Neurodivergent (Headcanon) Alley: Ariel (The Little Mermaid)

*I’m mostly going to be talking about the live-action movie here, since that one has my heart, but plenty of this is relevant to the animated film as well.*

While 1) I wait impatiently for Doctor Who’s 60^th anniversary specials (can I please just get some airdates already?) and 2) my brain feels a desperate need to fit in a post about Our Flag Means Death every single week (season finale on Thursday!), I’m going to alternate the Sunday Who Review with some other stuff for a bit. Today, let’s head down Neurodivergent Alley!

Viewing Ariel as autistic is special to me. She was one of the final pieces that allowed me to “hatch,” to put together all the evidence that had been stacking up around me and realize that it made sense. For years, I’d heard that Ariel was an autistic-coded Disney Princess, or that her story could be used as a metaphor for autism. But after the live-action movie came out and I was reading responses to it online, I was surprised to encounter so many comments along the lines of “This is the Black autistic representation I need!” or “Ariel/Eric are Autistic4Autistic!” This wasn’t just I can see how you might view that character this way, from a certain angle. It wasn’t The story of this fictional mermaid follows beats that may resonate with the autistic experience. This was a number of people claiming Ariel as one of their own with their whole chest. I felt something at that, and as I started poking around to see what other characters autistic folks headcanon as autistic, I started understanding so much more about this identity beyond the stereotypes that pop culture often shows us when it intentionally sets out to create an autistic character. And within that, I could much more clearly see myself.

But enough about me. Ariel!

In both the original film and the remake, Ariel doesn’t fit in with her family or her community. Nobody understands her, largely because no one can understand the great passion of her life: her special interest, her deep and abiding fascination with the human world. She’s obsessed with collecting human objects, to the point that she’ll endanger herself by going into shark-infested waters for the sake of finding something new. Everything she finds, she takes back to her hidden collection. It doesn’t matter if she’s come across a particular item before—she’s got twenty thingamabobs!—she still wants this one. Her love for the human world drives her to break her father’s strictest rule, to go to the surface and observe real live humans for herself.

It's understandable that Ariel falls so instantly and deeply for Eric, because he’s all wrapped up in this love that she already had for human artifacts. But, as much as she adores him, the remake underscores the fact that he’s not the only reason why she takes such drastic measures to become human herself. As I’ve said before, she’s already longed to “be where the people are”—Eric just dials that desire up to eleven. And the moment that really clinches is for her is when she’s about to turn around and go back home, when Ursula says, “Go back home to daddy, and never leave again!”

That’s the moment. It’s reckless and really naïve, but at the same time I get it. Everything inside Ariel has been screaming that she doesn’t belong where she is, and all she wants is what she’s been told she can never have. In my estimation, there’s something deeply neurodivergent about uprooting everything your society has told you to be and creating a new life for yourself, maybe something you’re not “supposed” to want but something that you desperately need.

That doesn’t make her actions here smart. Ursula plays her easily, and Ariel’s shortsighted move gets her and others into major trouble later in the movie, a fact that she’s determined to put right. But within the mistakes, she’s also able to see that she can’t go back. She needs to be in this environment where things are new and confusing but where, for the first time, she can feel like she fits. It doesn’t really matter to Ariel that other people are picking up on her weirdness, that she doesn’t understand their norms and cues and that she combs her hair with a dinglehopper/fork. She’s fed here; she can fully enjoy her special interests in a way she never could back home, and what’s more, she’s found someone who understands them. Who understands her.

Parts of her story/characterization, yes, are metaphorical. It’s natural that, as a mermaid who’s only just come to the surface, she doesn’t understand human norms (but remember that she didn’t fit in where she “belonged” either.) And although she’s nonverbal for a long stretch of the film, that’s down to Ursula’s spell, not her neurotype. But within that, she shows that being unable to speak makes her no less thinking or feeling, no less herself, no less worth someone’s care and affection. And that may be metaphorical, but it’s a lovely portrayal for anyone who is nonspeaking or deals with selective mutism.