Neurodivergent Insights – untypicable.

Dealing with Narcissists: How to Survive Life’s Self-Appointed Protagonists

AJ Wright — Thu, 02 Jan 2025 10:00:00 +0000

Narcissists are like the human equivalent of a glitter bomb. They arrive with dazzling fanfare, make everything about themselves, and leave everyone else wondering how they’re going to clean up the mess. Whether they’re dominating conversations, stealing credit, or turning every shared experience into their own personal highlight reel, narcissists are both exhausting and strangely fascinating.

For most people, handling a narcissist feels like navigating a minefield. But there’s one group that might just be their kryptonite: neurodiverse individuals. Where others see charm and charisma, we see predictable patterns and, frankly, a lot of unnecessary noise. So, grab a cuppa and settle in for a guide to surviving life’s biggest egos—complete with tips, tricks, and a dash of neurodivergent wit.

Step One: Recognising a Narcissist in the Wild

Spotting a narcissist is like birdwatching—once you know the signs, you’ll see them everywhere. They’re the ones who turn any situation into a stage and any conversation into an audition for The World’s Most Interesting Person.

Here’s your quick guide to identifying them:

The Story Hog: They’ll hijack your anecdote about stubbing your toe to recount their own “heroic” battle with an ingrown toenail.
The Drama Enthusiast: They live for chaos and will escalate minor inconveniences to full-blown soap opera episodes.
The Compliment Fisher: “Do I look tired? Oh, really? No, stop—tell me more about how amazing I look despite everything I’ve been through.”
The Expert at Everything: They’ll confidently explain astrophysics, your own career, and the optimal way to peel a banana—all without blinking.

Once you’ve spotted one, proceed with caution. They’re not dangerous, per se, but they will drain your energy faster than a toddler at a birthday party.

Step Two: The Narcissist Playbook

Understanding how a narcissist operates is half the battle. These are people who view life as a film, with themselves as the lead—and everyone else as unpaid extras. Their world revolves around:

Control: They need to be in charge, whether it’s the TV remote or the group holiday itinerary.
Validation: Praise is their lifeblood. Without it, they wither like an unwatered plant (but somehow noisier).
Drama: A peaceful day is their worst nightmare. They’d rather set the office thermostat debate on fire than let things stay calm.

Neurodivergent people often find this baffling. Why would anyone want more attention? Isn’t it exhausting? The narcissist, however, thrives on it. They are, quite literally, powered by the spotlight.

Step Three: Neurodiverse Kryptonite

Here’s where things get interesting. Narcissists rely on predictable reactions: admiration, agreement, and the occasional “Wow, you’re amazing!” But neurodivergent people don’t always play by those rules.

Take small talk, for example. A narcissist might expect you to gush over their new haircut. Instead, you casually respond with, “Oh, cool. Did you know ancient Egyptians also used hair dye?” They’re left floundering, unsure whether they’ve been upstaged or outsmarted.

Or consider their love of drama. While others might engage, neurodivergent folks are more likely to stare blankly and say, “That sounds like a you problem.” This complete lack of emotional investment is like throwing a wrench into their well-oiled machine.

It’s not that neurodiverse people are immune to narcissists—it’s just that we’re less interested in their theatrics. We’re busy thinking about snacks, spreadsheets, or the migratory patterns of swallows.

Step Four: Surviving the Monologue

A narcissist’s favourite activity is talking about themselves. It doesn’t matter where you are—family dinner, a wedding, or a funeral—they’ll find a way to make it about them.

Here’s how to endure:

The Compliment Bomb: Drop a well-placed compliment to distract them, then quietly disengage.
- Example: “You’re so knowledgeable about wine. Anyway, I need to check on the lasagne.”
The Silent Stare: Let them ramble while you mentally plan your next holiday. Occasionally nod for effect.
The Artful Redirect: Steer the conversation to something neutral, like the weather or the merits of pineapple on pizza.

