Why Society Fails High-Functioning Autistic Men in Relationships (And What Needs to Change)

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Last update 04 Apr 2025
Reading time 25 mins

It’s a quiet epidemic that no one talks about: high-functioning autistic people, especially men, are struggling deeply with romantic relationships. The desire for romantic connection, companionship, and sexuality is one of the most deeply human needs — and yet, when autistic men try to reach out for help in this area, they’re often met with rejection, silence, or ridicule. Society claims to be inclusive, compassionate, and eager to support those in need — but this is often more of a self-serving fantasy than a lived reality. The image of being helpful makes people feel good about themselves, but when faced with someone truly struggling in a way they don’t understand, many react by distancing, excluding, or even attacking. Often, this aggression and exclusion is masked under the language of “setting boundaries” or “guaranteeing their own emotional safety,” misusing these terms as a socially accepted curtain to justify coldness or even cruelty. Words like “toxic” are casually weaponized to push people away, not because they’re unsafe, but because they’re different — and because their needs require effort, discomfort, or unfamiliar types of empathy. And society? It’s not just unhelpful — it’s actively repelling, particularly in moments when real support is needed most.

When people with Level 1 autism (formerly called Asperger’s) ask for guidance on dating or forming romantic connections, the most common response they receive isn’t advice or empathy — it’s silence, judgment, or vague dismissals like “just be yourself” or “you’re overthinking it.” Others simply leave, claiming that things will “work out with time,” because they’re used to the neurotypical rhythm of stumbling from one social connection into the next. They assume experience will accumulate by default — but that assumption doesn’t hold for autistic people, especially when opportunities for genuine connection are actively blocked or repelled. Some even suggest that it’s possible to live without romantic or sexual connection entirely — not because they believe it themselves, but because they’re temporarily annoyed by their own partners. What they often forget is that they already have a deep bank of social experience to fall back on — something autistic individuals are rarely given space to develop in the first place.

This issue is especially painful for men. Autistic women are, at the very least, still approached — even if those interactions often fall short of what they want. But for autistic men, there are often zero opportunities. When women on the spectrum complain about not finding meaningful relationships, they’re often starting from a baseline of dozens or hundreds of interactions — often initiated by sexually interested men who may not be seeking long-term connection or emotional intimacy. While this doesn’t always lead to meaningful relationships, it still allows women to explore romantic and sexual dynamics, satisfy curiosity, and gain experience. Even if the quality of those encounters is lacking, the quantity means that at least some emotional or sexual needs can be met — which is already a vast difference from what most autistic men experience, where even the opportunity for such exploration is almost entirely absent. For many autistic men, even one reciprocal experience is rare. It’s not just that things don’t work out — it’s that things never begin at all.

The Neglect Is Real — And Systemic (The ‘You are too smart to struggle’ fallacy):

For high-masking autistic men, there’s a cruel and widespread misconception embedded deep in society’s view: “You’re intelligent, so you can figure this out on your own.” But this assumption is both incorrect and harmful. Intelligence doesn’t equate to social fluency, emotional literacy, or the ability to navigate the complex, often contradictory world of dating and romantic communication. In fact, it often leads others to withdraw help, thinking the individual doesn’t need it.

What makes things worse is how often distress in this area is brushed aside. Therapists and educators tend to dismiss relationship difficulties in autistic men as “not urgent,” as if forming meaningful human bonds isn’t essential. But it is urgent. Romantic connection, companionship, and sexuality are not luxuries or hobbies—they’re fundamental to most people’s psychological well-being and life satisfaction. For many, they are more important than career success or any other societal metric of function. To be excluded from this domain is to be isolated from one of the deepest parts of human life.

Masking only compounds the problem. When autistic people mask, they’re not actually solving anything. They’re making the discomfort go away for others, helping society avoid being “nagged” by visible signs of struggle. But under the surface, masking leaves the autistic person more isolated, more exhausted, and less likely to receive meaningful support. It enables society to pretend the problem doesn’t exist, while the masked individual deteriorates inside.

This all feeds into a painful double bind: unless you appear completely helpless (and therefore worthy of help), you’re assumed to be fine. But if you’re high-masking and high-functioning, you become invisible. You must either present as broken enough to receive compassion or flawless enough to not need it. And most autistic men fall into neither category. So instead, they fall through the cracks.

