“Scenes from the Class Struggle in Springfield” as an allegory for autistic masking
Lately, I’ve been quite hyperfixated on The Simpsons. Over the span of my hyperfixation, I’ve watched many, many episodes, one of which being the titular Class Struggle in Springfield, which particularly hit me with how similar the episode’s story is to the experience many autistic people have masking. In this article, I’ll go through some of the scenes this is most portrayed in and how they tie into autistic masking.
TW: discussion of ableism; some excerpts feature a (non-abusive) parent losing their temper and raising their voice at their family for their autistic traits, though it’s not framed in the episode as autism-related
What happens and what does it represent?
The summary from Wikipedia reads:
Marge finds a fancy Chanel suit at a discount outlet store, and is invited to start spending time at the local country club. Marge immediately fits in but is forced to alter her suit every day so it appears that she is always wearing a new outfit. […] Marge accidentally destroys her Chanel suit on the night of a gala ball where she will become a member of the club and buys a new one for thousands of dollars. She demands that her family behave themselves, but realizes that she is becoming too snobby and decides she doesn’t want to join the club.
In this allegory, the country club and its members represent neurotypical society, the “superior” class, Marge represents a masking autistic, desperate to fit into said class, her suit represents the mask itself, aiding her in fitting in, and the rest of the family represents unmasked autism.
Joining the country club
After Marge buys her suit, an old schoolmate of hers from high school, Evelyn, invites her to attend a country club when she sees her at the Kwik-E-Mart in her new suit. While preparing her family (sans Maggie) to attend, she’s very particular about them all being just right, meaning no casual hairstyles, short-sleeved shirts with ties, use of the word “hotbed,” or grifting. Despite Marge’s anticipation, the rest of the family seems relatively unenthused about the event. Homer seems disappointed when Marge objects to his Sipowicz-inspired fashion, Bart wants to get into his usual trouble, and Lisa objects to the idea of attending “a hotbed of exclusionist snobs and status-seeking social climbers.”
Once arriving at the country club, Marge is already visibly desperate to fit in, to the point of declaring unprompted that “[they’re] not poor” to the staff before being let in. Once they enter the club, Marge is quite socially awkward and keeps letting her “working-class” side slip through, which some of the members (namely Susan, pronounced as if the two syllables are separate words entirely) make snide remarks about.
Marge: Pleased to meet you. You look like such a happy bunch… of people.
Susan: That’s the trouble with first impressions: you only get to make one.
(Club members laugh)
Marge: Th-that reminds me of a funny apron I saw —
This reflects how many autistic people when masking may come off as awkward or let some of their autistic traits show, especially if they haven’t “mastered” the skill of masking. At this point, they’re still learning what’s considered “acceptable” and what’s considered “unacceptable,” and they’re oftentimes much more in-touch with their autistic side and much more out-of-touch with their masked side, which can make successfully coming off as neurotypical even harder.
Though Evelyn invites the rest of the family to enjoy the club, they instead opt to “go sit in the car until [Marge is] done fitting in.” Meanwhile, Marge continues to chat with the socialites when the subject of mail-ordering products come up. While the socialites discuss how they only eat food ordered through the mail, Marge brings up how she gets recipes from Good Housekeeping in the mail. One of the socialites tries to relate back to her, but continues to show her privilege by instead describing a situation in which she and her husband microwaved their own soup once.
Marge: I get food through the mail, but in a different way. Every month, Good Housekeeping arrives in my mailbox bursting with recipes. Sometimes the most satisfying meal is the one you cook yourself.
Patricia: Hmm. That’s very true, Marge. One night, Wiff and I came home late, and we decided not to wake Iris, and instead, we microwaved our own soup! (laughs)
(Socialites murmur in surprise)
Patricia: Of course it was a horrible mess, but Iris didn’t mind cleaning it up.
(Socialites laugh and continue chatting)
This is reminiscent of how many neurotypicals will hear an autistic person describing their own experiences and try to relate back to them, oftentimes with a much more mild story or experience. “Sometimes I have trouble getting things done, too; sometimes I’m so comfortable that I don’t even want to do the laundry,” “I hyperfixate, too! I hyperfixated on cooking dinner, last night!” To an autistic person, having a “lazy moment” and getting focused on a relatively short task are obviously nothing like executive dysfunction and hyperfixations, but most neurotypicals are completely unaware of how different their attempts at relatability are.
