact. Yikes.)
(Interestingly enough, that’s part of the reason I’m such a great interviewer. [And I am, for the record, a great interviewer.] I’m great at keeping people talking because I genuinely want to hear what they have to say, and I know there’s a gem somewhere in there for me to dig out. And I do.)
Focusing in an office (particularly an open one)
This part is especially tough, because so many agencies have open floor plans. And even if they have lovely high ceilings and distressed wood floors and exposed brick like you see on the teevee, they can be physically exhausting for me to work in. There’s just too much… stuff. Too many conversations, too much humanity packed in one space, too many people walking around behind me. An office with a door is better — for everyone, because I’m also a foot-bouncer and sometimes a head-bobber-to-the-song-in-my-head — but I gotta say, best of all is my office in my own house.
I’m happy to go in and work at a client’s office when needed (or I was, pre-COVID, at least). I love the change of scenery and the chance to see people’s faces. The thing I miss most about agency life is the opportunity to work collaboratively, so sometimes, being surrounded by people and conversations and such is a good thing. It’s energizing. And then, when it comes time for quiet time, I need my quiet time to be quiet.
Also, the trash left over from your lunch doesn’t go in the trashcan next to your desk, it goes in the one in the kitchen. What is wrong with you?
Un-focusing
The flip side of an inability to focus is hyperfocus, and yeah, I do that, too. If I find a groove, that’s my groove, and I’ll be lucky if I’m able to emerge from my groove long enough to eat something. For all that it sincerely does interfere with, like, eating habits, it’s fantastic for getting things done, from the big picture right down to the little details. The little, tiny details. The let it go, Caperton, this is fine details. Don’t get me started riffing, because your patience will run out long before my ideas do. But I do my best.
(This trait is, actually, extremely useful during a crisis. Need someone to buckle down and stay focused through an entire day of fire-putting-out? I’m your gal.)
Going off book
Think all creatives hate using project management systems? Think again — I loves ‘em. I want to adhere to your brief. I want to know your system and where I fit into it. Why? Because I’m a dedicated professional, and also because mine is a life of drawing maps to know where I am and what to expect next. I plan out my stuff, and collect information, and prepare, as much as humanly possible, so I’m ready to field any curveballs that might get thrown my way. Curveballs are the worst, but I’m able to manage them because everything else is locked the hell down. As long as I had the information and resources needed to lock everything else down.
That’s why “this project is really hot,” or “get it to me whenever you can,” is so frustrating for me. A person might think they’re doing me a favor by letting me set the schedule, but what they’re actually doing is leaving it to me to try to figure out how to give them what they want. The deadlines, briefs, and systems that might feel like a cage to other creatives feel like much-beloved guardrails to me.
I get my stuff done. I don’t think I’m reaching too far when I say I do good work and my clients love me. And that’s because, with all the challenges I deal with, I work hard, but I’ve been working hard my entire life, so for me, it isn’t even working hard, it’s just… working.
The part about neurodiversity in advertising
But enough about me. Let’s talk about you.
What do you think of people like me?
A note about disability as superpower
According to some research, non-neurotypicalities like dyslexia and autism can actually contribute to more creative and artistic skills. People with dyslexia, whose brains aren’t great at sorting out letters, frequently have excellent visual and spatial and artistic skills. Autistic people are often good at finding innovative, creative solutions to tough questions. The challenges that make it harder for some people to function in a world not built for them can also give them a gift that others just don’t have.
It’s so cool that a person’s challenge can also be a great asset. And a lot of neurodivergent people do embrace those assets and even consider them to be a kind of superpower. I’ve already mentioned a number of talents I have that are not in spite of but because of the fact that my brain ain’t quite right. I’m great at figuring out audiences and responses and motivations because working to figure people out is the theme of my life. I’m great at finding different directions because hey, my brain was going off in that direction anyway. It would be great (really, really great) if I didn’t have all the challenging stuff to deal with, but I can’t imagine being any other way than I am. And a lot of other people feel similarly. In a world basically built to isolate and discount people who are different, to reclaim those differences and recognize them as strengths is a powerful thing. And it’s important for neurodivergent and neurotypical people to recognize that.
But from an agency perspective, it’s important to embrace neurodivergent creatives on your team not because they’re NNT Superheroes but because they’re people who are both exceptionally talented and as capable of being good creatives, team members, and human beings as anyone else. They have valuable skills that other people might not have, but they are still also people. A person whose artistic talents are connected to their dyslexia shouldn’t be hired because they’re A Dyslexic — they should be hired because they’re artistically talented, and because they have a valuable perspective to contribute.
People have Things To Say
Of course they do. See above in re: articles with varying levels of success. They focus on different aspects of neurodivergence. They highlight different voices. Sometimes, actual neurodivergent people aren’t included among those voices, for a conversation that happens behind their backs in front of their faces and doesn’t always get things right. Because again, it’s very much a you-had-to-be-there kind of thing. Conversations need to be about people, and not about the creative asset that’s been under your nose this whole time!!! And those conversations need to include, and respect, people who’ve actually been there.
There are plenty of articles online touting all the ways agencies can benefit from hiring neurodivergent people, how their superpowers can provide an advantage, and those things are valid. But it’s important to remember that neurodivergent people aren’t C-list X-Men or creativity generators — they’re human beings.
It is sincerely great to bring attention to the subject of neurodivergence in the ad industry, and to encourage agencies to be more welcoming of it. It’s sincerely great to highlight the strengths of neurodivergent people as opposed to their challenges. But there’s a skill to doing that, and presenting it in the context of “an autistic copywriter could be your secret weapon!!!” can easily slide into dehumanizing. There’s a balance.
Like, actual neurodiversity in an agency
What does neurodiversity look like in an ad agency, if it doesn’t look like hunting down a dyslexic art director and mining them for their superpower? It looks like being accessible. It looks like having, for instance, quiet, low-traffic places in your literal echo chamber of an office where a person with sensory issues can work relatively stimulus-free. It looks like making expectations clear and sticking to consistent systems and processes for the benefit of people who rely on consistency. It looks like giving people space to share ideas they don’t feel comfortable sharing in a group setting.
It looks like appreciating people for their strengths rather than penalizing them for their weaknesses. It looks like looking at the quality of a creative’s work and not just crossing them off the list because they were awkward during their interview, or because they “just don’t seem like they’d be a good fit” (wink wink). And it looks like listening to them, and valuing their contributions, when they express a perspective you’ve never heard before.
Back to me
I originally hesitated to write this post, because there’s nothing like “Hey, you know all the things I appear to be good at? I’m terrible at them but I work real hard!” to bring clients a-running. But then I thought about the kind of client who would pass over a creative who kicks ass in client presentations, and produces good work, and satisfies briefs, and comes up with innovative ideas, because said creative achieves such things with effort.
To be (perilously) blunt, I don’t really want to work with that kind of client.
As with most freelancers, I’m not exactly in a position to turn away clients left and right, but that’s one client I don’t really want to work with, and, at the risk of telling other people how to live their lives, no one else should, either. Agencies should actually work to become conscious of that kind of thought process, if they have it, and make changes as necessary, and to recognize the value of a whole community of people they might have been overlooking. And to make life easier for the neurodivergent creatives they didn’t even know they already had.
Now I’m going to take a break and drink a Diet Coke and read a Regency romance novel with a puppy in my lap, because that’s what I do when I get home after a professional event and this has basically been like a TED Talk on paper. (Digital media. Whatever.) And if you do that, too, or you go off and stim in a corner, or you walk the dog, or you put on quiet music and stare at the wall, or whatever, do your thing. I’ve got an I KNOW, RIGHT? with your name on it.