Upcoming Netflix drama ‘Extraordinary Attorney Woo’

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Extraordinary Attorney Woo begins with an argument. Jung Myung-seok, a senior attorney with Hanbada law firm, objects that CEO Han Seon-young has assigned an autistic lawyer to his team. Seon-young is quick to admonish him. It doesn’t matter that she’s autistic, she says; what matters is that she graduated top of her class from Korea’s most prestigious university.

It’s an immediate introduction to Extraordinary Attorney Woo at its best and worst: text that highlights Myung-seok’s, and Korea’s, ableism while the subtext reinforces the idea that disabled people’s value is derived from what they can contribute.

Is Extraordinary Attorney Woo good representation? The answer is complex. Having watched the series, and spoken to autistic viewers, autism organizations, and an actual autistic attorney, the consensus appears to be yes… and no?

Ableism is pervasive in the West, but there is significantly more stigma surrounding autism and disability in Korea, where the primacy of societal normalcy is traditionally paramount. “There is much more of a sense of shame, not just for individuals with disabilities but also for their families,” says Son Da-eun of Autism Partnership Korea. “Despite the prevalence of autism in Korea” — she tells me Koreans are diagnosed at a rate of 1 in 38, compared to the WHO’s global estimate of 1 in 100 — “you rarely have interactions with persons with autism on a daily basis. Historically, people with autism are kept home, hidden away from the world.”

That’s not to say there is no progress in Korea. Public awareness is slowly shifting, which leads to better accessibility and more service providers. That improving support infrastructure took a hit due to COVID-19, however, and reading through reactions to Extraordinary Attorney Woo it’s clear autism and disability remain intensely stigmatized in Korea — the extent of which becomes apparent when reading how many parents felt forced to emigrate for better support for their autistic children.

In that vein, it’s appropriate that the series starts with Young-woo’s difficulty finding work. According to the Employment Development Institute of Korea, only 22% of autistic people in the country are employed — the lowest rate of any demographic, and a proportion is echoed globally.

In highlighting the realities of discrimination through the microcosmic lens of Hanbada, Extraordinary Attorney Woo excels. Though it stops short of ever challenging the system that drives those realities, it frequently emphasizes the issues within. For instance, while Young-woo’s ableist colleague Kwon Min-woo is often reprimanded for his efforts to undermine Young-woo, the show never tries to challenge where that ableism is coming from or how Hanbada is latently encouraging it by withholding censure.

Woo Young-woo and her coworker sitting at a conference table. She is poring over documents while he sits and looks slightly consternated.

In this way, Extraordinary Attorney Woo aptly illustrates what moving through a (often hostile) world with autism can feel like. “I felt extremely represented,” Haley Moss, an autistic attorney and neurodiversity advocate, tells me. “People typically are very nice to me,” she says. “But a lot of the time they offer me unwanted and unneeded assistance and it ends up looking like special treatment that makes me (and everyone else) sort of uncomfortable.”

So, too, is the show relatable for Stephanie Bethany, an autistic content creator, who felt particular affinity with Young-woo’s mannerisms and story.

“Attorney Woo does finger and hand stims like I do,” she says in an email, “wears her headphones as needed and not 24/7 like I do, gets into a romantic relationship with someone who is not autistic like I have, engages in occasional echolalia and hits her head/ears when things become escalated, threatening, and loud like I do. So, there are many ways that I feel represented by Attorney Woo.”

The ultimately supportive nature of Young-woo’s colleagues has led some to criticize the show for being too fantastical.

Offering comfort like that, it’s no wonder that Extraordinary Attorney Woo has found an audience among the disabled community. When we’re so used to being chronically underrepresented, it sometimes feels like, as a community, we’re ready to accept any relatable moment in film and television. And even shows that are aiming to do good can fall short. Extraordinary Attorney Woo is no exception.

The creators of the show talk about bringing more attention to autism in Korea. But there is an ableist undertone that feeds into the show, starting with the title before it was altered for Western audiences. The Korean title, 이상한 변호사 우영우, is most accurately translated to Weird Lawyer Woo Young-woo.

One can perhaps understand what the show is trying to do: highlight a perceived otherness that may ultimately be dispelled for some viewers. Instead, it feels like the show is starting from an ableist, allistic place rather than invoking meaningful support for autistic people. That they’ve since introduced a Woo Young-woo NFT collection hasn’t helped make the series seem like it was firmly built on altruistic motivations.

Writer Moon Ji-won purportedly spent a year consulting with an early childhood special education professor to ensure accuracy. Research is fine, but how you implement it is more important. And Moon’s characterization of Young-woo as a genius savant, in line with so many stereotypical depictions of autism that refuse to go away, is particularly telling.

“Rain Man is older than me and I still have to talk about it!” Moss says, exasperated. The way Young-woo is characterized, as a genius savant (known as the prodigious savant), represents less than 75 people in the world.