However, this isn’t simply a neurotypical problem, as many autistic people struggle to understand what certain neurotypical experiences are like and may make similarly unrelatable comparisons; these comparisons are largely an example of the double empathy problem and how it draws two-way difficulties between allistics and autistics trying to understand each other’s experiences.
“Socially better”
In a short time lapse, the Simpson family is home after the gathering. In this scene, this exchange follows between the family:
Bart: That place is weird. A man in the bathroom kept handing me towels till I paid him to stop.
Homer: (holding a pile of towels) Shoulda held out longer, boy.
Lisa: The rich are different from you and me.
Marge: Yes! They’re better!
(The rest of the family stares at her)
Marge: Socially better. And if we fit in, we can be better too. So today, while the rest of you were out being different, I did a very good job of fitting in. So good that Evelyn gave us a guest pass. They might even ask us to join.
So much of this interaction is reminiscent of how many autistic people feel after social interaction. In this exchange, Bart reflects the confusion that can be felt regarding what neurotypicals do and what we’re expected to do in return. What the man was doing might’ve been understandable to the rich, but not to a lower-class civilian like Bart. In the same vein, much of social interaction may be understandable to the neurotypical, but not to autistic people.
Bart’s comment can essentially be replaced with any social skill that autistic people might struggle with. “A kid at school kept asking me about the weather,” “a woman at work kept calling my name until I looked at her,” “a man at the party told me about flying pigs when I asked him a question.” To neurotypicals, all of this is easily understandable: the child was trying to make friends, the woman thought you weren’t paying attention because eye contact is thought of as a sign of attention, and the man was saying no because pigs flying is unrealistic. But to many autistic people, these behaviors can be confusing.
When you’re in an environment full of neurotypicals and neurotypical social cues that you may not understand, the place can seem “weird.” Bart was in a country club made for neurotypicals as a neurodivergent boy (both in the analogy and canonically, since he has ADHD in canon) and had to deal with the confusion that comes with the differences in communication.
Lisa echoes his sentiment that these two “worlds” are different from each other. Though many allistics have the misconception that autistic people don’t know they’re different, very few of us are actually unaware of this matter. Most of us can be in Lisa’s situation: where we spend one day in a largely neurotypical environment, and come home knowing that there’s something different about us. Depending on the circumstances, we may not know why we’re different, but we almost always know that we are. Lisa already knows why she’s different: she’s already aware of the terms “rich” and “working class,” “neurotypical” and “neurodivergent.” She already knows that these two different “worlds” are the reason why she and her kin felt so out-of-place while at the country club.
Marge, however, who’s much more focused on masking her differences than any confusion over them, remarks that they’re different because they’re better — socially better, that is. Not only that, but if they fit in, then they can be better, too. Who knows, they might even be included in more of their events and gatherings. This reflects how many autistic people internalize the idea constantly expressed to us that the right way to be is neurotypical. Even if you aren’t neurotypical, you can be better than you are if you work to assimilate.
Because of this, many autistic people feel like the only way to be good enough is to “become” neurotypical. Sometimes we may understand like Marge that we’ll never actually be neurotypical, but that it is possible to make a neurotypical persona to emulate it, while some of us may actually try to make ourselves literally neurotypical and “cure” or “fix” ourselves. It’s a deeply upsetting reality, but these ableist societal mindsets very commonly cause autistic people to feel like they need to be “fixed” no matter what and that they’ll never live up to be anything if they continue to be autistic.
The last comment that they could be asked to join the country club also reflects a common mindset in relation to masking: that if you mask, you’ll be allowed to join in on neurotypical events and social circles. This is true to some degree: like portrayed with Marge, many people who mask do get invited into neurotypical circles. But also like portrayed, this oftentimes still involves slights — intentional or unintentional — towards autistic people or the individual’s autistic traits, and the constant pressure to act neurotypical along with these remarks can cause us to further hide away and be ashamed of our natural traits, even once we’re at home and the mask has come off.
Frustration and the end of Marge’s mask
When Marge goes back to the country club, the members make slights regarding her dress; she wore the same suit two days in a row, after all, something that’s considered taboo in many upper-class spaces that can afford to never rewear. Meanwhile, Lisa is deeply fascinated by the horses at the club. Because of these remarks, Marge has to redesign her suit using a sewing machine.
When visiting the next day, she’s insulted by one member for her obviously repeated outfit and told by another one that she’s expected to wear a new dress next time, once again causing her to have to redesign her outfit, as she can’t afford to buy another Chanel outfit.
