“Weird Black Kid” Syndrome: The Intersection of Autism & Blackness

Written By Caroline Smith

What’s it called when you’re not black enough for the black kids, but too black for the white kids, AND on top of that you’re autistic? I call it “Weird Black Kid” Syndrome.

The black kids tell you: “You talk white,” “You act white,” “You dress white.”

The white kids say: “Why does your hair look like that?” “You would look so much better with straight hair.”

Then, to add insult to injury, your autistic behaviors get picked at and made fun of, making you an outcast pretty much everywhere you go.

You’re just… weird.

This podcast explores the unique struggles of growing up as an autistic black kid, how it effects your self-esteem as an adult, and how you can begin to build yourself back up after you’ve been ostracized for so long. Here’s what I talk about:

  • What it means to feel culturally estranged from your black peers

  • The ostracization that comes with being the only black, autistic kid in white spaces

  • How to stope trying to fit in where you aren’t welcome

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Transcript:

Hello to all of you misfits who are tuning into this episode of the introverted misfit podcast.

So, you’re not quite black enough for the black kids, but you’re not white enough for the white kids, either.

And, to add insult to injury, you are on the autism spectrum.

What a deadly combination.

In just a few days from the time I am releasing this podcast episode, I will be attending the annual Autism in Black conference for 2025, which focuses on the experiences of black autistic kids and adults.

I’m really excited, especially since I get the opportunity to meet some fellow black autistic people, so I thought it would be fitting for this week’s podcast episode to focus on life at the intersection of autism and blackness, or something that I am calling “Weird Black Kid” Syndrome.

Being autistic and black or any racial or cultural minority for that matter is truly a unique experience that most people will never understand.

Unique does not necessarily mean the experiences and struggles are worse or more important than others, as you’ll see when we discuss the role of privilege in this conversation — it just means different: unique.

And therefore, it requires a unique set of tools and support to fight your way through and come out on the other side with your self-esteem intact.

“Weird Black Kid” Syndrome as I’ve decided to call it is the collective experience and the aftermath of feeling culturally estranged from your black peers, but also not being fully excepted by your non-black (mostly white) peers, with the added struggle of being autistic.

When I say culturally estranged, I mean that you are accustomed to different values, norms, and practices that differ from your cultures’, in this case, black culture.

In simpler terms, “Weird Black Kid” Syndrome is what happens when you grew up not being black enough for the black kids, not being white enough for the white kids, AND you’re autistic, so you’re not “human” enough, for lack of a better term.

To be fair, this “Weird Black Kid” Syndrome is something that many non-autistic black kids can relate to as well, but in the context of this conversation, being autistic on top of all of that is another level of feeling like an outcast, or a misfit, i.e., the weird black kid.

It’s important to note that this syndrome may look different for different people depending on your gender, your socio-economic status, the level of support you had from your home life, and of course the level of Autistic Spectrum Disorder (ASD) you have, but I’m almost positive you will be able to relate to many of the topics discussed in this episode.

I want to start off this discussion by clarifying what I mean by the word, “weird.”

What does it mean to be “weird,” specifically if you are black and autistic?

Many autistic people, including the ones who are not black, know the experience of being considered weird by their non-autistic peers.

When you take race out of it, weird is typically used to describe those autistic behaviors that aren’t normal to allistic people:

Now, autism does not look the same for everybody, especially when you talk about the level of support that different people need, but here’s what I mean by autistic behaviors:

The way we talk, whether it’s a very monotone voice or a very exaggerated way of expressing ourselves, or being non-verbal for that matter;

Our mannerisms, whether it’s the lack of eye contact, the weird, involuntary facial expressions or lack of facial expressions, the hand and arm movements, the pacing back and forth;

Our literal interpretation of things like jokes and sarcasm that make it really hard to fit in socially (although I must say I think I’m getting better at that);

And any other behavior that may classify as not “normal.”

It’s weird… to them.

But when it comes to black American culture, however, the word weird has some more layers on top of what I just described.

Weird describes anything that is not popular in prevailing black American culture.

Before I can expound on what that prevailing culture is and that would be considered “weird,” I have to introduce the role of socio-economic status or class structures into the discussion.

