A knife hovers over the cake, while people are waiting in anticipation for it to be cut open.
“I think it’ll be blue.”
“I’m guessing red.”
“What if it’s white?”
Illustration by Fenne Dolmans
When I first stumbled upon a video of a diagnosis reveal party, the “trendy” vibe it carried gave me a sense of discomfort. When I brought it up with fellow psychology students, they shared this feeling. That unease is grounded in an element of truth; attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) and autism spectrum disorder (ASD) are clinical disorders after all. Yet the videos of reveal parties are not an isolated phenomenon. The internet is full of videos with captions such as “POV: you are the ADHD friend” or “If you do these 10 things, you probably have autism”. ADHD and ASD have their own branches on social media, with entire accounts dedicated to the topic that attract millions of followers (@adhd_memetherapy).
This popularity makes sense, as the content of the videos is highly relatable. We all occasionally lose our keys, have difficulty with change, or get distracted. But relating to an experience is not the same as having the diagnosis associated with it. A disorder is characterized by a persistent pattern of abnormal behaviors that cause significant distress (American Psychological Association., 2018). The popularization of neurodevelopmental disorders can make their associated traits more salient in our daily lives. Because traits stand out, people tend to notice them in themselves. Suddenly, losing your keys is not just you being in a hurry, but a sign of something more.
I see this popularity as a risk because it blurs the diagnostic boundary, as these traits are not only reported more often, but also interpreted through a diagnostic lens, pathologizing everyday struggles in the process. Struggles that were previously regarded as completely normal are now seen as something that calls for clinical intervention. Especially in a world that has higher and higher demands, it is nice to have an explanation for why you might not live up to these expectations. This is problematic, especially now that the pressure on the mental healthcare industry is immense, and waitlists are endless. The growing demand can thus make it harder for those with substantial support needs to access help more quickly, which is illustrated by the 23-week-long waiting period (De Nederlandse GGZ, 2025). As such, throwing a party for something that by definition causes considerable distress may feel insensitive, as it undermines the struggles a diagnosis comes with. However, once this initial feeling of discomfort had passed, I started thinking about the broader significance of the reveal party, why diagnoses are being celebrated, and why now.
“The same visibility that might risk trivialising diagnosis also changes the lens through which its struggles are seen.”
Not so long ago, it was common for teachers to refer to children with ADHD as problem children, based on the assumption that they would only cause disruption. The term “autist” was a routine insult in my high school. Both of these are examples of social stigma, which occurs when a large group accepts ideas that portray neurodevelopmental disorders as disruptive and strange (Corrigan & Calabrese, 2001). If an insult is repeatedly built around a diagnosis you have, it is hard not to apply this judgment to yourself. Research links this self-stigma to lower self-esteem and poorer mental health outcomes (Mueller et al., 2012). It is therefore not surprising that depression and anxiety are more common among those with ASD and ADHD (Capp et al., 2025). The shame that comes with these diagnoses is so profound, it can even decrease the likelihood of disclosing their difficulties or seeking support (Mueller et al., 2012). In this context, a party around a diagnosis marks a huge change.
The same visibility that might risk trivialising diagnosis also changes the lens through which its struggles are seen. What was previously regarded as a sign of disruption or something worth scrutinizing has now become a relatable feature. This relatability can reduce the distance between symptoms and our own experiences. To refer back to the key example, everybody misplaces their keys sometimes. Recognising that frustration makes it easier to understand how draining it can be to lose track of items repeatedly. When we can connect someone’s experiences with something familiar in our own lives, it fosters understanding that makes it harder to dismiss struggles accompanying a diagnosis. Perceived familiarity has even been linked to more empathetic and supportive responses (Stürmer & Snyder., 2009), and when these shared struggles become more openly discussed, it might lower the barrier for disclosure. If someone can expect understanding rather than ridicule, asking for help may feel less daunting. While the struggles do not disappear, the social consequences of living with them are fading. It takes both openness and support to turn a diagnosis into a celebration.
“The cake can be seen as a token of a world in which there is more room for difference.”
While recognition is valuable, many practical barriers faced by people with ADHD and ASD remain. This is where the neurodiversity paradigm (De & Basu, 2025) becomes useful. It views neurological variation as a natural diversity in human biology. But then what is normal, or better said, what signifies typical neural development? Neurotypical refers to people whose behavior and thinking fit dominant social expectations, which reflect what is common. This is exactly where the barriers lie: what is common is not necessarily better, but it is what institutions are designed around. The neurodiversity paradigm therefore shifts where we locate the problem; instead of adhering to the medical model trying to fix a person, it promotes a more social model. Barriers are deemed to be created or intensified by a mismatch between a person and their environment. This idea has already been applied in practice: accommodations such as extra time on tests, quiet spaces, and flexible planning aim to increase the person-environment fit. The cake can be seen as a token of a world in which there is more room for difference.
So the cake did not just appear out of nowhere. The trend reflects a larger shift, where self-stigma and shame have made way for a more positive self-perception. Now struggles are more often recognized and normalized, making it easier to open up about a diagnosis. In doing so, the trend has moved our focus from asking how we can fix a person towards wondering how the world can be made more accommodating instead. The fact that the cake seemed so absurd to me at first shows just how substantial the change is, and perhaps that is something worth celebrating.
