Guy in Relationship With His Car: The Psychology, the Crash, and What Happened Next

You’ve probably seen the clip. A man on a TLC documentary, sitting in his garage, talking about his car the way most people talk about their spouse. He strokes the hood, calls it pet names, sleeps next to it. The internet laughed, shared the meme, and moved on. But the story doesn’t end with a punchline.

This article goes past the tabloid framing. You’ll learn who this man is, what objectum sexuality actually means from a psychological standpoint, what happened when the car was written off in an accident, and how he coped with a loss that most people would dismiss as silly. We’ll also look at whether reality TV did right by him, and where you can find support if you or someone you know forms deep emotional attachments to objects.

If you’re shopping for the car enthusiast in your life, a candle like the Fairy’s Gift Candle makes a lighthearted nod to this exact obsession. It’s a 9-ounce lavender scented candle with the quote “smells like he’s talking about cars again.” It fits the joke without mocking the genuine passion.

The Viral Story That Captured the Internet

In 2026, TLC aired an episode of My Strange Addiction featuring a man who described his car as his girlfriend. He kissed the bumper, whispered to the headlights, and insisted the vehicle had a soul. The episode became a cultural touchstone, referenced in countless YouTube compilations and late-night monologues.

What most people didn’t see was the aftermath. The car was later involved in an accident and declared a total loss by the insurance company. For the man, it wasn’t just a broken machine. It was the sudden death of a partner.

Who Is the Man Behind the Headlines?

His name is Nathaniel, though some sources refer to him as “Nate.” He was in his late twenties when the episode aired. He lived in a small town, worked a regular job, and spent most of his free time in the garage with his 1998 Chevrolet Monte Carlo. He gave the car a female name, talked to it daily, and admitted to sleeping in the backseat on weekends.

His story drew immediate comparisons to other objectum sexual figures, like the woman who married the Eiffel Tower or the man who fell in love with a pillow. But Nathaniel’s case felt different. He wasn’t performing for the cameras. He spoke with a quiet sincerity that made viewers uncomfortable, because it didn’t look like a stunt.

Understanding Objectum Sexuality: More Than a Quirk

Objectum sexuality (OS) is a recognized orientation where a person feels romantic or sexual attraction toward inanimate objects. It’s not listed in the DSM-5 as a disorder. Most researchers view it as a rare but genuine form of attachment, often rooted in early developmental patterns.

The Psychology of Emotional Bonds with Inanimate Objects

Humans anthropomorphize constantly. We name our boats, apologize to our phones when we drop them, and feel guilty throwing away a childhood teddy bear. This tendency is called anthropomorphism, and it sits on a spectrum. For most people, it’s a passing thought. For someone with objectum sexuality, the bond becomes primary.

Psychologists suggest several pathways. Some people develop OS after trauma, redirecting attachment needs from unreliable humans to predictable objects. Others report that they simply always felt this way, with no triggering event. Brain imaging studies on similar conditions show activity in the same regions associated with romantic love when the person views the object.

It’s not delusion. People with OS know the object isn’t alive. They don’t hear voices. They simply experience real emotional and physical responses to the object. The relationship is genuine to them, even if the reciprocity is one-sided.

Why the Car Became a Partner, Not a Possession

For Nathaniel, the Monte Carlo offered stability. It started every morning. It never argued. It never left. Unlike his past relationships with people, the car was reliable and quiet. He described it as the first thing in his life that didn’t judge him.

That makes sense. A car provides consistent sensory feedback: the vibration of the engine, the warmth of the seats, the smell of the interior. These are physical anchors. When you spend hours alone in a vehicle, it can start to feel like a companion rather than a tool. For someone already predisposed to that kind of attachment, the line blurs quickly.

The Accident: A Sudden and Devastating Loss

Years after the episode aired, Nathaniel was driving his beloved car when another driver ran a red light. The impact crushed the front end. Airbags deployed. Nathaniel walked away with bruises, but the Monte Carlo was towed to a salvage yard.

The insurance company assessed the damage. Repair costs exceeded the car’s market value, so they declared it a written off loss. Nathaniel received a check for a few thousand dollars, which he described as “blood money.” He didn’t buy another car for two years.

The Emotional Impact of Losing a “Loved One”

Grief researchers recognize that loss doesn’t require a human death. People mourn pets, homes, and even careers. The intensity of grief correlates with the strength of the attachment, not the object’s sentience. For Nathaniel, losing the car triggered classic symptoms: insomnia, loss of appetite, intrusive memories of the crash, and a deep sense of emptiness.