With most groups of people, whether it’s racial groups or cultural groups like the big melting pot that America is, there is some sort of socioeconomic scale on which people lie.

So there are middle class people, upper middle class people, lower middle class, really wealthy people which is the top 1% that people talk about, and then there are people who are on the lower end of this scale.

Just based on these different classes, there are stark differences between the class groups.

You will find a completely different culture of music, language, experiences, jokes, hobbies, leisure activities, family dynamics, etc., that emerge in these different class groups.

An example would be those upper middle class or wealthy white people who like to go golfing every weekend, and who are members of the country club, and like to take their family to their second vacation home on the beach or in the mountains or something like that, (I don’t really know what rich people do in their free time, so I’m admittedly going off stereotypes),

vs. lower middle class people who probably couldn’t afford to do those things, therefore the activites they do are different; their vacations are a little more modest and affordable, as are the clothes and the cars they buy.

In the black community, these class differences are much more pronounced because of the higher levels of inequality that still exist in black America, much of which has existed for centuries.

We are still very much overrepresented in lower income working class America, along with Hispanics and American Indian and Alaska Native people.

So when I talk about the cultural differences between the class groups in the black community, it is very stark:

The entertainment we consume is different, because it’s meant to speak to different experiences;

The music we listen to, even though the lines can be blurred as far as music goes because rap and hip-hop is popular with a lot of different people;

Funny side story: I was walking to my car from a doctor’s appointment, and I live in a mostly white city, and I saw these white teenagers driving a golf cart, and they were blasting this rap music that was talking about life in the streets and the ghetto, and I’m thinking to myself, “What do y’all know about that?” as they’re driving this cart up and down the streets of their upper middle-class neighborhood. I thought that was so funny.

The language and the way we speak, which is referred to African-American Vernacular English (AAVE);

The clothes we wear and the fashion sense;

The way we were raised and conditioned to view relationships;

Even the family structure is vastly different, which at the time I’m recording this episode in 2025, family structure and fatherless homes is still a huge issue that we have been dealing with heavily since the 1960’s;

And the negative affects of that inequality show up a lot in academics, including grades, reading levels, things like that, which would logically disproportionally affect minorities who make up a higher percentage of the lower income population.

So, what does all of this talk about inequality and class structures have to do with this word “weird”?

Remember when I said that the word weird describes anything that is not popular in prevailing black American culture?

Well, in the prevailing black culture that seems to align with the lower socioeconomic experience, you get called weird for deviating from that said culture:

If you don’t talk like them, you “sound white.”

If you don’t dress or act like them, or listen to the same music as them, you “act white.”

If you do well in school and like to read and write or do anything like that, you “act white,” as if being smart is something only white people are allowed, but I digress.

If you come from a two-parent household, or if you want to get married and create a two-parent household, you are “acting white.”

Basically, if you do anything that is perceived as characteristic of white people that goes against this subculture in black America, you are not black enough.

That’s the extra layer of “being weird” that exists in black culture, and of course if you include the social and communication deficits that autistic people exhibit in addition to that, it just amplifies that experience of being an outcast.

Before we continue on with this discussion, I want to take a moment to acknowledge the level of privilege that my experience entails, because I am one of those black kids who comes from a very supportive middle class family with both parents AND I am a low support needs autistic person, both of which allowed me to thrive in ways that other black autistic kids may not have had growing up.

And again, there are many more black autistic experiences that are different from mine: For instance, there are black autistic people who grew up in what’s considered the predominant black experience and culture, so they weren’t culturally estranged — they fit in with the black kids culturally, but just not socially.

So they would be considered weird in a different way.

Now I’ve gone over the cultural estrangement aspect of not fitting in with the black kids, and now I want to move onto a different beast entirely:

Fitting into white and non-black spaces.

When you are navigating white spaces as an autistic black person, especially if you’re one of the only ones there, the meaning of “weird” has a slightly different meaning than it does in black spaces because in this environment, the idea of “acting white” would obviously not be something to shun you for (because they’re white, mostly).

But, the experience can be just as ostracizing as the former — just in different ways.