One of the most common phrases autistic people hear when expressing their loneliness is: “You’re not alone, others feel the same way.” While this may be meant as comfort, it often lands as dismissal. Knowing that others suffer too doesn’t solve the problem — it just spreads the pain. Without offering a path forward, this kind of statement becomes a way to avoid action, not inspire it. The goal isn’t just to be one of many who are stuck — it’s to get unstuck. Real help means more than pep talks or sympathy. It means building bridges, offering tools, and investing in change that actually works.

The Dating Game Is Rigged Against Direct Communication

Autistic people cannot play the dating numbers game the way neurotypicals often can, because they simply don’t have the volume of social interactions to begin with. The socially accepted dynamic — that men should initiate and women should respond — breaks down entirely when autistic men are unable to approach women due to social anxiety, misreading of signals, or a history of being punished for doing so. For this to work, women would have to proactively approach these men at significantly higher rates than society is currently used to. But this rarely happens, and autistic men are left in a position where initiating leads to rejection, and waiting leads to nothing at all. The only realistic path forward in many cases would be if friends, family, or colleagues actively set up connections. But these people usually don’t realize they are part of the autistic person’s closest circle. Because autistic individuals may not show closeness in familiar neurotypical ways, others underestimate how deeply embedded they are in their social world — and so no one steps up to facilitate meaningful introductions. Often, people find it awkward to get involved in someone else’s romantic life, especially when it challenges their assumptions about how relationships are “supposed” to work. In other cases, they simply don’t care enough — or don’t feel responsible — to help. This combination of misunderstanding, discomfort, and emotional distance leaves autistic individuals isolated even within their most immediate social circles.

Romantic connection in neurotypical society runs on unwritten rules, subtle cues, and emotional performance. This creates an environment where dating demands real-time, high-bandwidth social decoding — something that autistic individuals often find extremely challenging. Autistic communication tends to be more deliberate and reflective, often requiring more time to process information and formulate responses. Fast-paced back-and-forth conversations, especially in emotionally charged or ambiguous contexts, can feel overwhelming or disorienting. Instead of fostering connection, this pressure frequently results in long silences, or responses that are perceived as strange, overly detailed, or logically disconnected by the neurotypical partner — leading to a quick loss of interest.

Masking and mirroring compound the difficulty. While many autistic people become adept at masking — suppressing natural behaviors and imitating expected ones to avoid negative reactions — mirroring emotional expressions or social cues is far more difficult. Unlike neurotypicals, who often mirror others instinctively, autistic individuals must consciously interpret and reproduce behaviors, which may lead to subtle delays, mismatched expressions, or temporary loss of facial mimicry when thinking. These moments of pause or difference can be misread as disinterest, awkwardness, or emotional coldness, when in fact they are the result of intense internal effort to connect.

And then there’s the infamous “dating game” — a loosely defined social dance of implication, timing, and feigned disinterest. For many autistic people, the game makes no sense. There is no manual. Rules shift constantly, and behaviors that seem honest in one context are punished in another. What feels to the autistic person like sincerity and vulnerability is often interpreted as a violation of unspoken boundaries. Society, instead of helping bridge this gap, responds with discomfort or hostility. Instead of clarifying norms or offering support, people often withdraw entirely, labeling autistic behavior as “creepy,” “awkward,” “too much,” “nerdy,” or “just strange.”

The Myth of “Plenty of Fish”

The cliché “there are plenty of girls out there” does not apply here. Neurodivergent attraction is often:

This is why telling someone on the spectrum to “just try with someone else” completely misses the point. It’s not a numbers game. It’s about navigating a landscape where genuine mutual connection is already rare — and without scaffolding, it’s often inaccessible. Even when people try to help, they often fall into another harmful assumption: that autistic people should be grateful for any attention at all. This leads to pseudo well-meaning but misguided attempts to set them up with individuals they clearly have no interest in — often people who are themselves isolated or socially rejected. The underlying message is that autistic people “have to take what they can get,” which not only reinforces the idea that they are unworthy of preference, but also ignores how specific and emotionally selective their attraction often is. In reality, autistic individuals are often more discerning, not less. Being offered someone they’re not attracted to isn’t just ineffective — it’s alienating. There is no simple workaround where they can just be happy with anyone society has deemed ‘left over.’

