Every time I walk into a public bathroom with my autistic, preschool-aged son, I instinctively do a visual sweep. Are there paper towel dispensers, or do they have air dryers? Does the toilet flush automatically or manually? Is there anyone in a stall who might flush unexpectedly, which may trigger him to have an unpleasant sensory reaction?
If there are any air dryers or automatic flush mechanisms, I know what comes next. My son will reflexively cover his ears, prompting me to help him use the bathroom and make sure no sudden, loud sounds take him by surprise. If there aren’t, most of the time he’ll simply say, “The people who built this bathroom must have known I don’t like them,” and finish his business as normal. But it always makes me wonder—what is normal? Why are we, as a society, so tied to conforming to whatever “normal” is? And why are our public, social spaces—from restaurants and museums to bars and brewery taprooms—so often designed without taking into consideration the many neurodivergent visitors who will make use of them?
As language continues to evolve, so do the guidelines for respectful usage, with parameters set forth by people who exist within certain communities and identities. This piece uses identity-first language (“an autistic person”) rather than person-first (“a person with autism”) when discussing neurodivergence, unless a direct quote specifies otherwise. This is following autism advocacy guidelines from organizations such as the Autistic Women & Nonbinary Network, the Autistic Self Advocacy Network, and more. But when discussing physical differences, person-first language (“people with physical disabilities” rather than “disabled person”) is preferred by programs such as the Information, Guidance, and Training on the Americans with Disabilities Act, The Disability Visibility Project, and more.
The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC)’s Autism and Developmental Disabilities Monitoring (ADDM) Network reports that between 2009 and 2017, approximately one in six children aged three to 17 was diagnosed with a developmental disability (as reported by parents), ranging from attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) to autism spectrum disorder (ASD), developmental delays, and more. Autism diagnoses have continuously risen since the United States began tracking them in 2000, largely thanks to increased understanding of the disorder rather than an increase in actual numbers. Today, around one in every 54 children is autistic, and an estimated 5,437,988 adults in the United States have ASD.
But like so many other segments of society, gender and racial inequity abound in diagnoses of neurodiversity. Scientists haven’t yet pinpointed exactly why boys far outnumber girls when receiving an autism diagnosis: Some cite differences in the thickness of the brain’s cortex, while others point to preconceived gender biases, and beyond. Racial disparities have lessened over time, though white children remain the largest segment of autism diagnoses in the United States due to racist and socioeconomic barriers for non-white children, including “stigma, lack of access to healthcare services due to non-citizenship or low-income, and non-English primary language,” as reported by the CDC.
As awareness and acceptance of neurodiverse people continue to grow, society’s inclusion infrastructure remains woefully lacking in accommodations for less visible disabilities, such as for people with mental or emotional differences. The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), which prohibits discrimination against people with disabilities, was only passed in 1990—just over 30 years ago. It included statutes like prohibiting employers from “discriminating against qualified individuals with disabilities in all aspects of employment,” outlined design standards to accommodate equipment like wheelchairs, required closed-captioning of federally funded public service announcements, and required that “they [private places of public accommodation] take steps necessary to communicate effectively with customers with vision, hearing, and speech disabilities.”
However, because the ADA doesn’t spell out guidelines to specifically address neurodivergence, accommodations for neurodivergent people—especially adults—tend to get overlooked or strategically ignored when new businesses launch for reasons ranging from apathy and ignorance to misconceptions about cost. The hospitality industry doles out various awards for restaurant and bar design, but most are aesthetic rather than functional, and while there’s still a very long way to go for accommodations for people with physical disabilities, neurodiversity inclusion is often an afterthought, if not completely absent. In my research for this piece, I was not able to connect with one single hospitality design firm that specializes in creating neurodivergent-friendly spaces. It’s not that they don’t exist, although very few do, and the ones that do tend to focus on spaces dedicated to fields with higher-than-average numbers of neurodivergent employees, such as IT or engineering.
Danielle Sullivan, a neurodiversity coach who is also autistic, has worked at a number of restaurants and other hospitality spaces around Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. In her experience, accommodations for neurodivergent customers are extraordinarily rare. “I can’t recall ever going to a restaurant or brewery that offered accommodations for neurodivergent guests,” she says. “Some places have options like rotating bar stools that can function as fidgets, but it doesn’t seem to be a high priority in any place I’ve patronized.”
So who is prioritizing hospitality design and services for neurodivergent guests and employees? In craft beer, there are few, but two breweries jump to the forefront: Brewability Lab in Englewood, Colorado and Perkiomen Valley Brewery in Green Lane, Pennsylvania.
Before getting into the interview questions for this piece, Kelly Weiss and I talked for at least half an hour about our kids. Her two sons are also autistic, and it was the first time I’d ever spoken one-on-one to another parent with kids on the spectrum. The sheer validation of talking to someone who really gets it, for the first time, made me realize the profound importance of empathy rather than sympathy. Of relying on community rather than self-sufficiency. It brought me to tears.