Marge: Oh, that would be a dream come true! I’ll be there with bells on.
Susan: Bells? Where exactly will you be attaching them to that mangled Chanel suit?
(Marge looks upset)
Evelyn: Oh, don’t worry, Marge. Her idea of wit is nothing more than an incisive observation humorously phrased and delivered with impeccable timing. I’m sure you’ll be a smash at the ball, and I just know you’ll have a lovely new outfit.
The constant suit-changing Marge does reflects how many different “masks” many autistic people have to cycle through. Not every behavior is appropriate for every setting: A fun, laidback persona may be suitable for your friends, but not with your boss. A mature, focused persona may be suitable with your boss, but not a child. A silly, goofy persona may be suitable for a child, but not with a stranger. Some people may cycle through these personas easier than others, especially if they naturally change their behavior for different contexts. However, for autistic people who don’t naturally shift like this or who don’t know what’s expected in each different situation, this may involve more work; you may have to stay up the night sewing up a new “mask” on your metaphorical “sewing machine.”
While altering the outfit for the ball, Homer and Lisa try and interact with Marge. She’s trying to focus on her suit and doesn’t have time for their less “acceptable” behavior. Homer tells Marge about his upcoming golf match against Mr. Burns and how much it could mean for him. Marge responds to this by discouraging him from making a scene and telling him that they can’t afford to “slip up:”
Homer: Oh, this game could mean big things for me, Marge. If I beat Mr. Burns, I mean, really wallop him bad… I’m sure to get that big raise I’ve been gunning for.
Marge: Alright, alright, but if you win, don’t make a scene and dance around with your “woohoo’s.” Please! We can’t afford a single slip-up. They’re judging us.
This is another scene that puts a large spotlight on the divide between Marge’s masking and her family’s unmasked behavior. Marge is completely focused on what the neurotypical crowd thinks of her and her family. They can’t afford a single slip-up, they’re being judged. These are mindsets that many autistic people feel once they get entrenched in masking and fitting in: that they need to avoid any possible slips of the mask or else everything could come “tumbling down.”
To achieve this social “perfection,” this causes us to bottle up our autistic expressions. Homer’s potential celebratory behavior definitely plays into the autism allegory quite a bit: though autistic people are oftentimes unexpressive in more neurotypical senses, (E.G. facial expression, typical body language) many of us are more expressive in other ways. When excited, we’re much more likely to flap our hands, spin, jump up and down, squeal, and yell. Much of our expressiveness is directed towards stimming.
However, many of these behaviors are considered immature or strange, especially when done by an adult and especially when done in a more mature environment. As an adult man, Homer would fall into the category of people who would be considered “socially inappropriate” for this behavior; his “dancing around” would be considered embarrassing to an allistic person or someone who’s deeply internalized anti-autistic mindsets.
After Homer proceeds to leave the room, Lisa steps in and offers more rowdy behavior. She’s deeply excited by her recent encounters with horses at the club, and tries to share her excitement and interest with Marge. Lisa speaks quickly and excitedly about horses, all while Marge is becoming increasingly frustrated by Lisa’s ramblings. After Lisa begins to repeatedly call for her mother’s attention, Marge turns around and yells at her, causing her to leave the room.
Lisa: Mom, did you like horses when you were my age? ’Cause I heard —
Marge: I don’t know. Lisa, tonight is very important. Mommy has to alter her suit so it looks like a totally new one.
Lisa: (talking quickly) Mom, do you want to know the 15 reasons I like horses better than cars? One —
Marge: (Lisa talking in the background) I really need to concentrate on this. Would you mind just —
Lisa: You know how a horse goes like this? Mom!
Marge: (Lisa yelling “whee, whee” and “Mom” in the background) I’ve altered this so many times, it’s nearly impossible to —
Lisa: (yelling) Whee! Whee! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!
Marge: (yelling) Lisa, please!
(Lisa stares at her and then runs out of the room)
In this scene, Lisa is infodumping on Marge. The excitement and passion indicates that she has a strong interest in these horses, such as a hyperfixation or a special interest. However, Marge is so focused on remaking her suit that she doesn’t have the capacity to humor Lisa’s infodump. Because of this, she lashes out at her.
