What the creative industry needs to know about neurodivergence

Kim Lawrie is Head of Creative and Emerging Tech at House 337. She leads advertising innovation for some of the world’s largest brands, while also working as a mentor, directing the company’s neurodiversity network, and speaking publicly about her experience of living with autism. She has previously directed EmpowerHack, a global charity focusing on solving problems faced by women and girl refugees through tech, and is a multi-award-winning industry figure, sitting on multiple BIMA lists, the IPA’s iList, and Creativepool’s 100 Top Creative Industry Influencers list. Here, Lawrie shares a personal and professional insight into the ways in which the creative industry is beginning to embrace neurodiversity, and what more there is to learn.

The world isn’t flat. Space isn’t limited to what we see in the sky at night. And the way our brains work isn’t universal.

The world is starting to make headway on the topic of neurodivergence: the fact that Autism, ADHD, Dyslexia, Tourette’s, and other neurological deviations from the ‘typical’ mind are far more of a widespread standard and far less a rare disability than we’d previously thought. In fact, with 20% or more of the world falling under the umbrella of one or more of these conditions, we’re talking about it less as a disability overall but as a way of life, with variations in skills, characteristics, and needs for up to one in five of us. And it’s a topic that’s rapidly gathering speed.

This year, no less than seven different projects focusing specifically on neurodivergence landed Pencils. Just this summer, D&AD also invited me to deliver their first ever talk on neuroinclusivity at D&AD Festival, alongside many other conferences, events, and article requests — all on the same topic. In June, Lewis Capaldi lost his voice on stage at Glastonbury Festival due to his neurodivergence, and the crowd lifted its voice in support. The interest is rising, commitments to awareness are being made, space is being created, and as a person with autism myself, the difference in perception that I can see between five years ago and now is simply staggering. We’re capturing the attention of both insiders and the wider public. And there's a good reason why this is all so explosive: we’re quite literally everywhere, and we’re making ourselves known. But awareness isn’t everything.

The truth is that a deeper level of understanding of neurodivergence is notably lacking. Part of the problem is the need for change behind closed doors – the kind of change that can categorise you as difficult just for asking for it. But it’s vital and urgent: 80% of autistic people are unemployed. Up to 40% of neurodivergent people as a whole can’t enter a career, despite our talents, uniqueness, and in some cases ability to outperform our neurotypical peers by up to 140%. The doors have historically been closed to us unless we ‘fit in’ enough to pass muster, and even more so to those who deal with overlapping, intersectional characteristics. But it doesn’t stop there: the lack of recognising our differences as anything but failures on a societal level means that not once have I spoken to a neurodivergent person who hasn’t experienced some level of discrimination at work. The sad thing is, most of it is purely accidental and situational, something that in the past we’ve grown used to living with on an almost daily basis.

The situation needs a reboot. We need deep introspection and action towards inclusion that reaches beyond awareness and tokenism. As ad creators, marketers, brands and spokespeople, we need to listen to and comprehend the reasons behind the status quo before we can take concrete steps towards rectifying it – steps that, right now, thankfully, are poised to echo very loudly.

So what does true representation of neurodivergence look like in the advertising industry? Firstly, it's not about gimmicks, or exploiting new target audiences to sell products. It’s about highlighting where the need for changing attitudes and processes lie. It’s about learning where we’re coming from, how we see the world, and why that matters. This year’s Pencil-winning projects like Me, My Autism & I are brilliant examples of thoughtful storytelling, based on real insight. They show us that truly inclusive design demands active participation from individuals of all neurological makeups from the ground up. It's not merely a marketing selling point. It’s a genuine commitment to creating inclusivity with the involvement of the community affected. We have stories to tell, skin in the game and the skills with which to tell them. But historically, it’s been a struggle to get on the podium.

It’s not all bad. As an industry we're already making progress – advertising tracks well against other fields for representation. Up to 18% of creatives and strategists within the ad industry are neurodivergent, closely aligning with the actual percentage in the wider population. When our core values are about focusing on innovation and offering new, unique and differing perspectives, this underlines how we have the potential for transformation and the ability to shape a more inclusive future. But it’s important to go further.

We need to keep pushing forward and catalysing change within our clients' organisations and beyond. As creatives, we have a responsibility to use our voices, mindset, experiences and skills to amplify the voices of the community and to break down societal barriers - and that starts with opening our doors to the people we’re trying to reach.

In actionable terms, to achieve meaningful progress we have to start dismantling misconceptions about neurodivergence. Critical education and awareness campaigns are essential to promote empathy and understanding, and dispel myths. There’s Nothing Comic About Dyslexia talks beautifully about why different isn’t a punchline. Samsung’s Unfear, an advanced artificial intelligence app that filters and suppresses noises we struggle with on a daily basis, is bridging another gap – which is so refreshing. By highlighting neurodiverse individuals' remarkable achievements and our unique perspectives, we can challenge deeply entrenched stereotypes and inspire others to recognise the value of diverse minds.

I tell a story sometimes. I was sitting in a meeting a while ago, and one of our vendors casually described our client as “just being so autistic about all this”. It stung. And not because of the casual slur. Because I knew what he meant by it, and because I’m sure it conjured a picture in your mind too. And why shouldn’t it? Society creates easily recognised tropes and reinforces them on so many levels, where they sit gathering dust until they’re actively challenged. It’s not your fault as the listener in absorbing it when it’s so widely propagated, but it’s our responsibility as the storyteller to address it. All of it.

We need to put out more campaigns that genuinely represent neurodiverse individuals. We need to work together on recognising those in our own ranks who struggle with the unaddressed norms. Let's move beyond tokenism too – no more of the Rain Man trope please. Let’s reposition normality as more than just a single way of doing things, by embracing narratives that celebrate the strength and resilience of the neurodiverse community in light of how we see things and what we contribute. By opening our doors, fixing our culture, not being shy to show the spectrum of humanity, and staying open to new ways of doing things, we not only amplify our voices, but also inspire others to question preconceived notions, and accept neurodivergence as a vital aspect of what makes us us.

I hope this isn’t the first and last time you’ve heard about neurodivergence. In a few years from now, I hope it isn’t even enough of a standout topic that it demands something like this written just on its very existence. I hope that we make progress in our industry to validate neurological difference, accept and accommodate new ways of living, thinking, working and creating – and that someday soon, neurodivergence can live alongside every other normal human characteristic that no longer feels like a slur just by saying it out loud.