“We know what it’s like to be the parents going into a space and you’re white-knuckling it the whole time,” says Weiss. “We also have the few experiences where you walk into a space and you don’t have to do that. I know, as a mom, there were times when I didn’t have to go that 80, 90% and somebody was meeting me more in the middle—there were times where I’ve actually cried. Just to be noticed and recognized that you exist, and that they planned for you before you even got there.” Those exceptions of proactive rather than reactive inclusion remain rare in the beverage alcohol world.
“I can’t recall ever going to a restaurant or brewery that offered accommodations for neurodivergent guests. Some places have options like rotating bar stools that can function as fidgets, but it doesn’t seem to be a high priority in any place I’ve patronized.”
After dabbling in homebrewing and seeing how engaged their two sons were in the process, Weiss and her husband opened Perkiomen Valley in 2019. A big reason for launching an actual brewery was to create a space to employ their sons, as well as others with cognitive differences. This foresight wasn’t paranoia—it was practicality. Recruiting software firm Headstart reports 52% of neurodivergent people “claimed to have experienced discrimination during interview or selection processes” and in the U.S., “less than half of autistic adults are employed … 30 percent of those without employment say they were simply unable to find a job.” Additionally, 60% of adults diagnosed with ADHD “said they’d lost or changed a job and attributed the job loss to their ADHD symptoms.”
Before opening the brewery, Weiss was a special education advocate, giving her a larger-than-average vocabulary and wealth of experience navigating the bureaucracy of inclusion. She knows that accommodation isn’t just for people with the privilege of a diagnosis. It’s an inevitability that must be planned for. “You will end up being a person with a disability, if you have the good fortune of living long enough,” she says. “How you are interacting and treating people with disabilities now is laying the framework for how you want to be treated later.”
Perkiomen Valley’s taproom includes features for both physical accessibility as well as for neurodivergent patrons, such as a sensory room (a separate area equipped with calming toys, accessories, and decor geared towards people with sensory processing issues), wider door openings for easier mobility, an adult changing table, LED daylight lighting design, and a serene color palette that starkly contrasts with the typical industrial settings many craft breweries lean towards. But Weiss maintains the space isn’t designed only for neurodivergent guests. It’s a place for anyone—regardless of diagnosis, function, or needs—to come and simply enjoy community without fear, prejudice, or inconvenience. And while every aspect was intentional, Weiss says the costs remained in-line with spaces that are not specifically designed for physical and cognitive accommodations. She points to things like adding plants, including dyslexia-friendly fonts on printed menus, adjusting music volume, and even switching light bulbs to a more natural sunny hue as simple, low-cost changes anyone can implement.
Plus, designing for disability is just good business. “One in four people have a disability, whether you can see it or not,” Weiss explains. “You are leaving 25% of your revenue on the opposite side of the door because they can’t get into the goddamn thing to enjoy your product.”
Towards the end of our conversation, she sighs, pointing to a number of equitably minded organizations that often leave out disability in discussions about diversity (as well as some, like URevolution, she considers to be doing it right). But conversations around inclusion must include neurodiversity as well as physical disabilities to be truly intersectional. “We’re not asking for special treatment,” says Weiss. “We’re just asking ‘remember that we exist.’ That would be a cool place to start.”
After working in a number of group homes and adult day care facilities, Tiffany Fixter knew long-term, sustainable, and non-exploitative employment opportunities for people with disabilities and neurodivergent adults were few and far between. So she decided to create a new one: Brewability Lab. “Breweries are community spaces,” she says, “They [adults with disabilities] are so hidden from society, still. I wanted to do something that was customer-facing, front and center of the social scene.”
Like Weiss, Fixter’s path from special education teacher to craft beer emerged from a desire to change the narrative and increase employment opportunities for adults with different needs and skills. But it hasn’t been a comfortable or easy journey. Brewability’s first location, in an industrial park in northeast Denver, was off main roads and difficult for transportation services to spot. When they opened a pizzeria in nearby Cherry Creek, Fixter says the more affluent community was reluctant to patronize an establishment that openly embraced physical and cognitive differences as part of its ethos. Eventually, low sales, plus a steady stream of internet trolls and anonymous hate letters, led to opening their newest location in Englewood, which Fixter describes as the best fit yet (despite some lingering harassment in May 2021).
“One in four people have a disability, whether you can see it or not. You are leaving 25% of your revenue on the opposite side of the door because they can’t get into the goddamn thing to enjoy your product.”
“It’s a very mixed neighborhood of varying abilities,” says Fixter, pointing to a nearby hospital and Colorado Center for the Blind as compatible neighbors. “I think that’s helped a lot.”
Brewability’s design incorporates similar aspects to Perkiomen Valley, including a sensory room, noise-canceling headphones, wiggle seats, adaptive menus, weighted silverware, plate guards, and even a tactile Lite Brite wall, which Fixter describes as one of the most popular features. “The sensory area does take up quite a bit of space, but we try to make sure that it’s a fun space and it’s not just for people with autism,” says Fixter. “It becomes a space where everyone wants to go.”