When autistics get this caught up in fitting in and masking, they often tend not to nurture their unmasked side. They avoid stimming because it’s considered embarrassing and they suppress infodumps because it’s considered annoying. Oftentimes, when so much ableism is internalized, they themself will start to believe that these autistic displays are embarrassing, annoying, and unlikable. Though Marge is usually more supportive of Lisa’s passion, the amount of energy she’s spent on her suit (her “mask”) and the amount of (ableist) bias she’s internalized has caused her to lose tolerance for her family’s differences, with any attention she directs towards it being to discourage them or lash out, much like how many autistic people only focus on their autism just to discourage themself from unmasking or self-loathe.
Marge’s frustration makes Lisa stop in her tracks and run off. Even though she’s in her own home and out of the country club, even now she has to concern herself with being “tolerable” to others. When autistics get caught up in the sort of mindset that Marge has internalized, we oftentimes start feeling unwelcome to behave autistically, even in our own homes and even if we live alone or with people who accept us; we start to suppress our stimming and infodumping at home, sometimes to the point where we stop suppressing it — by consciously preventing it when these traits are about to become obvious — and start repressing it — by suppressing these needs so much they stop visibly occurring.
However, neither suppression nor repression are without a cost. After Lisa exits the room, Marge continues to alter the suit until she’s finished. However, she accidentally restarts the sewing machine while holding the dress partially away from it, causing the dress to be torn and destroyed. Shocked, Marge just sits down and stares into the distance.
Marge: At times like this, I guess all you can do is laugh.
(Marge sits down with a blank expression for several seconds until the scene fades)
When autistic people spend too much energy masking and not enough focusing on their autistic self-care needs, things will eventually “fall apart;” ironic, considering how autistic people — like Marge — get to this spot because of how hard they try to keep everything together.
How Marge, despite being distraught and saying that “all you can do is laugh,” just sits down, silent and expressionless, is reminiscent of a shutdown. When under extreme stress, many autistic people will shut down. Like what Marge expresses, this oftentimes results in a lack of speech, movement, or expression. Having just undergone a situation that potentially ruined her social life, she’s shut down.
“How awful we really are”
After her dress is destroyed, Marge desperately searches for a new one. First she asks her sisters, Patty and Selma, whose only dresses are too big and too tight, neither of which being professional regardless of their sizing. Second she goes to the same discount store she got the first suit from, which doesn’t have any high-quality clothing, but does have a shipment of slightly burnt Sears activewear on the way, which only Cletus takes interest in. Finally, she decides to go to Chanel itself to buy a new dress.
When the family is about to head out to the ball, they all take notice of Marge’s new dress and praise it. Lisa, being an inquisitive individual, asks Marge a variety of questions on the subject, which causes Marge to lash out at her once again:
Lisa: You mean it’s a new dress? Where did you get it?
Marge: …The outlet store.
Lisa: Wow! Two finds in one store. What are the odds?
Marge: Call it fate. Let’s go!
Lisa: How much did it cost?
Marge: (increasingly frustrated) A dollar. Let’s go!
Lisa: With tax or without?
Marge: Without! Let me go!
Lisa: So, with tax, how much was it?
Marge: (yelling) Why do you always have to question everything I do?
(Lisa goes silent and shrinks in on herself, looking frightened)
Lisa: (speaking quietly) You look nice, is all.
Once again, this acts as another scene of Marge lashing out at Lisa for her autistic traits. Many autistic people are quite inquisitive and feel the need to know everything about a subject. Sometimes, this is in the form of a fixation, in which we get deep enjoyment and satisfaction from learning more. Sometimes, we need to know more information about a situation than most neurotypicals so we can either understand it or become comfortable with it. Sometimes, we just want to know. Lisa’s questions seem to fall into the last category in that she wants to know everything about the dress just to know. Even these questions on their own are very “autistic,” as most allistic children (and many autistic children, as well) would be extremely uninterested in hearing about prices, clothing tags, and taxes.
However, just like in the earlier scene, Marge has no tolerance remaining for Lisa’s talkativeness. She’s expended so much of her energy on fixing/replacing her “mask” and now has to focus the rest of her energy on interacting with the socialites/neurotypicals that she feels she can’t afford to pay any excess attention to Lisa’s question-asking.
Once the family pulls up to the ball and realizes that they have valet parking, Marge insists on the family walking to the building due to the imperfections in their car. Homer tries to plead with Marge to let them park there, but Marge removes the keys from the running car and the family has to approach the building by foot, once again portraying Marge’s need to perform perfectly in front of the socialites.