If all else fails, pretend you’ve spotted something urgent across the room. Narcissists hate being ignored, but they’ll tolerate it if they think it’s temporary.

Step Five: When to Walk Away

There’s only so much narcissist energy anyone can handle, and sometimes the best strategy is retreat. Develop an arsenal of polite excuses for when their antics become unbearable:

“I just remembered I left my oven on.” (Works even if you don’t own an oven.)
“Sorry, I need to go alphabetise my spice rack.”
“My cat looks forward to her nightly TED Talk, and I can’t let her down.”

Walking away isn’t defeat—it’s self-care. And really, who’s going to argue with a cat’s needs?

Step Six: Laughing Through It

At the end of the day, narcissists are more ridiculous than threatening. Sure, they’re exhausting, but they’re also predictable. Their antics, while frustrating in the moment, make for excellent stories later.

You can even gamify it. Count how many times they say “I” in a single conversation. Keep a tally of how often they humblebrag. Treat it like a wildlife documentary: “Here we see the narcissist, puffing up its feathers to attract admiration from the herd…”

The Big Reveal: Are They Villains?

So, are narcissists the villains of our lives? Not quite. They’re more like pantomime villains—dramatic, over-the-top, and best enjoyed from a safe distance. They’re not out to ruin your day; they’re just so busy starring in their own that they forget other people exist.

Neurodivergent folks might have a natural advantage in handling them, but anyone can survive with the right mix of humour, patience, and well-timed excuses.

In Conclusion: Life’s Too Short for Someone Else’s Drama

In the end, the best way to deal with narcissists is to remember this: they’re not your responsibility. Laugh at their antics, set firm boundaries, and save your energy for people who don’t see you as a supporting character in their own personal soap opera.

And if all else fails, just keep a good excuse on hand. Mine? “I’ve just remembered—my goldfish has a dental appointment.”. I don’t have a goldfish.

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AJ Wright

AJ Wright is a quiet yet incisive voice navigating the surreal world of sociology, higher education, and modern life through the unique lens of a neurodivergent mind. A tech-savvy PhD student hailing from South Yorkshire but now stationed in the flatlands of Lincolnshire, AJ writes with an irreverence that strips back the layers of academia, social norms, and the absurdities of daily life to reveal the humour lurking beneath.

As an autistic thinker, AJ’s perspective offers readers a rare blend of precision, curiosity, and wit. From dissecting the unspoken rituals of academia—like the silent war over the office thermostat—to exploring the sociology of “neurotypical small talk” and the bizarre hierarchies of campus coffee queues, AJ turns the ordinary into something both profound and hilarious.

AJ’s unassuming nature belies the sharpness of their commentary, which dives deep into the intersections of neurodiversity, tech culture, and the often-overlooked quirks of human behaviour. Whether questioning why university bureaucracy feels designed by Kafka or crafting surreal parodies of academic peer reviews, AJ writes with a balance of quiet intensity and playful absurdity that keeps readers coming back for more.

For those seeking a blog that is equal parts insightful, irreverent, and refreshingly authentic, AJ Wright provides a unique perspective that celebrates neurodiversity while poking fun at the peculiarities of the world we live in. Also a contributor at Thinking Sociologically.

untypicable.co.uk

Neurodivergent People Are Secretly Bond Villains (and We’re Plotting to Take Over Your Office)

AJ Wright — Mon, 30 Dec 2024 11:00:00 +0000

Alright, so you haven’t made a mistake and accidentally clicked on a link for the Daily Mail or the Telegraph with that headline, you have found us at untypicable in a mood to reveal a big secret. Neurodivergent people are the quiet ones in the meeting who seem to have an unnatural ability to notice when someone’s borrowed our pen (without asking). We are the ones who reorganise the office kitchen “just because it makes more sense this way.”

But what if all those quirks are part of something bigger? What if the hyper-fixations, the need for routine, and the obsessive attention to detail are all part of a master plan? What if—brace yourself—neurodivergent people are actually Bond villains in disguise, plotting to take over the world (or at least the office)?

