Zoe Simmons - 2025 Writers series
How to make events more accessible for autistic people
Going to events can be hard for anyone, but it can be even harder for those of us who are autistic, particularly if we also have other disabilities. Because despite how many organisations and people claim to care about diversity and inclusion, very few actually think about disabled and autistic needs, and even fewer cater for them.
Accessibility isn’t something we really talk about as a society. Autism—along with chronic illness, disability and mental health—is an extremely stigmatised topic, traditionally seen as ‘shameful’ and something to hide. Even now that most people are aware of autism, acceptance and inclusion lag far, far behind.
What does accessibility look like for autistic people?
Accessibility looks different for everyone. And it’s important to remember that many autistic people aren’t just autistic; they can have any number of chronic illnesses, disabilities, health conditions and other co-morbidities that might impact them. We can’t just look at specifically autistic accessibility—we have to look at accessibility in its entirety.
Some common event accessibility features include:
- Wheelchair accessibility throughout the event, including proper disabled bathrooms (if it has a hoist, even better!)
- Information provided in different formats that are accessible for people who are d/Deaf or Blind, using braille, subtitles, or Easy English versions for people with intellectual disabilities
- Signage (in a variety of formats)
- Seating for those who need it but might not have a mobility aid
- Consideration of walking distances and standing time for people who can’t stand or walk far
- Multiple breaks
- Sensory spaces with clear signage
- Minimisation of potentially intrusive scents, light and noise for those with sensory issues
- The ability to purchase tickets online
- Consideration of people using screen readers and assistive communication technology
- The provision of stim tools, earplugs and ear defenders
- Food that meets people’s dietary requirements, including texture preferences and safe food (safe food is different for everyone; if you’re not sure, ask!)
This isn’t an exhaustive list—but it’s a great start that most events get wrong.
Autistic accessibility gone wrong
As someone who works in the disability advocacy, leadership and business space, I tend to go to a lot of events—and it’s both shocking and not shocking how often accessibility either isn’t considered, or the so-called solutions are so awful, it’s actually worse than if they’d done nothing.
Like once, I was asked to speak about accessibility to government. But because it wasn’t accessible, I couldn’t get there.
Another time, I literally won an award for excellence in diversity and inclusion at an event. I was on stage, being praised for my work with accessibility and inclusion, only to be severely harmed by their lack of inclusion. They thought the best space to put the autistic person was right next to the very loud speakers that played much-too-loud music throughout the event, and even more loudly during designated conversation times. Instead of being able to speak and connect with people at my table, I was hyperventilating with my hands over my ears, trying not to cry from the overwhelm and the fact that I just couldn’t converse with people like everyone else at the table. But that’s the thing: non-disabled and non-autistic people don’t understand what it’s like to have access needs, and how harmful it can be when they’re not met.
I’d advocated for accessibility before the event, and because of me, they’d created a sensory room, which they promoted as part of the event. But it wasn’t really a sensory room. It was actually a random storage room where performers kept their bags, clothes and stuff. You couldn’t even turn the lights off in the room or close the door for quiet. I sat in the corner with my head in my hands, breathing and trying to cope with the extreme sensory overload. And to put the cherry on top, there was no signage, so when I was zooming away from the noise for some solace, I had no idea where to go—I had to ask the event organiser. What would I have done if I hadn’t been able to find her, or if I wasn’t able to verbally speak?
Honestly, I could share so many stories about bad access. Like the autistic event where the disabled bathroom didn’t have plumbing connected. Or the ‘accessible’ restaurant that required me to ride with literal garbage in an elevator. Or the ‘ramp’ that was just a dangerous plank of wood that cracked as my chair rolled over it.
People just don’t seem to care. But they should. Because access can make all the difference.
When autistic accessibility goes well
Mostly, event organisers get accessibility wrong. But when they get it right… it’s beautiful.
When a space isn’t accessible, it sends the message that it simply isn’t a space for you—not unless you can fit yourself into non-disabled, non-autistic boxes.
So when you go to an event that considers all your access needs, it’s genuinely such a heart-warming, welcoming, wholesome feeling. For me, this was most recently at last year’s Yellow Ladybugs conference. They’d asked me to improve their accessibility for future events after issues at previous ones, and as a result, the conference was an accessibility dream. Wheelchair accessible. Lowered lighting. Lowered tables for wheelchairs. Stim tools and headphones available. Foods that catered to dietary and sensory needs. Clear communication. Subtitles. No loud background music. Multiple sensory spaces, including ones with screens to continue watching the conference. And most beautiful of all: a whole bunch of autistic people, together, celebrating neurodivergence and celebrating what it’s like when we have that beautiful access and connection.
Accessibility really benefits everybody, and it’s not that hard to make your events accessible if you consider accessibility from the start. If you’re not sure, that’s okay too; you can hire a disabled or autistic accessibility consultant. That’s what we’re here for.