When they’re close to the ball, the family (sans Marge and Maggie) discuss what they plan to do at the ball. Homer plans to say something vulgar that he apparently wasn’t allowed to say on the radio, Bart plans to swindle an old woman out of her money, and Lisa plans to ask the attendees if they know their servants’ last names or their butlers’ first. Marge turns and snaps at all of them to behave:
Marge: No, no, no! Not tonight! No vulgarity, no mischief, no politics. Just be good!
(The whole family aside from Marge is visibly ashamed)
Bart: I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll behave.
Lisa: I won’t say anything controversial.
Homer: I just won’t say anything. Okay, honey?
(Marge glares at Maggie, causing her to stop sucking on her pacifier. She then turns and walks away)
Homer: You kids should thank your mother. Now that she’s a better person… we can see how awful we really are.
After all of Marge’s internalization of the ableism she’s been subjected to, it finally gets to her family in full, being made to believe that they’re “awful” for their rowdier, unmasked personalities.
If we break the roles of Marge as an over-masked autistic and her family as this same individual’s autistic traits, this can also show how many autistics get to the point Marge was at. Unlike Marge, who simply bought her “mask” in a store, most autistic people in real-life do go through a chain of rejections and ableism before they get to her point. (Though some of us do mask without experiencing significant rejection or simply never end up masking) For many of us, things like being repeatedly treated as a nuisance, yelled at, criticized, and told to act differently is what causes folks to become as invested in masking as Marge.
Of course, ableism can be internalized through more covert methods. Personally, when I masked more consistently, I was doing it because of the subtextual neurotypical expectations I was given and the negative portrayals of autistic traits (though often not on explicitly autistic characters. More often than not, they’re generally just labelled as “crazy” or “annoying”) in media. However, that doesn’t negate the fact that such blatant intolerance towards autistic expressions is incredibly likely to lead an individual down the path of over-masking and burning out.
After hearing Homer’s comment, she runs back to them and compliments them, saying she likes Homer’s “in-your-face humanity,” how Lisa speaks her mind, and she… likes Bart. (Despite her lack of specific praise towards him, Bart is still made happy by this compliment)
Unfortunately, if we are to view this story as an allegory for masking, this does have a much happier ending than many real-life situations, as many autistic people take their insecurities as further motivation to keep masking, as opposed to a reason to reverse course.
She then reveals that she spent the family’s savings on the dress, to which everyone else gasps in shock.
Homer: Our savings?
Marge: Don’t worry. I saved the receipt. We’ll have a $3,300 credit at Chanel.
This — on top of everything else Marge went through to fit in — reflects how many ways autistic people bankrupt themselves trying to fit in. All of her emotional energy was drained when her dress was destroyed, her physical energy was depleted when insisting on walking to the ball, and her finances were depleted to replace the dress. Many autistic people in real-life go through similar processes, putting themself through emotional, physical, and sometimes even financial hardship if it means they’ll be accepted by their neurotypical peers.
Deciding to ditch the ball entirely, the family instead decides to go to Krusty Burger.
Squeaky-voiced teen (real name: Jeremy Freedman): Hey, did you guys just come from the prom?
Bart: Sort of.
Marge: But you know, we realized we’re more comfortable in a place like this.
(Jeremy nods before transitioning to a surprised expression)
Jeremy: Man, you’re crazy! This place is a dump. Oh, man! I’d be anywhere except this place. That’s for sure.
This closing scene is also reflective of how many autistic people find comfort in things that most neurotypicals would view as subpar and discomfort in things that most neurotypicals enjoy. Many autistic people — myself included — would much rather go to a familiar, cheap restaurant than go to an unfamiliar, fancier one. Though while masked, many autistics will take to fashionable clothes, parties, and more popular activities, when unmasked, many of us will more naturally take to more comfortable clothes, isolated environments, and niche interests. Though people like Jeremy may not understand why someone would enjoy these things, and view these things as “crazy” and something they have zero interest in even remotely participating in, it offers a personal sense of comfort for the autistic person participating in it.
All things considered, I highly doubt that this was even remotely made to be an allegory for anything related to neurodivergence. To my knowledge, nobody who worked on this episode was neurodivergent, let alone autistic. More likely than not, this was just supposed to be what it was portrayed as: Marge getting caught up in trying to impress the upper-class. However, that doesn’t change the fact that it clicks perfectly into the role of a masking allegory.