Gender Bias in Empathy

The social narrative has some space for the struggles of autistic women, who are more likely to be seen as needing protection or support. But autistic men? They’re more likely to be seen as burdensome or even threatening when they express the very same needs. This is sexism in its purest form: while women’s emotional struggles are often met with sympathy and understanding, men’s similar experiences are frequently dismissed, pathologized, or treated as threatening. Society upholds the expectation that men should always initiate, lead, and perform flawlessly in romantic and social domains — and when an autistic man cannot fulfill this script, he is not offered help or understanding, but is met instead with avoidance, ridicule, or suspicion.

The same actions that might be interpreted as charming shyness in a woman are seen as incompetence or creepiness in a man. Traits such as social hesitation, difficulty reading cues, or emotional vulnerability are more likely to be labeled in autistic men as “socially incompetent,” “emotionally unavailable,” or even “creepy” and “threatening.” This double standard is not just hurtful — it is structurally exclusionary.

As a result, autistic men are forced to walk a tightrope: if they express interest too directly, they are perceived as intrusive or inappropriate. If they mask too much, they become invisible and are never seen as potential partners at all. This double bind makes it nearly impossible to experiment, learn, or grow in the way neurotypical people do — and society offers no space for mistakes or second chances. What makes it even more challenging is that autistic men usually cannot afford to learn through trial and error, because they simply don’t get enough interactions in the first place. Unlike neurotypicals who can learn incrementally from dozens of attempts over the lifetime, autistic men often only get one or two chances — if any. For them, each opportunity carries enormous emotional weight, and failure can be devastating. This is precisely where society should step in to offer support — not just in abstract inclusivity statements, but with real, practical help that recognizes how rare and high-stakes these moments truly are. Society often fails to value these moments because it assumes they are plentiful — that everyone has hundreds or thousands of opportunities over their lifetime to try, fail, and try again. But for autistic men, these moments are few and far between, and losing one may mean waiting years for another chance — if it ever comes. This makes the stakes immeasurably higher, and the need for intentional, compassionate support even more urgent.

What Society Actually Needs To Do

If we truly want an inclusive society where autistic people thrive — not just survive — we need to start designing systems that acknowledge difference instead of punishing it. Society must not only recognize that some individuals cannot follow the implicit, ever-shifting rules it invents — it must actively support them, instead of reacting with exclusion or hostility. The structure of support must be deliberate, visible, and shared — not based on hidden expectations or conditional tolerance.

And crucially, this responsibility cannot be offloaded to professionals or institutions alone. Therapists and coaches may offer tools, but they cannot substitute the everyday interactions and opportunities that only society itself — friends, peers and potential partners — can provide. It is neurotypical society that must finally change its habits, open doors, and stop waiting for autistic individuals to “overcome” everything in isolation. Connection isn’t something to be achieved alone, and support isn’t optional. It is a shared social obligation — not an act of charity.

Society often claims to value friendliness and inclusion, but too often this is only a facade — a comforting story people tell themselves to feel virtuous without facing the uncomfortable truth. Real inclusion means effort. It means vulnerability. It means dealing with people who communicate differently, who don’t follow the script — and doing so with compassion instead of distance. Until that happens, the support autistic people need will continue to be promised in words and withheld in action. That includes:

Teaching Social Fluency Like a Language

Just like math or music, social skills can and should be taught in structured, repeatable ways — not assumed to be absorbed magically through passive exposure. For autistic people, it’s crucial that guidance comes in the form of scripts and patterns that can be practiced within their personal boundaries and capabilities. These scripts must be more than vague advice or idealized expectations that ignore the cognitive and sensory limits of the individuals they’re meant to help. They must align realistically with what a person can actually do — for instance, offering real, implementable alternatives for situations where the person cannot approach others at all, rather than insisting that initiating contact is a non-negotiable prerequisite. Instead of framing those limitations as a deficit to overcome, effective guidance should work with them, providing solutions that don’t rely on abilities a person simply doesn’t have access to. These instructions must offer actionable and context-specific strategies — for instance, distinguishing clearly between expressions of friendship and expressions of romantic interest, with step-by-step examples and interpretation support. Social reciprocity must be shown, not assumed; demonstrated in practice, not just described in theory.

