Neurodivergent (Headcanon) Alley: Ned (Pushing Daisies)

*A few Ned-related spoilers.*

Going back to one of my first serious TV loves, Pushing Daisies. I was so deep into this show back in the day. I watched a couple episodes from season 1 because Raúl Esparza was a guest star and he was one of my major Broadway guys at the time. I went into the show knowing absolutely nothing about it and came away sort of bewildered but determined to have more of this series in my life. As I’ve said before, Pushing Daisies is the first show that made me specifically seek out its showrunner, leading me to Wonderfalls (with bonus Lee Pace!), Dead Like Me, and later Hannibal. When it was on the bubble during season 2, I wrote letters to ABC every day. This show grabbed my brain and my heart and wouldn’t let go. Is it any wonder that it’s neurodivergent as hell?

A big source of my love, of course, is Ned, the man who makes pies and wakes the dead. Back when I wrote my Favorite Characters post on Ned, I attributed a lot of his traits to his powers and his traumatic experiences in childhood: discovering that he can bring dead things back to life with a touch of his finger, learning the caveats to those powers in devastating ways (including his mother permanently dropping dead with a good-night kiss after he revived her the first time,) and being abandoned by his father and sent to a bleak boarding school. No doubt Ned has a ton of trauma that contributes to him craving routine and consistency, hesitant to connect with others despite being lonely. And yes, some of his issues with touch are down to his magic powers, not wanting to inadvertently bring something dead back to life and vigilant not to permanently kill his alive-again dog or childhood sweetheart with an accidental second touch. Those things are definitely factors.

But those traits present themselves in very autistic ways, and besides, there’s no rule that says he can’t have magic powers/childhood trauma and also be autistic (hello, Matilda!) Ned tends to speak at a rapid pace in a low, flat tone. He stress bakes when he’s worried, both because the familiarity soothes him and because pie is his strongest connection to his late mother. He can find it really difficult to talk about his feelings—sometimes he can’t bring himself to speak at all, sometimes he broaches an issue with extreme reticence, and sometimes he blurts it out in moments where he just can’t help it.

Ned’s power is governed by three incontrovertible rules, and he’s added all sorts of additional rules and protocols to that, along with inventions that help him out with Digby and Chuck. He makes a long-handled petting device for Digby, installs a plexiglass divider in his car so Chuck can sit in the front, and wears slippers with bells around the apartment so both Chuck and Digby will hear him coming. This displays creativity and ingenuity, not to mention some solid tinkering skills. That said, Ned is surrounded by characters who, while also ND-coded, are not driven nearly as much by structure and protocol as he is. He sometimes views that as a good thing, getting help to come a bit more out of his shell and be adventurous, but when other characters ignore or actively break his self-imposed rules, he gets anxious, which can make him feel uptight and like he’s the problem.

In the initial run of Pushing Daisies and through several rewatches, I was bugged by a storyline in season 2 where Ned struggles with Chuck moving out of his apartment, eventually becoming roommates with Olive. It felt to me like Ned was trying to control Chuck—maybe not even entirely consciously, but it came across as possessive in a way that I didn’t like. On my latest rewatch, though, viewing this storyline through an autistic lens helped me contextualize it more. It’s not that Ned is trying to control Chuck and prevent her from spreading her wings beyond him. It’s that he’s being hit with a lot of change really fast, he doesn’t know what this means for their relationship, and he kind of feels like having a problem with this makes him a jerk. He’s a guy who loves his girlfriend and is badly navigating a new situation that makes him feel really uncomfortable. Even though Chuck is just across the hall and likes the “Parisian” flair of his-and-hers apartments, Ned has lost some of his solidity and is kind of spiraling about it. And while he likes Olive and is glad for Chuck to have a friend, he also feels left out and worries that maybe Chuck doesn’t need him anymore.

Chuck, of course, isn’t doing anything wrong, and Ned does ultimately come to terms with the fact that he can’t make her stay. But his difficult feelings about the whole thing aren’t wrong either. Mainly, it’s just a tricky situation that both of them could’ve handled better. I have to say, I really like it when a neurodivergent interpretation helps me feel greater empathy for characters I love in storylines that frustrate me (see also, Keeley Jones and KJPR.)

Big Neurodivergent Energy Shows: 1-5

What do I mean by Big Neurodivergent Energy shows? It’s not just an abundance of ND-coded characters (in my case, autistic and/or ADHD,) although that’s definitely a factor. It’s something in the bones of the show itself. I don’t usually know why—maybe one or more of the creatives behind the camera are neurodivergent, knowingly or otherwise. But whatever the reason, something deep in the show feels so neurodivergent. It feels like home, it feels like me. I’ve loved all kinds of shows over the years, but many of these are the ones that really seep into my soul and don’t let me go.

By the way, when I first got the idea to do a Top Five post on this, I came up with seven shows. Rather than cut two of them out, at first I thought I’d just sit on it until I came up with enough for a Top Ten, because I couldn’t bear to exclude any of them. But then suddenly I had fourteen! So, this post is going to recur in new batches of five whenever I feel like it, because every show with Big Neurodivergent Energy needs to be celebrated!

For this first five, a few particular commonalities emerged: 1) People who are weird and broken are still beautiful and deserving of love. 2) Grace, kindness, and forgiveness can be extended regardless of whether someone has “earned” it. And 3) life can be harsh and small and suffocating, but we can reenvision life and try to make our own version of it. Lovely principles to stand by!