The extensive use of savants-like characters and other autistic tropes (e.g., limited interests, difficulty making friends) in television is concerning for two reasons,” Sarah Audley wrote in her 2020 study into autistic representation in television. “The exclusion of authentic autistic representation, and the spread of misinformation about autism that may be perpetuated by the prevalence of autism stereotypes in the entertainment industry.”

It’s depressing, because the diverse realities of disability are intrinsically human stories that deserve more than stereotypical representation, rather than merely molding us into something palatable and misleading for non-disabled viewers.

Da-eun tells me Extraordinary Attorney Woo “strips some of the shame and stigmatization” from autism through its humanizing of Young-woo, though she recognizes “the show does reinforce a few common misconceptions about the nature and treatment of autism.”

“The fact that the vast majority of characters with autism in media is portrayed as having a superpower, or that autism is really a blessing in disguise muddies the waters and can confuse the public as to what autism really is.”

The effect of that reinforcement is already being felt in Korea. Allistic content creators are imitating Young-woo’s voice patterns and mannerisms for views on TikTok and YouTube, driven by the decision to exaggerate many of Young-woo’s mannerisms that could be considered cute or quirky.

This isn’t new. Lydia Netzer calls it “cute autism,” depictions that strip away behaviors that might be off-putting or obtrusive to create an image as close as possible to neurotypicality in order to “trick us into thinking tolerance is easy.”

Meanwhile, Korean schoolchildren are reportedly insulting each other by asking, “Are you Woo Young-woo?” Autistic content creators field comments expressing disappointment they’re not like Young-woo, while receiving abuse for their criticisms of the series.

Wevcan laud the show’s alleged intent to bring better awareness to autism in a country that intensely stigmatizes it — and with an average nationwide viewership of around 13%, it is putting autism in front of a lot of Korean people. Yet, we also need to question how easily Extraordinary Attorney Woo’s stereotypical depiction of autism and disability is inspiring further narrow-mindedness. That the lesson the show is teaching its allistic, non-disabled target audience is just… more ableism.

Perhaps I’m an optimist, but I do believe some people will watch Extraordinary Attorney Woo and begin to think differently about autism and disability.

But the facade is brittle; it’s easy to peel away. Once you do, you understand how much the ableism that pervades Korea — and, let’s get real, that pervades the world — has seeped into the making of Extraordinary Attorney Woo.

But, if things are worse in Korea, shouldn’t we be asking more of representation like this rather than accepting less?

I’m happy for those that relate to the show. I think, on an individual basis, that’s important. But it’s just as vital to remember that this is but one of many very narrow — often identical — windows into autism in media, and that we’re not the monolith shows like ”Weird Lawyer Woo Young-woo” make us out to be.

Well, yeah, I get where the author of that article is coming from. Having series revolving around autistic savant characters can give the impression we're all like that.

But when you get down to it, people are watching these series to be entertained. They're not going to watch the daily struggles of "Ordinarily autistic almost-attorney Woo", who drops out of work within 3 episodes because she doesn't have the memory abilities to offset her autism. Or "The could-have-been-good doctor", who fails to get enough respect from colleagues to hang onto his surgery role and gets shunted off to be a medical archivist or something.

How about allowing the general public get over autism stigma with savants first, and later they might be ready to accept the rest of us.

Netflix’s most popular weekly K-drama of the Summer, Extraordinary Attorney Woo, is being renewed for a second season, and is expected to arrive sometime in 2024! We’ll be keeping track of everything you need to know about Extraordinary Attorney Woo season 2 on Netflix.

Lee Sang Baek, the CEO of ASTORY had the following to say about season 2;

"Thanks to the support of many people, we will produce Season 2 of ‘Extraordinary Attorney Woo.’ The goal is to air Season 2 in 2024."

Given the overwhelming popularity of the series, it should come as no surprise that a second season is happening. In South Korea, the finale saw its biggest audience share of the entire season, amassing a nationwide rating of 17.534%. Extraordinary Attorney Woo now sits in 7th place as South Korea’s highest-rated cable television drama of all time. When you take into consideration the first episode received less than 1% of the nationwide ratings, its meteoric rise is that much more impressive.

When the announcement was made that Extraordinary Attorney Woo would be returning for a second season, ASTORY CEO Lee Sang Baek stated there are no plans to replace the cast, and if there are no unexpected changes then the goal is to bring back at least 90% of the cast from season 1.

My favourite character in Extraordinary Attorney Woo – the South Korean Netflix hit about an autistic lawyer – is not the titular character, endearing as the underdog narrative may be.

It is Woo Young-woo’s supervisor, Attorney Jung Myung-seok.

Even though Jung’s initial reactions might rub some the wrong way, I see him as a part-accurate, part-aspirational depiction of those who may harbour ingrained, albeit unintentional, ableism – but who also attempt to overcome their internalised bias by getting to know autistic individuals personally.