The popular sayings that “there is no manual for humans” or “there is no manual for love” are often used to deflect responsibility. While they may sound philosophical or even empathetic, in reality, they are excuses — ways for people to avoid the effort of making their own implicit knowledge explicit for others. These phrases make the speaker’s life easier by implying that everyone is equally lost, when in fact, neurotypical people grow up immersed in a social environment that constantly reinforces hidden rules. Autistic individuals are not lost in the same way — they are locked out of that implicit world entirely. Pretending there is no manual is just another way to justify not helping write one. And importantly, all of this — this translation of implicit social structures into usable scripts and accessible behaviors — cannot simply be externalized to psychotherapists, coaches, or professionals. While support structures are helpful, they can’t replace what neurotypical individuals themselves must offer: patience, directness, inclusion, and an active willingness to bridge the social gap. True support has to come from the people who participate in everyday life — friends, acquaintances, potential partners — because without them, no theoretical advice or coaching can ever lead to a real relationship.

Normalize Directness and Clear Intentions

Instead of penalizing autistic people for skipping double meanings or failing to navigate layered subtext, society should foster environments where clarity is truly valued. This doesn’t just mean encouraging people to reject others more clearly — it also means being willing to accept sincere and clear expressions of interest without reacting with ridicule or discomfort. Directness should be a two-way value: not just in the clarity of saying “no,” but also in the ability to say “yes” without needing a complex ritual first.

For this to work, the culture around dating and emotional interaction must shift. People must be taught — and supported — to communicate intentions explicitly, not just interpret signs and cues. This includes direct messages in dating apps, transparent discussions about interest, and environments where a clear, respectful approach is met with a clear, respectful answer. It also requires a willingness to stop punishing people for expressing feelings outside of the “game” — because for many autistic individuals, that game is inaccessible or incoherent.

Respecting boundaries remains essential, but respect must not become a mask for exclusion. If someone is clear, kind, and honest, society should reward that openness — not shut it down as uncomfortable or “too much.” Only then can mutual understanding grow. Without this shift, autistic people remain locked out of meaningful connection not because they can’t feel or care, but because their method of expressing that care is unfairly disqualified.

Create Neurodivergent-Friendly Social Spaces

Creating social environments that work for neurodivergent individuals doesn’t mean simply organizing more group activities. In fact, most autistic people find group settings to be draining, overstimulating, and socially chaotic — more of an energy sink than a meaningful opportunity for connection. Many are naturally more solitary, preferring one-on-one interactions or parallel engagement over being placed into performative group settings. For any space to be truly inclusive, it has to accommodate this hermit-like tendency. That means designing social opportunities that don’t rely on navigating large groups, loud environments, or unpredictable dynamics — and offering formats that foster quiet, structured, and sincere exchanges.

At the same time, it’s important not to isolate neurodivergent people into segregated spaces. Not all autistic individuals want to connect only with others on the spectrum. In fact, many are attracted to neurotypical people — often specifically because of their differing communication style, emotional affect, or interests. Social spaces must be mixed by design, but built around mutual understanding, flexibility, and the clear rejection of masking and performance as prerequisites. It’s not about creating autistic-only clubs, but about removing the conditions that make neurotypical spaces so inaccessible in the first place.

Train Therapists, Coaches, and Educators to Understand Autistic Attachment and Attraction

Most support professionals — including therapists, coaches, and educators — are trained in neurotypical models of emotional development, attraction, and relationship-building. As a result, they often miss the mark entirely when trying to support autistic individuals. Rather than teaching how to build or repair connections, they often focus on telling autistic clients what won’t work. It’s far too common to hear advice like “you need to forget that person” or “you have to move on,” without ever offering tools for understanding what went wrong or how to repair and reconnect even if it seems impossible.

This creates an experience of emotional invalidation. Therapists end up focusing on acceptance of failure — not because it’s empowering, but because they don’t know how to support growth. They discourage hope instead of guiding people through real-world examples of how to improve communication, how to reach out again after something falters, and how to build understanding across difference. In practice, the therapy experience becomes about closing doors, not opening them.