The autistic behaviors described earlier in this episode still made it difficult to make friends, engage in conversations with people, pick up on social cues, learn in a typical school setting, and just socialize in general, but on top of that, you stick out like a sore thumb because you don’t look like the white kids.

You felt like an imposter among them because your darker complexion was so different than their white, pale skin; your kinky/coily hair texture that was always in an plaits or braids wasn’t as free-flowing as their, straight tresses of blonde and brunette hair.

So as someone who already didn’t fit in anywhere else, those aspects of your blackness just seemed to be the cherry on top of everything else that made you a misfit.

Now, in my experience, there were definitely a few mean white kids that would make very racist jokes and tease me about my black features.

I remember this one time, I went on a band trip in high school to San Antonio, TX, and we went to some rodeo show where the person had a whip and a lasso and was doing all these cool tricks.

And this one white guy, who by the way, I had actually considered him a friend before this happened, but he made a joke to his other white friends that I should be out there in front of the whip.

And then that same white guy later on during the trip made fun of my hair in front of everyone.

He told me my afro puff made me look like a man.

So yeah there were a few mean white kids and I’ve got more stories I could tell, but I would argue that the black kids always usually made a much bigger deal out of things like skin color and hair color — especially the boys, in my experience.

That’s where the talk about texturism, colorism, and self-hate come in, but that’s a topic for another episode.

So all throughout my school years, I just remember being hyper focused on my blackness because that’s what made me so physically different; I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

And I’m betting you were in the same boat, too; your self-esteem and sense of self-worth probably took a big hit just like mine did.

I remember being the only black kid in swimming classes as a child, and there was always those few white kids that would make it a point to ask, “Why does your hair do that when it’s wet?”

It’s not that there was any malicious intent behind that question, but just the fact that they noticed it made me even more self-conscious about it.

I remember being the only black kid on my high school’s tennis team, and it just seemed like every team we played, every school we traveled to, every tournament we played in, I was the only one with that cast of white sunscreen that didn’t blend into my skin very well.

I remember going through my entire middle and high school years with hair envy; wishing and even praying to God that my tightly coiled hair which was apparently so difficult to manage could look like the biracial girls’ and white girls’ hair that I saw in my class.

I got my first relaxer as a child and I was so excited and happy about it because I could finally do one of those cute, effortless messy buns that all of the white girls in my class would wear.

I would literally sit in front of my dad’s laptop and search for messy bun tutorials or French braided hairstyles on YouTube for hours at a time.

And then when I eventually grew my relaxer out because my hair had broken off significantly, I took another hit to my self-esteem because I had to go back to the cornrows and the afro puff styles in high school and college.

I had to hear all of those comments from my white and black peers about how I should go back to having straight hair because, “I looked so much better with straight hair.”

So I became incredibly self-conscious about my hair particularly in white spaces, so much so that I just cut my hair off — even shaved it off completely at one point — so that it wouldn’t be such a focal point.

I also remember that dreadful feeling of having to go back to school after summer break, because my skin was a few shades darker from being in the sun and I thought people would notice and point it out.

And then there were the stereotypes that I was constantly aware of and trying not to perpetuate:

I didn’t want to say the wrong thing in the wrong way and get deemed the sassy or argumentative black girl and eventually woman, because I just wanted to fit in.

You know that saying, “It was the nail in the coffin?” Well my autism was the coffin and my blackness was the nail regarding my status of being a misfit.

The Aftermath

The aftermath of “Weird Black Kid” Syndrome was a particularly difficult battle to get through as an adult.

Everywhere I went, I felt like an imposter — an outsider.

I felt like I was always being judged no matter what I did.

It was hard for me to find other black people who I felt were similar to me or at least who would accept me even if I wasn’t like them, and even though I was used to being in white spaces, I still had this lingering belief about myself that I just didn’t fit in — physically and psychologically — and that people wouldn’t want to be my friend.

Not to mention that all of those experiences contributed to an almost decade-long battle with social anxiety for which I had to receive counseling, and I was almost referred to a psychiatrist to be medicated for it.

That’s how bad it was.

