I Study People: Autism, Pattern Recognition, and Why It Unsettles Workplaces

I study people. 

Not in a weird way. Well, depending on who you ask. 

Being autistic in the workplace is hard. Subtext doesn’t always click. It’s messy, cluttered, and unreliable. That leads to assumptions: that we don’t understand social cues, that we need everything spelling out. Those assumptions aren’t just wrong; they’re infantilising. 

Here’s the irony: while I don’t do subtext, I’m very good at spotting patterns. And that skill, noticing what others miss, is both my biggest strength and one of the reasons workplaces don’t always know what to do with me. 

I’m not alone in this. Too often, autistic people’s strengths are overlooked or misunderstood, especially when they don’t fit neatly into traditional ways of working.

Patterns vs Subtext 

The two often get confused. Subtext is the unspoken meaning you’re expected to read between the lines. Patterns are behaviours repeated over time that reveal what’s really going on. 

I don’t do subtext. I do patterns. 

I study people every time I meet them. Not just the first meeting, but every meeting. Where neurotypical people read cues unconsciously, I do it consciously. I had to teach myself to observe because it doesn’t come automatically. 

That effort makes me sharper. It’s not passive. It’s deliberate. And sometimes, after years of practice, the instinct runs so deep it feels subconscious. My body notices before my brain catches up. 

You might call it ethnography, the art of watching people and writing it down. For me, it’s just getting through the day. My friends have another name for it entirely. 

The Sam Test 

At university, I realised this skill was good for more than just sensing when something felt off. 

I became the walking red-flag detector. Friends would parade new partners and one-night stands in front of me, and within a minute I had them clocked. They’d roll their eyes, ignore me until the next morning, and then admit I was right. 

“How did you know?” they’d ask. To which I’d valiantly, like a knight in shining armour, reply: autism. 

My friends dubbed this The Sam Test. Not built on stereotypes, but on subtle observation. 

Here’s the not-so-little secret: I don’t always know why. Sometimes it’s the way someone scans the room, or how they hold themselves. I can’t name it in the moment, but I can feel it. 

So move over Andrew Garfield. Here comes The Autistic Spider-Man. 

The Sam Test might be a running joke among friends, but in the workplace, the same instinct has serious consequences. 

 

Respect Is the Baseline 

Even when my instincts tell me to be cautious, I still treat everyone with respect. 

I’ll use your name. I’ll use your pronouns. I’ll be polite. Everyone deserves that baseline. 

But anything beyond that - trust, credibility, and respect for your judgement - has to be earned. Not by the job title on your email signature, but by your candour and your reputation. 

I’ll always respect the role and the chain of command. Respecting you as a leader comes down to your actions. 

Respect is the baseline. But respect alone isn’t enough when you’re responsible for keeping things running. That’s where pattern recognition becomes a strength. 

When Pattern Recognition Saves the Day 

Pattern recognition isn’t just about spotting red flags in friendships. It’s a workplace strength too. 

In one role, I was responsible for maintaining a system that senior leadership made major changes to without consulting me. Within minutes, I could see the consequences: a loss of momentum, broken processes, and targets at risk. I flagged it immediately. The response? “Leadership knows best.” 

Months later, the very problems I predicted had arrived. What took them months to realise, I spotted in minutes. That wasn’t ego. It was pattern recognition. 

Here’s the frustrating part: because of my autism, I take a great amount of pride in my work. I take wins positively, and failures to heart. For me, it’s a reflection of what I’ve built, and I’m proud of that. To feel helpless as I watched my work be changed, knowing it would break, was gut-wrenching. 

I felt helpless. I felt demotivated. I felt like the captain of the Titanic moments before it hit the iceberg, knowing there was nothing I could do but watch the inevitable demise. 

This is what so many autistic people face at work: seeing the cracks before anyone else, and being ignored until the damage is irreversible. 

Why It Unsettles People 

Noticing patterns and pointing them out isn’t only seen as challenging ideas. It’s seen as challenging hierarchy itself. 

When you see patterns others miss, you sometimes end up breaking the chain of command by mistake. Not because you mean to, but because you have insight worth sharing and the courage to voice it. 

The best managers welcome that. They give their teams freedom to fly. They encourage ideas to rise above job titles. They let junior staff contribute to, and even lead, strategy when the idea is strong. They know leadership isn’t about guarding the table, but making it bigger. 

The worst managers suppress it. They hold rigidly to organisational charts. They let the echo chamber of senior leadership drown out the fresh thinking of their own people. In doing so, they shut down growth. 

The Story I Want to Tell 

So when I say “I study people”, this is what I mean. I don’t always catch subtext, but I recognise patterns. 

I don’t assume a title equals credibility, but I watch for the actions that earn it. I don’t believe in quick wins, but I believe in strong foundations. 

That’s the story of how I move through the world as a neurodivergent professional. It’s also the story of why workplaces should take us seriously. 

Because if you want leaders who see the cracks before they appear, who question flimsy fixes, and who build on something real, you should be listening to the neurodivergent people in the room. 

We’re not missing the point. 

We’re pointing it out.