Have you ever apologized to your table after accidentally bumping into it? Felt guilty about throwing away an old stuffed animal? Or hesitated to replace a worn-out t-shirt because it “deserves better”? These reactions come from anthropomorphism, the instinct to give human emotions, traits, and personalities to non-human things. While we often discuss this in relation to animals, it also deeply affects how we interact with objects. More than just a simple habit, this tendency to give human characteristics to an object reveals how deeply empathy shapes our relationship with the world. Why do we feel bad for inanimate objects, and what does this say about human psychology?
Humans tend to bond with objects that have personal significance, childhood toys, clothes, or even your favorite mug sitting at the top of the kitchen shelf. It is common that the more often you see an object or the longer we own something, the more we see it as a connection to ourselves, making it more difficult for us to let go or throw away. When humans throw away objects, they seem to see them as being “abandoned” rather than just broken or old.
Many companies purposefully use anthropomorphism to evoke emotional connections with their products. Robot vacuums are designed with cute facial expressions, while car manufacturers shape headlights to appear “friendly”, both strategies that trigger our natural empathy by making objects seem more human-like. Tech giants also use similar tactics, like Apple’s decision to name its voice assistant “Siri,” which subconsciously encourages users to see the artificial intelligence as more human. These specific design choices transform ordinary products into relatable living things, making consumers more emotionally invested in objects that may not have real feelings.
The way we anthropomorphize objects often says more about us than the objects themselves. This phenomenon where we project our own emotions onto inanimate things, reveals how deeply our personal fears, desires, and insecurities shape our perception of the world. Take that abandoned chair left on the curb. To most, it’s just discarded furniture. But to someone who struggles with loneliness or rejection, it might become a symbol of abandonment, a “lonely” chair waiting to be taken home. It is a subconscious coping mechanism for people who may be lonely themselves.
Anthropomorphism isn’t weird, you’re just empathetic and that is okay. Empathy extends beyond people, just like how you might wince when someone stubs their toe in front of you, your brain can’t help but project feelings onto objects that seem alive as well. If your robot vacuum bumps into the wall and makes a quiet beeping noise, your first instinct may be to feel bad for it. Humans are social creatures, so our brains seek for personalities even when they do not exist, it’s biology.
While anthropomorphism is natural, it can turn into unhealthy habits when empathy for objects blinds rationality. Some individuals struggle to throw away useless items, convinced that their possessions will “feel abandoned”, a mindset often seen in hoarding disorders, where objects are anthropomorphized as loyal friends. Similarly, people develop irrational attachments to technology, mourning broken gadgets like lost companions, or having deep conversations with AI chatbots. Anthropomorphizing for fun or storytelling is harmless, but when we prioritize an object’s imagined feelings over our own needs, it becomes problematic.
Anthropomorphism shows how deeply humans connect with the world, even with objects that don’t have real feelings. While giving human traits to things can make life more playful and meaningful, it’s important to recognize when empathy becomes irrational. So enjoy naming your car or feeling bad for your laptop, but remember that objects exist to serve us, not the other way around. A little personification adds charm to life, but keeping perspective ensures we don’t prioritize imagined emotions over real needs. In the end, that old t-shirt won’t miss you, but holding onto clutter might weigh you down.
Written by Audrey Limowa