 

Doctor Who

I love, love, love that every incarnation of the Doctor feels AuDHD, but their neurodivergence looks a little different with each regeneration. From Ten’s repetition of words to Eleven’s constant stimming to Twelve’s bluntness, the Doctor demonstrates the many varied possibilities of autism and ADHD within a single character. I love that so much, and I love that, in their travels over the centuries, they’ve been able to meet so many people who appreciate those qualities in them. The Doctor is the walking, talking embodiment of the notion that life needs to be lived on your own terms rather than by any list of “rules” that you’re told you’re supposed to follow.

 

Our Flag Means Death

This is the show that helped me realize that so many of my favorite fictional couples are autistic- and/or ADHD-coded. Stede and Ed’s romance plays out in such a beautiful, unconventional, neurodivergent way, and I just love that they adore the things in one another that other people denigrate. And beyond the central pairing, the whole ship is bursting with neurodivergent swag. Just as the Revenge is a safe, welcoming place to be queer, it’s also a place that invites all sorts of minds. Everyone on the crew gets to be exactly who they are, and that makes me so happy!

 

Parks and Recreation

Leslie Knope, my AuDHD-coded queen! She’s the one steering the ship, but the whole Parks and Rec department radiates neurodivergent vibes. I love the beautifully autistic romance between Leslie and Ben, and I love that, while Ron and Leslie are so different on the surface, their minds still resonate with one another and contribute to their lovely friendship. I appreciate this show for every binder and scrapbook, every repeated meal of waffles, and every bluntly deadpan retort.

 

Pushing Daisies

I was a big fan of other shows before this—I was really into Lost and the early seasons of How I Met Your Mother, and Breaking Bad started around the same time—but Pushing Daisies is the first show that, like, consumed my soul. Everything about it just felt made for me, from the delicious wordplay to the whimsical settings to the oddball characters with their heady blend of sweetness, sadness, and sharpness. Pushing Daisies is the first show I loved that sent me racing to IMDb, not just to check out the actors, but to check out the showrunner. I thought, This is my show. I need to see more of what this mind created.

 

Ted Lasso

This is an interesting case for me. Even though it’s loaded with quirky characters, has found-family vibes coming out its ears, and I knew I loved it in my soul, its Big Neurodivergent Energy crept up on me. None of the characters struck me as autistic- and/or ADHD-coded at first (I know, right? Beard???) But then, as I was picking up on the pattern that so many shows I’ve deeply loved feel hella neurodivergent, I started wondering if any of the characters on Ted Lasso could fit into my headcanons. And as I looked, I soon realized I was hard-pressed to find one who didn’t exude neurodivergence. Roy’s flat facing, growling, and frank honesty has my heart, but I also love Ted’s people pleasing and empathy, Keeley’s tendency to abandon words when she’s excited, and Dani yelling his own name as a verbal stim. And I really like the message that everyone has their broken parts, but 1) that doesn’t mean they’re incapable of change and 2) they don’t need to “fix” themselves before being worthy of grace and love.

Favorite Characters: Emerson Cod (Pushing Daisies)

Pushing Daisies is a show where pretty much every character, from the leads down to the bit parts, has a lot to offer, and Emerson Cod brings so much to the proceedings. The knitting detective, named after after a poet and a fish, at first seems at odds with all the bright colors and sweetness, but Emerson helps balance the show in important ways, and the show in turn balances him (premise spoilers, along with a few Emerson-related spoilers from season 2.)

We’re introduced to Emerson as a jaded opportunist: seeing Ned’s gift (the piemaker can bring dead things/people back to life without consequence for up to a minute, just by touching them,) he gets the idea to partner with Ned and solve murders by temporarily waking the deceased to ask them about their murder. Emerson sees Ned as a potential cash cow, an easier way to solve crimes and collect either reward money or P.I. fees, and while characters like Chuck wear their sunshiny idealism on their sleeves, Emerson has lines like “dead bodies always lead to paydays.”

Similarly, Emerson seems at first a gruff guy with no time for sentiment. This might make his partnership with Ned appear unfortunate for him, since Ned and Chuck are all about sentiment and cute romance. Many a sweet moment between those two are punctuated by Emerson’s “kill me now” face as they rope him into “proxy” displays of affection. Ned brought Chuck back to life on a permanent basis after her own murder, but the nature of his powers means that if he ever touches her again, she’ll be dead forever – so, they’ll sometimes hold Emerson’s hands instead of each other’s or get him to hug one of them on the other’s behalf. And all the while, Emerson glowers.

And no denying, Emerson is sharper and more cynical than Ned and Chuck – more so than Olive too, even though she’s a little further down the cynicism spectrum than the two lovebirds. He brings his dry sarcasm to most situations, he lectures Ned when he thinks the piemaker is being stupid, and he generally has little faith in humanity. But Emerson’s streetwise guardedness comes about in part from being once bitten, twice shy. Lilah, his ex, is a con woman who tricked him, and what’s worse, she took his daughter Penny from him. He’s spent years beating himself up for not seeing through Lilah’s games, desperate to see Penny again but unsure of how to find her and blaming himself for their separation almost as much as he blames Lilah. His experiences with Lilah robbed him of what trust he had, and his pain at losing Penny made him hesitant to care about anything else.

At heart, though, Emerson is a lot softer than he lets on, and even if he doesn’t express his feelings as openly as other characters do, it doesn’t mean he’s indifferent. Over time, he slowly begins to open up to his friends about what he’s been through. He develops an affectionate friendship with Olive, he recognizes Ned’s worth beyond the financial advantages his powers bring, and he even warms up – a little – to Chuck. And so, just as his gruff zingers keep the series from feeling too saccharine, the other characters’ sweetness help the sometimes-curmudgeonly P.I. let a few of his walls down.