The World Mocks Elon Musk for Being "Weird." He's Autistic. That's Not a Coincidence.

The comments are horrible. They're also a perfect example of why awareness matters—not just for one billionaire, but for every autistic person watching.

I've seen the videos. The Reels. The compilations of Elon Musk behaving "strangely." The awkward pauses. The stilted speech. The body language that doesn't quite match what people expect. The flat affect. The jumping. The way he holds his arms. The comments underneath are always the same: "What's wrong with him?" "He's so weird." "Is he on something?" "This is cringe."

He has Asperger's. He's autistic. He said so publicly, on Saturday Night Live, in 2021. "I'm actually making history tonight as the first person with Asperger's to host SNL." It wasn't a secret. It wasn't ambiguous. And yet, every time a video of him doing something "weird" goes viral, the comments are full of people mocking, diagnosing, and ridiculing behaviour that is—to anyone who understands autism—completely unremarkable.

This is not a post about whether Elon Musk is a good person. It's not a post about his politics, his businesses, or his tweets. I'm not here to defend him as a human being. I'm here to talk about what happens when the world watches an autistic person and calls him "weird," over and over, and how that lands for every other autistic person watching.

Because here's the thing: when you mock an autistic person for their autistic traits, you're not just mocking them. You're mocking all of us. Every autistic person who watches those videos and reads those comments learns the same lesson: this is what the world thinks of people like you. If they can look at a billionaire with a platform and call him "weird" and "cringe" for the way he speaks and moves, what do they think of you?

The Behaviours Being Mocked Are Autistic Traits

Let's be specific about what people are mocking. The flat, monotone speech. The awkward pacing of words. The lack of expected facial expressions. The body movements that seem "off." The way he holds himself. The jumping.

These are not character flaws. These are autistic traits. Flat affect is an autistic trait. Differences in speech prosody are autistic traits. Unusual body language is an autistic trait. Stimming—which can look like jumping, rocking, flapping, tapping—is a core, universal autistic experience. It's self-regulation. It's communication. It's not "weird." It's autistic.

When you mock someone for these things, you are mocking them for being autistic. There is no separating the behaviour from the neurotype. You cannot say, "I'm not mocking him for being autistic, I'm just mocking the way he talks," because the way he talks is part of how his autism presents. That's the whole thing. That's what autism is. A different way of being in the world. A different way of speaking, moving, and expressing.

And when millions of people pile on, making jokes, calling it "cringe," calling it "weird," the message is clear: autistic traits are unacceptable. They're funny. They're strange. They're something to be ridiculed.

The Asperger's Problem

I want to acknowledge something briefly. Musk said he has "Asperger's." That's a term that's been officially retired from diagnostic manuals because of its association with Hans Asperger, a doctor who collaborated with the Nazi regime and sent disabled children to their deaths. The autistic community has largely moved away from the term, partly for that reason and partly because it was used to create a hierarchy—"Asperger's" for the "high-functioning" ones, "autism" for the rest.

I don't use the term for myself. I say "autistic" or "on the spectrum." But when Musk said he had Asperger's, he was telling the world he was autistic. That's what that word meant, clinically. And the world heard that, nodded, and then proceeded to mock his autistic traits anyway.

The Double Standard

Here's what gets me. If a neurotypical person behaved the way Musk does, they'd be called "eccentric." "Quirky." "A bit odd, but in a genius way." But when an autistic person does it, they're "weird." "Cringe." "What's wrong with him?"

This is the double standard that autistic people navigate every single day. Our natural ways of being are pathologised while neurotypical people doing the same things are just "being themselves." The only difference is whether the world knows—or can guess—that you're autistic. And once they know, everything you do is filtered through that lens. Not "he's speaking thoughtfully." "He's speaking weirdly." Not "she's regulating her nervous system." "She's acting strange."

What This Does to Autistic People Watching

Every time one of these videos goes viral, every time the comments fill up with mockery, autistic people are watching. And they're learning. They're learning that their natural way of speaking is "cringe." That their stims are "weird." That their body language is "wrong." That if a billionaire with the world's biggest platform can't escape this kind of mockery, what hope is there for them?

This is what stigma does. It teaches people to hide. To mask. To suppress the things that make them visibly autistic because the cost of being seen is too high. And masking—the exhausting performance of pretending to be neurotypical—comes at a devastating cost. Burnout. Anxiety. Depression. Loss of self.

I've spent decades masking. I'm still trying to figure out who I am underneath it. And every time the world mocks an autistic person for being autistic, it reinforces the fear that stopping the mask is dangerous. That being seen is dangerous. That the real, unmasked version of you will be met with ridicule.

This Is Why Awareness Matters

This is the whole reason I talk about neurodivergence. Not because I want to defend billionaires. Not because I think any individual person is beyond criticism. But because the way the world talks about autistic people matters. The jokes matter. The comments matter. The casual mockery of autistic traits matters.

Because when you mock one autistic person, you're telling every autistic person watching that they're next. That their traits are funny. That their natural way of being is "cringe." That they should hide. Mask. Suppress.

Awareness isn't about green ribbons. It's about understanding that the way someone speaks, moves, and expresses themselves is not a flaw. It's not "weird." It's just different. And different is not wrong.

So the next time you see a video of Elon Musk being "weird," ask yourself: what exactly is being mocked here? Is it his ideas? His actions? His policies? Or is it the way he talks? The way he moves? The way his autistic brain presents to the world?

If it's the latter, you're not criticising Elon Musk. You're mocking autistic people. All of us. And we're watching.

Anxiously Ever After is written by me, Jennie, a 52-year-old woman with lifelong anxiety, diagnosed GAD, and currently on the waiting list for ADHD and autism assessments. I am not a fan of Elon Musk. I am a fan of autistic people being treated with dignity. I write from a rented room in a shared house, door locked, watching the world mock autistic traits and wondering when it will learn.