This low self-esteem was showing up everywhere:

The way that I dressed, the way that I took care of myself;

The way that I was afraid to speak up in those team meetings at work because I was convinced everyone would think my ideas were stupid;

The way that I would constantly avoid eye contact and run away from social interactions because I actually believed no one would ever want to be my friend or want to take me on a date, or just have a conversation with me.

Now maybe you didn’t have social anxiety like I did, but it may have shown up in other ways.

Maybe you constantly tried to make yourself fit in with just anyone or a particular group who would accept you, even if you really weren’t compatible with them at all or didn’t share their values and morals.

Maybe you became an expert chameleon who would change the way you talked and behaved to match whoever you were around, which was way more difficult to do while also having to mask the autism.

Maybe you just became a loner, because being by yourself was better than constantly being rejected and ridiculed for being who you are.

So how do you move forward from this depressing place…

That is, if you haven’t already managed to make it out of this pit of despair and low self-worth?

Well, it’s a little more complicated than what I can cover in this episode, but here’s where it starts:

Stop trying to fit in where you’re not welcome.

For a long time, you’ve convinced yourself that you have to change who you are so that certain people will like you.

You’ve been trying to “act more black,” whatever that means, so that you can fit within a subculture that just doesn’t want you.

You’ve been trying to overcompensate in white spaces by trying to copy every little thing they stereotypically do and how they look, just so that your differences will be less noticeable.

So you’re not just masking your autistic traits; you’re trying to change who you truly are to be likable.

You don’t have to do that if you don’t want to.

It is possible to improve your social and communication skills as an autistic black person without having to fake being someone that you’re not, and it all starts when you stop trying to fit in where you’re not welcome.

Improve yourself to the best of your ability, build some self-esteem and self-worth, and fit in with people who accept you, who share your values and morals, and who are not superficial — and stop worrying so much about what race they are.

If they happen to be black like you, that’s great.

If they’re white, or Asian, or whatever else, that’s fine, too.

Just talk to people who actually want to talk to you, who are good people, and who aren’t going to ridicule you and toss you aside because you’re a little bit awkward.

When I tell you that now, I will walk into a room full of white people with the same level of confidence that I walk into a room full of black people with.

It does not matter to me; I’m no longer hyper focused on my race and what people may or may not be thinking about me.

I’m just me; I walk with my head held high — natural, kinky hair and everything — and I just talk to people who show me the same respect that I show them.

Now here’s the thing: If you are shy or socially anxious because of your social and communication differences, then you’re never going to find your tribe of people, because you’re too nervous to go places and attend events where you would meet people.

If that sounds like you and you are more of an introvert, meaning you need your alone time to decompress, and you’d rather talk to one or just a handful of people at a time instead of larger gatherings like our more extroverted counterparts, I can help with that.

My 1-on-1 program, Communicate With Quiet Confidence, was specifically made to help introverts like yourself become socially confident in a way that feels natural to them.

You and I would work together to overcome your shyness and social struggles so that you can build those fulfilling relationships with the people who are right for you.

Check the link in the description to book your free connection call with me today so that we can talk about your goals, your struggles, and whatever else.

That’s all for today’s episode.

This Friday through Sunday, I’ll be in West Palm Beach for the annual Autism and Black Conference, so if you’ll be attending, let me know in the comments!

I’m getting really excited about the opportunity to meet other black autistic people of all shades, types, support needs…

Maybe I’ll get a chance to meet some autistic extroverts, because I know they’re out there.

And I’m excited to go to the beach if I can find time to do that, which I’m sure I will.

Before I close out this episode, I would love it if you could share your unique experience of living at the intersection of blackness and autism, because as I stated earlier, every black person is not the same and every autistic person is not the same.

Tell me about your experience in the comments, or you can contact me via the contact page of my website, theintrovertedmisfit.com.

I can’t wait to hear it.

As always, if you enjoyed this talk, please don’t forget to hit the follow or subscribe button, leave a review and/or comment whether you’re tuning in on YouTube, Spotify, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts from, and share this podcast with a friend.

Thanks for listening, and have a great day!

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Caroline Smith

Caroline is the founder of The Introverted Misfit, a community committed to helping socially inept people become more socially confident in themselves.

https://theintrovertedmisfit.com
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