I remember it as if it were yesterday… "What do you want to dress up as this year?" My grandmother asked me, and I told her I wanted to be a princess; I loved those long, big dresses.
She made it for me, as she did every year, with the same excitement as always, and I put it on with the same excitement as always, of course… but with a small nuance: for me, it wasn’t a costume; I was going to be a real princess for a while, I felt that way, I lived it… I had seen Sissi Empress so many times that I really got into character. But there was something that prevented me from enjoying it fully: the fabric itched a lot. The tiara dug into my temples. The glitter my mother put on my cheeks made me nervous… and there I was, holding it together.
Over the years, the themes changed, but the same challenge remained: unbearable fabrics, makeup that itched, horrible accessories, a stupid belief that girls had to show their legs while my friends were covered up to their noses and… the worst of all, that with so much change, I didn’t recognize anyone.
It’s very overwhelming to enter a costume party and not know who is who. Many ND individuals experience this: faces don’t stick with us; what we process more than features are external characteristics. Let me explain: I know that person has that haircut, those glasses, those earrings. If you change it, I might not recognize you instantly, or I might need to hear your voice to connect. Hence, I can’t stand costume parties.
I remember one specific party: I met up with a friend, and I was overwhelmed not being able to find her.
She was there. I know because they told me later. But her face was no longer her face.
I stood still in the middle of the room, not understanding what had happened. Not understanding why everyone was laughing while I just wanted to take everything off and go home.
Carnival is a celebration. I know. But I have never felt it that way completely.
And now, decades later, I still can’t fully explain it.
Why is it so hard for me?
Why is something that is fun for others, effort for me?
Why when February arrives, does my body say "no" before my mind can think?
WHEN FACES DISAPPEAR
It took me years to understand why this "no" was so automatic.
There’s something I often explain: I struggle to recognize faces.
It’s not that I don’t look at people. I do. But if I see you out of context, if you change your hairstyle, if you wear new glasses… I might walk past you without greeting you. Not because I don’t care. Because I literally don’t recognize you.
This has a name: prosopagnosia. Or in broader terms, difficulties in processing facial recognition, something common among many autistic individuals.
Our brain processes faces differently. Where other people see a whole (eyes-nose-mouth = "ah, it's Maria"), we see loose parts. And these parts change constantly: the light, the angle, the expression.
Now imagine that on top of that, your face is painted. That you are given a wig. That you are covered with white makeup, glitter, a mask.
The face disappears.
And with it, the person.
It's not dramatic. It's literal. My brain looks for reference points and can't find them. So I remain suspended in a strange space where everyone seems to know each other… except me.
And I can't explain it without it sounding like an exaggeration.
"Facial recognition in autistic individuals may depend more on external characteristics (like hair or clothing) than on internal facial features."
— Research on facial processing and autism, Baron-Cohen & colleagues.
THE NOISE THAT DOESN'T END
The carnival sounds.
It sounds loud, constant, unpredictable.
The floats pass by with music at full volume. The speakers distort. People shout, laugh, sing. The whistles, the firecrackers, the drums. All at the same time. Without pause.
And my brain can't filter.
While other people process the sound as "festive background noise," my nervous system processes it as a threat. Every whistle, every drumbeat, activates my alert system. It's not a choice. It's automatic.
It's called auditory hypersensitivity, and it's not "being dramatic" or "not knowing how to have fun." It's a different way of processing sensory information.
When the noise is too much, my body goes into survival mode: muscle tension, rapid breathing, urgent need to escape.
I am not enjoying. I am enduring.
And enduring is not celebrating.
"Atypical sensory processing can turn festive environments into real experiences of physiological overload."
— Verònica Martín
THE ITCHY FABRIC (AND IT'S NOT A METAPHOR)
Let's talk about costumes.
Those that come in shiny plastic bags. The ones that smell like chemicals. The ones with internal seams like threads. The ones that itch, scratch, squeeze, do not breathe.
For many neurodivergent people, the texture of clothing is constant sensory information. It doesn't go away. We don't "get used to" it.
This tag that touches the neck. This elastic that squeezes the waist. This synthetic fabric that makes the skin feel trapped.
It is not discomfort. It is sensory pain.
And when you are told "put on this costume", what they are asking you is to ignore signals from your body for hours. To act as if nothing is happening. To smile while your skin screams.
We can't always.
And that's okay.
"Tactile sensitivity is not a whim; it is a legitimate neurological response that deserves to be respected."
— Research on sensory processing, Miller et al.
WHEN EVERYONE IS DRESSED UP EXCEPT YOU
There is another layer to this.
It's not just that dressing up is difficult. It's that not dressing up is difficult too.
Because when everyone is wearing a mask and you are not, you stand out. And standing out can mean: questions, pressure, stares, comments.
"Aren't you dressing up? Why not? Don't you like it? Come on, cheer up."
And you don't know how to explain that it's not a lack of desire. That it's your body saying "I can't". That it's your brain overwhelmed before starting.
So sometimes you dress up. Not because you want to. Because it's easier than justifying yourself.
And then you spend the whole afternoon wanting to take it all off.
"Social masking not only occurs in the identity neurodivergent; it also literally occurs in situations where the social norm requires 'getting into character'.
— Verònica Martín
IT'S NOT THAT WE DON'T WANT TO CELEBRATE
It's important to say this.
It's not that neurodivergent people don't want to have fun. It's not that we are "boring" or "antisocial".
It's that our way of enjoying doesn't always align with the formats designed from the neurotypical perspective.
We can celebrate in small groups. In quiet spaces. With comfortable clothing. With music at a controlled volume. With familiar faces that don't change shape.
We can enjoy without a disguise. Without crowds. Without deafening noise.
And that is also valid.
"Social participation does not have a single correct form."
— Social model of disability, UN
To start wrapping up...
If this carnival you decide not to dress up, that's okay.
If you go and have to leave early, that's okay.
If you prefer to stay home while the world celebrates outside, that's okay too.
Your body knows what it needs. And it doesn't need justification.
How do you experience carnival? Do you feel something similar? Have you found ways to enjoy that respect your nervous system?
I hear you. And if you don't want to talk about it, I understand that too.
Verònica Martín
Director of ATIPICOS.org and A-Tipic Biointeriors