With society’s penchant for an underdog success story, the popularity of Extraordinary Attorney Woo has reignited interest in autism narratives.

The 16-episode series has received valid criticism that it paints an overly fantastical portrait of autistic individuals, by leaning into the savant stereotype. This narrative tends to turn neurodivergent behaviours into cute quirks, for the benefit of a neurotypical society.

Society operates according to neurotypical benchmarks – that is, brain functions, behaviours and processing that are considered standard or typical.

And autism, as a neurodevelopmental condition, falls under the umbrella of neurodiversity, which describes the idea that people experience the world in many different ways. Simply put, there is no single “right” way of thinking, learning and behaving.

Yet, despite a growing awareness of neurodiversity, stereotypes around autistic individuals remain prevalent - and the show doesn’t shy away from this reality.

Some have said that the ableism Woo faced from her colleagues displays actual treatment towards the autistic community in reality.

Characters like Jung as well as fellow junior lawyer Attorney Kwon Min-woo, who was jealous and resentful of Woo, simply show that not everyone will immediately embrace autistic or other neurodivergent individuals. Their behaviours are not meant to reinforce discrimination but reflect it.

Moreover, while there may be autistic individuals who do excel because of their condition, the reality for the majority is far more complex. Keep in mind too that savant syndrome is rare, with experts estimating that about 10 per cent of the autistic population have such abilities in varying degrees.

Several episodes in Extraordinary Attorney Woo attempt to strike this balance.

For all its stereotyping, Extraordinary Attorney Woo is a commendable effort to inject nuance into existing narratives about autism.

Traditionally, autistic individuals are portrayed in the media as having low neurological development, who need caregivers to complete the simplest of tasks.

To counter this narrative, many of us seek to empower autistic individuals and their loved ones by focusing on stories where high-performing autistic individuals like Woo achieve conventional success precisely due to their autistic traits, such as inordinate attention to detail or routine.

In this narrative, autism is painted as a superpower. It intends to empower autistic individuals and their loved ones by showing that autistic individuals can achieve such success because of their autism, rather than in spite of it.

It also increases awareness that the condition falls on a spectrum, and even shows employers how they can support neurodiversity in their companies.

But narratives that gloss over the genuine struggles of living with a neurodevelopmental condition, especially one that presents various challenges including mental health issues due to societal misconceptions, may end up more invalidating than empowering.

For autism awareness month in April last year, I worked with a colleague on several articles about such autistic individuals with low support needs. I was struck by two main schools of thought.

The first advocates for society to embrace autism as a “difference in ability”, rather than a disability. For these individuals, autism is a core part of one’s identity, so it is impossible to separate the individual from their autism.

It also advocates that true acceptance means individuals shouldn’t be expected to alter their behaviours to fit in.

The other school of thought tends to acknowledge that living with a neurodevelopmental condition like autism fundamentally puts someone at a disadvantage. So enhancing one’s life necessitates adjusting to neurotypical ways, such as learning how to interact in social situations or developing greater emotional intelligence.

Picking up these skills might be seen as “masking”, which is frowned upon in some neurodivergent communities as it implies an inability to be one’s true self, but this perspective frames it as realistically managing the condition to live in neurotypical society. It is less about pandering to neurotypicals, but about helping one feel more comfortable.

Since working on those articles, I’ve learnt that I have ADHD and I better understand both schools of thought as a result since they overlap with how ADHDers see ourselves.

I am also more aware that shows like Extraordinary Attorney Woo are simply a conversation starter towards greater acceptance and understanding of autistic individuals. They shouldn’t be expected to represent or resonate with all autistic lives.

Such criticism can also be seen in a more positive light. That it remains impossible for a show to encompass every experience only implies that society now realises and understands that autistic people are multidimensional and unable to fit into a singular portrayal.

That said, while the media can reinforce narratives, it can also reframe them.

Stories of empowerment should aim to paint a nuanced, realistic picture of everyday life. It requires validating the less palatable aspects of autism, such as obtrusive mannerisms or tactless honesty, while showcasing its gifts.

It is tempting to frame neurodivergent individuals as savants or gifted rebels, but placing us on a pedestal isn’t quite the acceptance we seek. It can occasionally even feel like we’re being handled with kid gloves.

Acceptance doesn’t just mean harnessing our strengths. It also requires society to acknowledge and help us navigate our weaknesses rather than reinforce our shame around them by ignoring or fixating on these weaknesses.

After all, even neurotypicals know this: True empowerment comes from being seen for who we are, not for what others want to see.

I am almost always hesitant to watch stories about autism on TV. I find them extremely stressful because neurotypical creators and actors have a way of consistently “getting it wrong”: focusing on young boys; emphasizing traits in a way that feels like someone is checking them off from a list rather than fleshing out a whole human character; and almost consciously hitting upon every single stereotype.