What is truly needed is a reversal of that destructive pattern. Therapists should move away from a purely negative path — one that focuses on grief, detachment, and the supposed impossibility of social progress — and instead adopt a constructive stance: How does this work? How can it be repaired? What are the mechanisms that would allow reconnection to happen after silence, disinterest, or misunderstanding?

Autistic individuals don’t need to be told that their instincts are wrong — they need guidance for making those instincts communicable, shareable, and less likely to be misread. They don’t need warnings that failure is final — they need realistic paths to learning how to try again in a way that builds trust — and ideally without exchanging the (potential) partners in the process, since attachment and attraction in autistic individuals is often highly specific and non-transferable. Support professionals must stop reinforcing a system of passivity and loss, and instead learn how to support action, repair, and growth.

Stop Punishing Autistic Men for Being Vulnerable

Empathy has to extend to everyone, not just those who communicate in familiar or socially polished ways. Too often, when autistic men express vulnerability — especially around loneliness, romantic desire, or emotional pain — they are met not with compassion, but with suspicion, mockery, or rejection. Their emotional honesty is seen as a breach of social decorum, as though wanting love while not expressing it in exactly the right way is somehow unacceptable.

We must believe people when they say they are lonely or want love, even if they say it awkwardly or directly. Emotional honesty must be valued more than social performance. That means accepting when someone expresses affection, not punishing them for doing it without coded language or socially approved rituals. It also means recognizing that mistakes will happen — and that autistic people deserve space for growth, missteps, and second chances like anyone else.

Right now, society often reacts to their openness by shutting them out, labeling them as inappropriate or overwhelming. But this reaction stems in part from what’s known as the double empathy problem — the mutual misunderstanding that occurs between autistic and neurotypical people. Autistic men are often assumed to lack empathy because they express it differently, when in reality, they frequently possess very high levels of empathy. It simply manifests in ways that neurotypical people aren’t used to recognizing.

The path forward must be one of dignity, not discipline. If we want to live in a culture that values emotional truth, then we cannot keep punishing autistic men for showing theirs — especially when they’re doing so in a world that demands their silence and conformity at every turn.

Final Thoughts

Autistic people want connection. That’s not a flaw — it’s human. The tragedy is not that some people struggle to find it; it’s that society has built a thousand silent walls that make it almost impossible to reach unless you already know the secret rules — rules that were never explained and often contradict each other.

What society so often fails to realize is that autistic people are already pushing themselves to the limit just to meet the baseline expectations of neurotypical interaction. They use enormous amounts of emotional and cognitive energy to mask, to translate their thoughts into acceptable formats, and to avoid rejection — not for their own comfort, but to avoid making others uncomfortable. Neurotypical individuals, on the other hand, are rarely asked to expend any effort in the other direction. The burden is one-sided, and the idea that autistic people should adapt even more — while society stays still — is not just unfair, it’s cruel. It’s also entirely unsustainable. If inclusion is to mean anything, it must involve neurotypical people doing their part — learning, adapting, and meeting autistic people halfway. Yes, this takes energy and intention. But it’s necessary. Because as long as society refuses to change, the promise of support remains hollow.

Masking, though often encouraged and even celebrated, carries a devastating cost. It leads to emotional exhaustion, to autistic burnout, and to an increased risk of anxiety, depression, and even suicide. It is a survival strategy — not a solution. And yet, society continues to treat masking as a prerequisite for inclusion, ignoring the toll it takes on people forced to live in a constant state of self-suppression.

What high-functioning autistic men need isn’t pity or vague encouragement to “just keep trying.” They need practical systems. They need meaningful social inclusion. They don’t need separate ‘safe spaces’ tucked away from the rest of the world — they need the broader society itself to become a space where their way of connecting is genuinely respected. This means transforming everyday environments into places where difference isn’t penalized, where vulnerability isn’t ridiculed, and where honest, mutual, and real relationships can be built without having to conform to neurotypical performance standards.

Until that happens, the silence will continue to harm.

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Dipl.-Ing. Thomas Spielauer, Wien (webcomplains389t48957@tspi.at)

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