A video from a few years back, easily found on YouTube, showed in less than ninety seconds how a shopping mall could trigger a behavioral crisis in an autistic child—and how nearby shoppers, with little understanding, might react. At the end of the spot, the boy explained he was "not rude, but autistic": the sensory information was simply too much, too layered for him to process. Pure chaos. Frustrating. Destabilizing. A genuine architectural barrier.
"Autism remains an invisible disability," explains Margareth Martino, a physician and vice president of ScopriAMO Autism. "When people see a child in distress, they assume he's spoiled. They don't realize that the usual ways of handling behavior problems simply don't work." She pauses. "Yes, these difficulties change over time. Children struggle more than adults, who learn to adapt to chaos. But the physical and mental energy required is enormous. The children themselves tell us: after shopping, they need to rest. They can't do anything else. They need time to recover."
Margareth is the mother of Mattia, five and a half years old, autistic. "Mattia is making wonderful progress in many ways. But that progress keeps running up against a society that isn't ready, that doesn't understand autism—especially the kind that doesn't show." She leans forward. "People on the spectrum can certainly narrow the gap with neurotypical behavior. But they still face real, concrete difficulties. They need support. The thing is, autism looks different in almost every person—but more than 95 percent of autistic people have sensory difficulties. They can't filter outside information the way neurotypical people do. That's why we decided to focus on the places we all need: supermarkets, pharmacies, hair salons, clothing stores, restaurants. Everyday places."
Who's signed on?
So far, we've got full cooperation from every Elite supermarket in Rome and Lazio, all the municipal pharmacies in the Farmacap network, and the municipal pharmacies in Fiumicino. We asked them to create two sensory-calm hours per week—not exclusive, just calmer. Store owners get an app explaining autism, the sensory difficulties people face, and what a meltdown looks like when the sensory chaos becomes too much. The shops have posters up with the "We Are Friends of ScopriAMO Autism" message, outlining what the project does.
What actually happens during those hours?
A few straightforward changes make it easier for autistic people to shop: no music, no stereo. Where possible, minimal lighting—especially no unnecessary LED screens. One checkout dedicated to this group, to cut wait times. Priority access. Not so much for adults, who learn to manage waiting. But children and young people often can't handle delays or taking turns. They can't yet understand "it's the other person's turn, not mine."
It sounds like a small thing. And yet…
As a mother, I know how often I walk into a store and end up in an awkward situation. I hope this project teaches store staff to handle these moments with more flexibility. If those two hours give me a friendly environment, maybe someone watching will think, "Oh, maybe this mom needs help. Let me let her go first. Let me do something different." We're trying to reach the store owners and employees—but also the other customers. They need to understand that during those two hours, people might need them to see differently. And maybe someday we'll expand beyond two hours a week.
From small to large, then.
We're hoping for a cultural shift! I think most of us only grasp what architectural barriers really mean when the disability is visible. Our group is mostly parents, and our strength is a scientific committee that keeps our ideas grounded. We wanted something doable everywhere. Autism isn't just in one neighborhood. We looked for something simple, something that works, something that could be a start—a foundation for spreading everywhere. Because autism is everywhere.