It’s a major “outsider looking in” moment for me, where I find myself mostly wondering silently, “Is this how people perceive me?” And when I fear the answer is “yes,” I feel that sense of dread that comes with being deeply misunderstood.

When the Korean drama Extraordinary Attorney Woo came on my radar, I was skeptical but also excited and curious. The show is about an autistic lawyer who creatively solves her clients’ problems yet struggles immensely with social interactions and the assumptions colleagues, clients and others make based on her autism.

This show goes beyond most stereotypes by featuring an autistic woman as its protagonist (autistic women historically go undiagnosed or supported); she does not work in the sciences or technology (a common trope); and of course, the show features lawyers. Lawyers with disabilities or who are neurodivergent are historically underrepresented in the profession. The National Association for Law Placement’s 2021 Report on Diversity in U.S. Law Firms shares that 1.22% of lawyers self-report having a disability, and on TV, about 3.5% of characters who are series regulars have disabilities.

While main character Woo Young-woo’s colleagues eventually come around to being extremely accepting, the show is lauded as being groundbreaking in Korea, where the perception of autism and available services are very different than here in the United States. In fact, the show’s Korean title is understood to mean “Weird”—rather than “Extraordinary,” as it translates in English—which reinforces the perception there that autistic people are strange and rare.

I found Young-woo, the titular attorney, to be endearing and relatable. Attorney Woo is very routine driven, often eating the same foods day after day—something that brings me comfort, as trying new foods makes me anxious—I don’t always know what to do with new tastes and textures, even when applied to familiar foods.

My noise-canceling headphones save me from crying babies on airplanes and sensory overload; Young-woo similarly wears hers nearly everywhere in public to drown out overwhelming sounds. And she’s creative, passionate and wants the same things most everyone else does—employment, acceptance, happiness and a shot at love.

In some ways, the show even challenges westernized autism perceptions. In the third episode titled “This is Pengsoo,” Young-woo is tapped to represent an autistic client who has much higher support needs than she does and speaks minimally. She understands their experiences with autism are different, yet still connected.

At the end of the episode, there is a monologue about how she and the client, merely 80 years ago, would have been deemed unworthy of life and mentions more recent historical context that emerged about Hans Asperger and his ties to the Nazis’ eugenics program. She tells the audience, “To the Nazis, people who were not worthy of living were those who were physically disabled, terminally ill, or mentally ill, including autistic people.”

There was, however, a missed opportunity for self-advocacy in that episode and throughout the series. Typically, as an autistic lawyer, I am not only expected to be a zealous advocate for others (which comes the easiest), but also for myself (which is much harder). I constantly have to share my needs and how to best support me. This was true even while in law school, when I didn’t have the same fully fleshed-out advocacy skills that both new and seasoned attorneys develop.

I have had acceptance and accommodations at work like Young-woo, yet I was offered help I didn’t always need. I had to put in extra effort to prove my competence and capabilities beyond the technology-savvy stereotype. I always wanted to do more research and writing while in practice, but often I was assumed to be the right person to run the website, hyperfocus on the monotonous task of document review, or do other computer-based tasks.

While attorney Woo is assigned cases right off the bat, she doesn’t always take the next step of speaking up for herself and relies on the kindness of others rather than fully forging her own path. I’m not sure if Young-woo’s lack of self-advocacy comes with the territory of the show being written by and starring neurotypical people trying to portray a lived experience they don’t have, or if something may get lost across cultures.

There are some additional pitfalls to the show. As another autistic lawyer pointed out in her criticism, the show doesn’t feature autistic masking, or the suppression of certain neurodiverse traits.

As someone who has masked and suppressed neurodivergent traits throughout her lifetime to avoid bullies at school, make friends and appear professionally and socially competent in certain situations, it surely is a difficult and relatable experience that wasn’t conveyed in Extraordinary Attorney Woo.

Finally, the show has some of the exaggerations of autistic traits, and the creators did not consult with any autistic people nor cast autistic actors. Young-woo is painted as a savant, and many of us, myself included, simply are not. Her passion for whales is disruptive in her everyday life and sometimes mixes in unique and unexpected ways with her passion for the law; my passions can be siphoned into different pieces of my life.

My autism is not my sole defining characteristic or identity, but one of many things that makes me who I am. It colors my every experience: how I view the world, the strategies and solutions I come up with as an attorney, the way I navigate the world, and the passions and interests I hold dear. Outside of law, I am an artist and avid video game player, though my love of drawing and painting and games never obsessively entered, interfered with or augmented my practice and strategy the way Young-woo’s love of whales does.

I’m hopeful for the future of autism representation. While Extraordinary Attorney Woo took only a small step forward in the United States, it took a massive leap in other parts of the world.