The Observable Traits Myth

What do you see when you look at the picture of this fish?

1. Flounder?
2. Monkfish?
3. Ray?
4. Shark? 

Not a shark, surely! We tend to picture sharks as sleek, streamlined predators with prominent fins and rows of sharp teeth. But the tasseled wobbegong is a wonderfully weird type of shark that uses the elaborate tassels around its head to camouflage itself. 

These nearly 6-foot long ambush predators, also known as carpet sharks, are slow swimmers that stay close to the ocean floor, lying in wait for prey to approach.

The name “wobbegong” is thought to come from an Aboriginal Australian language, meaning “shaggy beard”. Similiarly, its scientific species name, dasypogon, comes from Greek meaning “hairy beard” and its genus name, Eucrossorhinus, translates loosely into “true fringed nose”.

Much like the tasselled wobbegong, many high-masking autistic individuals, women, especially, are unrecognized according to our expectations of what autism looks like.

Hence, the comment:

“But you don’t look autistic, honey.”

One of the most persistent myths about autism is that it should be visible from the outside, as though we could recognise it by looking at someone—and in ourselves when we look in the mirror. But appearances don’t tell us how a person experiences the world. 

This article explores the observable traits myth, the harm it causes, and how the neurodiversity movement and neuroscience are expanding our understanding of autistic brains and nervous systems.

The observable traits myth has deep roots in the clinical study of autism. Although early research associated with Hans Asperger included observations of girls as well as boys, much subsequent autism research focused on male children. The resulting body of research helped shape diagnostic criteria that emphasised observable behaviours and differences from expected developmental and social norms.

Those criteria have evolved, but narrow expectations about what autism “looks like”—think Sheldon Cooper—persist in popular culture and clinical practice. If you’re high-masking, perform well at work or navigate certain social situations successfully, and have been able to disguise your internal differences, chances are someone has told you, “You don’t LOOK autistic”.

The assumption behind this comment is that if you appear competent, sociable, or successful, you must be fine. You’re normal. Ain’t no flies on you. As though the absence of visible cues means the absence of disability, difference, or unmet needs.

The neurodiversity movement and evolving neuroscience research challenges the assumption that neurological differences are inherently deficits to be corrected.

At Scattergram, our neuroaffirming approach begins with a different question: what if autism involves differences in how we perceive, process, and experience the world—not simply a collection of observable behaviours?

Autistic people can experience sensory information, emotions, communication, and social situations differently from neurotypical people. These internal experiences aren’t necessarily obvious to an observer, and similar outward behaviours can arise from very different experiences.

“We see the world through different lenses. Differences in perception lead to an infinite variety of observable behaviours and communication styles.”

Neuroscience research is beginning to reveal just how much lies beneath the surface. Brain-imaging studies have identified differences in how autistic brains are organised and how regions communicate with one another. Researchers are also investigating differences in the early processing of sensory information and how the brain combines incoming information with expectations and context. 

The findings are complex: some neural networks show increased connectivity, others decreased connectivity, and patterns vary across individuals and developmental stages. There is no single autistic brain profile. But this research reinforces an important point: what we observe from the outside is real, but it isn’t the whole story. It’s only part of a much more complex internal process. 

To understand another person, we need to look beyond what they do and become curious about how they perceive, process, and experience the world.

What changes when we as autistic people recognise that our perceptions are real and valid, even when other people don’t share them? 

We can begin to move beyond chronic invalidation and the self-blame it can create. Instead of treating our sensory needs, communication differences, or social discomfort as personal failures, we can investigate what works for our particular brains and nervous systems.

We can begin to unmask selectively, develop self-understanding, and build lives that reflect who we are rather than who we think we should be. We can stop allowing people who see autism as a deficit into our minds and inner circles.

This is the work of the ACCEPT™ program, which offers a three-pillar framework for understanding our neurodivergent operating systems, developing self-acceptance, and building more authentic relationships.

Pillar One: Understanding Your Neurodivergent Operating System
How do you process the world differently? What makes sense to you? What takes energy? What have you been blaming yourself for?

Pillar Two: Communicating Across Neurotypes
Communication difficulties can arise from differences between people, not simply from a deficit in one person. Are you expressing yourself in a way others can understand? Are they making an effort to understand you, too?

Pillar Three: Connecting (and Disconnecting) with Authenticity
Are you done being a carpet shark? What happens when you unmask? What skills and supports help you navigate authentic connections? And are the people you’re trying to connect with willing to meet you halfway?

The world becomes more interesting when we recognise the carpet shark as a shark rather than a flounder—and autism as a difference in perception and experience rather than as a catalogue of observable variations from neurotypical norms.

A carpet shark is adapted to its own way of living. To understand it, we need to understand the environment in which it lives and what allows it to thrive.

Likewise, instead of expecting autistic people to change themselves to fit neurotypical expectations, by seeing them accurately we can build relationships, environments, and systems in which they can thrive as themselves.

It’s not always the person who doesn’t fit. Sometimes the problem lies in the fit between a person and an environment designed around someone else’s needs. Change the environment, the expectations, or the communication, and the problem may look very different.

“Recognizing a carpet shark isn’t simply a matter of memorizing its appearance. It means becoming a more informed observer—one who stays curious about what they might have missed.”

Being neuroaffirming works the same way. It’s not simply about memorising a list of autistic characteristics. It’s about questioning the assumptions through which we interpret other people, recognising differences without automatically treating them as deficits, and responding to the person in front of us rather than the person we assume they should be.

We may not always get it right. But we can learn to look beyond appearances, ask better questions, and make room for experiences that differ from our own.

After all, the world is a more interesting place with carpet sharks in it!