For over three decades, The Simpsons has been one of the most iconic animated series on television. During this time, it has launched numerous vibrant characters, few more intriguing than Apu Nahasapeemapetilon. Apu owned the Kwik-E-Mart, and for almost two decades, he was a quintessential part of The Simpsons cartoon world. Apu served as a prominent supporting character. Then, all of a sudden, he disappeared.
His controversial absence triggered years of discussion. Had he hypothetically retired in peace? Was he unceremoniously written off behind the scenes? Would he someday return—perhaps with a revamped look and a fresh identity? His fate remained uncertain. Viewers were left to argue about Apu’s destiny, and critics, on the other hand, mocked his disappearance, claiming it contrasted with the show’s tendency to satirize shifting cultural norms.
However, it was Mike Reiss who offered perhaps the most straightforward answer yet—one that is as bizarre as it is fitting. In the words of Reiss, Apu is a character in a state of “Schrödinger’s Character,” referring to the thought experiment in which a cat locked in a box is considered both alive and dead until observed. Apu is a character who both exists and does not exist in The Simpsons universe… until the writers make up their minds.
Reiss’s approach to Apu works well for a show renowned for its surreal storytelling. Instead of addressing the controversy head-on or killing Apu off, The Simpsons has left him in limbo—stranded between narrative worlds and free to be revived or retreat permanently depending on the demands of future seasons.
How Apu became a “Schrödinger’s character”

“Schrödinger’s Character” is a term Mike Reiss introduced in his 2018 book Springfield Confidential, referring to Apu’s absence and his current role—or lack thereof—in the show. Since Apu has not spoken for the several years, the audience is left to interpret his status. He is sometimes seen in the background, but the show does not acknowledge him or his participation.
This ambiguity is not accidental—it serves a purpose. Reiss argues that The Simpsons relies on stretchable frameworks of storytelling, where time is a loose construct and characters can be axed, added, or remade at will. This gives Apu a kind of quantum reality: he may return, but it’s not guaranteed. It allows the show to bypass a definitive explanation that could divide the audience.
Why the Simpsons can get away with it

This would seem like a shortcoming for almost any other show, but The Simpsons embraces its identity built on inconsistency. Characters go through cycles of aging, timelines shift, and conflicts regularly resolve with no lasting consequences. This lack of rigid narrative structure gives the writers remarkable flexibility—and in Apu’s case, it provides a quiet way to phase out a character they weren’t sure how to handle.
As executive producer Matt Selman describes it, the show’s “flexible canon” allows them to preserve Apu’s legacy while sidestepping the controversy tied to it. This may not be the most satisfying solution for everyone, but it is certainly effective within The Simpsons universe. Apu is neither removed nor memorialized; his character is dormant, awaiting the decision to be reintroduced—or quietly left behind.