The Problem with ‘Professionalism’ When You’re Neurodivergent and Gay as Hell

A spicy take on corporate culture vs. showing up authentically.

Let’s just say it: “Professionalism” is often just code for “Act neurotypical, straight, and boring enough to make Karen in HR feel safe.”

And I’ve tried, okay? I’ve done the buttoned-up polos. I’ve white-knuckled through meetings trying not to stim or word-vomit every idea in my head. I’ve filtered my voice, toned down the weird, and squeezed my big queer, neurospicy energy into the tight-ass khakis of corporate expectation.

Spoiler alert: It didn’t fit.

The Corporate Code Switch

If you’re neurodivergent and queer, you’ve probably learned to shape-shift like a damn social chameleon. Smile just right. Don’t overshare. Don’t under-share. Make eye contact (but not too much or you’ll get labeled intense). Don’t say “vibes” in a business email. Don’t wear the lightning bolt earrings. Don’t be too much.

It’s exhausting. And it’s fake. And the kicker? It still doesn’t guarantee respect, success, or safety.

Professionalism is a Moving Target

Here’s the tea: “Professionalism” has been weaponized against people who are different for a long time. It favors whiteness. It favors neurotypical behavior. It favors cishet performance. It favors people who don’t ask “why?” too loudly. And it definitely favors people who don’t walk into a meeting wearing a graphic tee that says “Fueled by Dopamine.”

But here's the wild thing—when I stopped trying to play the game, I started winning. For real.

What Showing Up Authentically Actually Looks Like

For me, it looks like:

• Wearing black everything because color coding is sensory chaos.

• Saying “I have AUDHD and need you to email that to me or it’ll vanish into the ether.”

• Laughing too loud.

• Using humor and memes in pitch decks.

• Designing brands with heart, chaos, and personality because that’s how my brain works best.

• Refusing to hide the fact that I’m queer, neurodivergent, and probably thinking about WNBA stats or a weird TikTok while you’re talking.

It turns out, authenticity is a magnet. When I stopped trying to pass and started letting people see all of me, the right people found me—and trusted me. They felt safe with someone who showed up real, because they could too.

The Bottom Line

If professionalism requires me to mute myself, it’s not professionalism. It’s erasure. And I didn’t fight this hard to find myself just to tone it down for someone else’s comfort.

So yeah. I’m Nicko. I’m neurospicy. I’m gay as hell. And I make killer brands for people who are tired of fitting in.