Sit back, pour yourself a villainous cup of coffee (two sugars, no small talk), and let’s explore this theory.

The Hyper-Fixation Lair

Every great Bond villain needs a high-tech lair. For neurodivergent people, this isn’t an underground volcano—it’s our hyper-fixations. While others waste time debating last night’s football match or planning the next team-building exercise, we’re laser-focused on our pet projects.

You thought Karen’s obsession with perfect Excel formatting was just a quirk? Think again—it’s the foundation for her plan to create an unbreakable monopoly on office efficiency. Dave’s fascination with ancient Roman aqueducts? It’s not a hobby—it’s a blueprint for taking control of the water cooler hierarchy.

We don’t just have interests. We have schemes.

The Power of Silence

Ah, silence. To the untrained eye, it looks like passivity or shyness. But in reality, silence is where neurodivergent masterminds thrive.

While everyone else is busy brainstorming aloud or throwing half-formed ideas into the void, we’re observing. Watching. Calculating. Our minds are running simulations, predicting outcomes, and pinpointing exactly when to unleash the perfect comment.

That quiet colleague who never speaks in meetings until they suddenly drop the exact solution you needed? Classic villain behaviour.

The Stationery Arsenal

Bond villains love gadgets, and neurodivergent people have their own arsenal—stationery.

Coloured pens: Not just for doodling but for creating intricate, colour-coded charts that map out every possible move in a meeting.
Sticky notes: Perfect for leaving cryptic messages like “Review section 4. Or else.”
The Whiteboard of Power: What looks like harmless brainstorming is actually the blueprint for a full-scale office revolution.

And don’t forget the clicky pen, which doubles as an intimidation tool when clicked repeatedly during tense discussions.

The Villain’s Weakness: Sensory Overload

Even the most diabolical plans have vulnerabilities, and for neurodivergent villains, it’s sensory overload. Sure, we can mastermind the reorganisation of the office filing system, but if the fluorescent lights start buzzing or someone starts eating loudly in the background, we’re out.

Picture a villain retreating mid-monologue because the room smells faintly of burnt popcorn. That’s us.

The Great Office Takeover

The endgame, of course, is total domination of the office. Not through chaos, but through meticulous, calculated change. Imagine a workplace where:

Meetings are silent unless absolutely necessary.
Open-plan offices are abolished forever.
Small talk is outlawed in favour of “companionable silence zones.”
The snack cupboard is restocked weekly and patrolled for biscuit thieves.

It’s not evil—it’s efficient.

The Big Reveal

Now, let’s address the question on everyone’s mind: are neurodivergent people actually Bond villains plotting world domination?

Of course not. (Or are we?)

In reality, this whole idea is satire—a playful way to poke fun at the misconceptions people often have about neurodivergence. We’re not quietly scheming to overthrow the office. Most of us are just trying to survive the day without having to explain, for the fiftieth time, why we rearranged the stationery cupboard “for better flow.” Yes, I have experienced first-hand someone who thought I was trying to mastermind the office, all down to not sharing my inner monologue at all times through the day, unlike them.

But the fact that this idea even feels plausible says a lot about how people misinterpret neurodivergent behaviour. Silence doesn’t mean plotting—it means processing. Hyper-fixations aren’t blueprints for domination—they’re passions that bring us joy. And our love of order isn’t about control—it’s about finding calm in a chaotic world.

So, no, neurodivergent people aren’t Bond villains. We’re just humans navigating a world that doesn’t always make sense to us. But hey, if organising the office snack cupboard with military precision makes us seem villainous, we’ll take it.

Conclusion: Or Are We?

Let’s leave it on a mysterious note. Neurodivergent people might not actually be Bond villains—but you’ll never be entirely sure, will you? Just know that the next time you see us quietly observing in a meeting, we’re probably not planning your downfall.

Probably.