Lilo and Stitch: Autism Representation

So, what does autism have to do with Lilo and Stitch? While autism might not have been an intended part of Lilo’s character, many autistic viewers relate to her.

This may seem odd. Many if not all of her traits can be attributed to her parents’ deaths and the resulting stress, after all. Why can’t autistic viewers “stay in their lane” and stick with canonically autistic characters?

The truth is, many canonically autistic characters aren’t relatable to many people on the spectrum. Sometimes, when non-autistic (or allistic) actors and writers intentionally try to portray autism, they end up portraying stereotypes. These stereotypes might have some relevance on the surface, but they don’t go much deeper. Autistic viewers can’t always connect with them.

Lilo is different. She’s a girl (and we can always use more female characters that neurodivergent viewers can relate to) who is extroverted and at times intense. Most importantly, she grapples with being different.

“People treat me different.”

“They just don’t know what to say.”

As a little girl who didn’t know she was autistic, I related to Lilo. I noticed how people treated me when I was younger, and I had a suspicion that it was because I was different somehow. I related to her struggle.

I also got to see her be herself with true, unapologetic joy, and I got to see Nani support Lilo in the things that made her happy.

Still, almost everyone can relate to feeling out of place. So why do autistic viewers specifically relate to her? Let’s look at some qualities that make her relatable to this specific demographic (check out "Lilo and Stitch and Austitic Childhood" for a more in-depth analysis).

Special interests:

Lilo has specific, niche interests that are intrinsic to her character. Some of them make sense (who doesn’t love Elvis?), and some of them are a little more out-of-the-ordinary (taking pictures of tourists is a power move). She is six during the first movie but knows the term “blue period,” which is used to classify a time in which Pablo Piccaso painted in cold blue and green tones to reflect his struggles.

Lilo also has books like Oyster Farming: Is It For You?, Practical Voodoo, and Fire Eating (For Fun and Profit). She clearly has a mind fixated on several interests. I remember having books about different dog breeds on my shelf, books that were not meant for a nine-year-old girl. When Lilo has problems, she turns to them for comfort and engages with them deeply, much as I did with my books.

Bluntness:

When the social worker goes to shake Lilo’s hand, she tilts her head and reads his tattoo instead of offering any kind of a greeting (all kids do that, I hear you say! I encourage you to check out this article, “Is Everyone a Little Autistic?”). When she sees David, she also tells him that her sister is attracted to him in a very matter-of-fact way, unaware this might be a sensitive topic for both of them.

Misunderstanding cues:

Nani tries, again and again, to tell Lilo that she might be sent away, and Lilo, with all of her strong empathy, misunderstands Nani, thinking that she’s worried about her job. She’s also not aware of what’s socially unacceptable (why wouldn’t those girls like her doll with worms in its head?). She’s aware that she’s treated differently, yes, but she isn’t aware of what exactly makes her stand out.

Routine:

Lilo cannot miss Sandwich Day (I know this has significance with her personal trauma, but it’s something that people on the spectrum can relate to as well). She becomes distressed when a lack of peanut butter threatens her routine:

“Pudge can’t eat tuna! Do you know what tuna is?”

This distress causes her to be unable to participate in her dance lessons, another routine she cherishes. A young, autistic me watched this and felt the horror of Lilo’s routine being disrupted, and I saw that horror reflected in Lilo. Finally, I found someone else who gets “disproportionality upset” when things change.

Friendship:

Lilo yells “my friends!” when she sees the girls who have been purposefully ignoring her and mocking her. Not only has she missed cues, but she doesn’t have an understanding of what a good friend looks like. Again, I saw myself. Much of my childhood was spent calling my bullies “friends” for these same reasons.

So what?

Seeing a character with traits similar to mine being accepted and included in the Pelekai family still makes me tear up. So many intentionally autistic characters don’t check all of these boxes in the same, relatable way that Lilo does, at least for me.

Pointing to Lilo as an example of how I felt when I was younger also helps some of my neurotypical friends and peers understand me a little more -- maybe even understand autism a little more.

For this reason, "Lilo and Stitch" is among the few pieces of media that autistic people like me turn to for comfort, acceptance, and, most of all, recognition.

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I want to recognize the movie’s intended themes after diving into fan interpretations. Some of these themes include:

• The portrayal of Indigenous Hawaiians (a theme with strengths and faults still in debate and discussion).

• The presence of child welfare (specifically in Hawaii and among other Native Peoples, but also applicable to other groups).

• "Destructive monstrosities" being understood and accepted into a loving family.

There are plenty of people far more qualified to touch on these topics than I am, and I encourage you to do research in those areas and find the many valuable perspectives.

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