Even when sourcing equipment, Fixter says she looks to balance sustainability alongside inclusion, while ensuring everyone’s needs are met. She points to drinking straws, which became a hot-button issue for environmentalists a few years ago. “Paper straws disintegrate, and I don’t think they’re necessarily great for people who really need straws,” she says. “We try to balance it as best as we can,” going on to say they specifically source items like toilet paper from companies that embrace sustainability as well as inclusion in their own hiring practices, such as Adore Bath Tissue.
Despite Brewability’s struggles, Fixter hopes their model of inclusivity inspires others to follow suit. “We’re just like everybody else. Honestly, we’ve had huge trucker guys fall to their knees and cry because they’ve bullied people like our bartenders,” she says. “I think just seeing it work changes peoples’ minds.” And, she adds, considering how much craft beer spouts values like community, she hopes seeing how diverse different communities actually are can help beer fans finally realize it’s about so much more than “just beer.”
Expanding accommodations to embrace neurodiverse guests doesn’t have to be expensive. Headstart’s report claims that with an average of $1,006, employers can make a workplace dyslexia-friendly—which is a fraction of what it costs to replace an employee (an average of $5,300). Business strategy firm The Diversity Movement offers training courses like “Disability Etiquette: Creating an Environment of Inclusion” to help people learn “inclusive language for disability inclusion, best practices for respectful behavior, and the overarching principles of disability etiquette.” Conducting a website audit to ensure you are following UX best practices for neurodiverse people may only cost you some time. And if you have an hour to spare, watch BlaQ & Soul’s Toni Boyce and Beer.Diversity’s Ren Navarro describe their first-hand experiences being Black, queer, and neurodiverse, as well as offer suggestions on how craft breweries can create more inclusive spaces for neurodiverse patrons in their discussion “Infinite Poss-Abilites: Neurodivergence and Beer.”
It might even be as simple as evaluating taproom noise levels. Chris Norman, a U.K.-based craft beer blogger who identifies as neurodivergent and disabled, says attention to even that small detail goes a long way for him. “Many venues crank it way up in the evenings so that conversations have be shouted, and I can’t stand it—excess noise and shouted conversation is a huge sensory trigger for me,” he explains. “I’ve had to duck out of many evenings due to sensory overload caused by this. I love a ‘chilled’ environment to have a drink and a conversation in, and I need noise levels to be kept manageable for this to happen.”
Norman describes his ideal venue as one with “comfortable seating—not wooden benches—quiet music, fidget toys of some kind,” and a relaxing visual aid, like the liquid light shows at his favorite brewery, Liquid Light Brewing Company in Nottingham. Sullivan agrees, adding signage and staff training as huge benefits to support neurodivergent guests. “Even having a simple basket with some ear defenders and fidgets on the bar would make neurodivergent guests feel more welcome,” she says.
“Breweries are community spaces. They [adults with disabilities] are so hidden from society, still. I wanted to do something that was customer-facing, front and center of the social scene.”
But just as neurodiversity remains a spectrum, so do opinions about how to navigate a sometimes-hostile world, including whether or not to disclose one’s diagnosis for fear of retribution or bias. “Dammit, that’s got to change!” exclaims Weiss. “It’s your choice whether or not to disclose, but you should never be afraid to disclose because you are going to be perceived as less-than.” But, she insists, these types of ongoing conversations fostered in welcoming spaces, such as Perkiomen Valley’s taproom, help others to determine their own comfort levels. “Because we’ve disclosed, it has become a safe space for other people to do the same thing.”
Ensuring safety and comfort for employees also remains paramount. Both Fixter and Weiss describe onboarding practices for new hires, as well as potential new hires, as a balancing act to ensure the businesses’ needs and the individuals’ needs are both met. “First question I always ask everyone is, ‘Do you want to work?’” says Fixter. “I always make sure that’s documented.” Weiss echoes similar exploitation-avoidance precautions in her hiring process, with an added note of resignation. “The biggest hardship, for me, for us, is parents coming to us and [asking], ‘Can our person work there? Can our son work there?’ And we’re so small, I don’t have that kind of availability. So on the advocacy end of it, that’s what I’d like to see the needle move on for all businesses—just more opportunities.”
Despite there being no one-size-fits-all answer to neurodiversity inclusion, there is one simple way to start: Listen and learn from neurodivergent people. “If you have questions about it, do some homework,” says Navarro in Infinite Poss-Abilities: Neurodivergence and Beer. “Talk to those who are willing to talk to you. Talk to the experts, follow accounts where that information is made available. And if you get it wrong, it’s like most things: Learn from it and try to retool it and see if you can make it a little better.”
It can feel difficult expanding an existing set of perceptions. “Inclusion is not easy. Inclusion is hard. It should stretch you as a human being,” says Weiss. “[But] every time I think, ‘This is hard,’ then I think, ‘Not as hard as it is for a person with a disability.’” And regardless of how hard the days are, the big picture makes it all worth it to Fixter and Weiss. “It’s really humbling,” says Weiss. “Rewarding. It’s everything.”
Words by Beth DemmonIllustrations by Ben Chlapek
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