He also faced a second layer of pain: social invalidation. When he tried to talk about his loss, friends and family told him to “just buy another car.” Nobody acknowledged that he had lost a relationship. That kind of disenfranchised grief can prolong suffering and delay recovery.

He didn’t seek professional therapy at first. He said he felt too embarrassed. It took a year before a friend convinced him to see a counselor who specialized in grief and attachment. That counselor helped him reframe the loss without dismissing it.

Where Is He Now? Life After the TLC Spotlight

Nathaniel has largely stepped away from public view. He does not run a YouTube channel or sell merchandise. In a rare update, he mentioned that he now owns a used pickup truck, which he treats with respect but not romantic attachment. He calls it “a good truck, not a girlfriend.”

He still attends car meets and enjoys working on engines. He says the hobby remains, but the intensity of the bond has shifted. Therapy helped him understand that his attachment to the Monte Carlo was a coping mechanism for loneliness and a fear of human intimacy. He’s been working on that in small steps, like joining a local car club and having coffee with members after meets.

The Ethical Question: Did Reality TV Exploit His Pain?

My Strange Addiction ran for six seasons. Its format relied on presenting unusual behaviors as shocking spectacles. The show rarely provided follow-up care or psychological support for its subjects. Nathaniel has hinted that producers encouraged him to emphasize the romantic aspects of his relationship with the car, playing up the “weird” angle for higher ratings.

That’s a serious ethical concern. Reality TV operates under a duty of care that often gets overlooked in editing rooms. A person with a rare attachment orientation is not a carnival act. When the cameras left, Nathaniel was left alone with the consequences of public exposure, including online harassment and a brief period of unemployment when his coworkers recognized him.

There’s no evidence TLC offered him therapy or aftercare. That’s a failure of the genre, not just this episode. If a network profits from a person’s vulnerability, it owes that person more than a check and a goodbye.

Finding Support: How Communities and Therapy Help

If you recognize yourself in Nathaniel’s story, you’re not broken. Objectum sexuality is rare, but it’s not a pathology. The main risk is isolation. If your primary relationship is with an object, you may miss out on human connection, and that loneliness can deepen the attachment in a feedback loop.

Online communities like the Objectum Sexuality Internationale forum provide a space to talk without judgment. Many members describe similar experiences: feeling different since childhood, forming intense bonds with objects, and struggling to explain it to others. Reading those stories can be profoundly validating.

Therapy is also worth considering, not to “fix” you, but to explore where the attachment comes from. A good therapist will help you understand whether the bond is a choice or a response to unmet needs. You can keep the object relationship if it’s healthy, or you can work on expanding your social circle if it’s limiting you. Both are valid paths.

For practical advice on handling a car that’s been badly damaged, you might want to read about what to do with a car with a blown engine. The process of letting go is easier when you know your options.

What This Story Teaches Us About Love and Attachment

Love is a strange thing. It doesn’t always follow the rules we expect. The same psychological machinery that bonds a parent to a child, or a spouse to a partner, can attach to a car, a house, or a favorite jacket. That doesn’t cheapen the emotion. It just shows how flexible the human heart is.

The real lesson from Nathaniel’s story isn’t about cars. It’s about the need for connection. He used the Monte Carlo to fill a gap that human relationships hadn’t. When the car was gone, he had to face that gap directly. That’s hard work, and he did it.

If you’re a car enthusiast, you already understand the pull. You know the feeling of looking back at your parked car as you walk away. You know the pride of a clean engine bay. That’s not weird. It’s passion. The difference is a matter of degree, not kind.

Beyond the Headlines, a Human Story

Nathaniel’s story was sold to us as a freak show. It’s actually a quiet meditation on loneliness, attachment, and recovery. He lost something he loved, grieved it, and slowly rebuilt his life. That’s not strange. That’s universal.

Next time you see a viral clip of someone kissing their car, remember the person behind the meme. They’re not a joke. They’re a human being navigating the same messy territory of love and loss as the rest of us.

Practical Takeaways for Anyone Who Loves a Car a Little Too Much

• There’s a difference between a healthy passion and an isolating obsession. If your car is your only emotional outlet, consider adding one human connection to your routine.
• Grief after a car is totaled is real. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Allow yourself to mourn the loss, even if others don’t understand it.
• If you’ve been in an accident, document everything. Insurance companies move fast, and the process of selling a damaged car can be confusing. Know your car’s actual market value before you accept a settlement.
• Online communities exist for people with objectum sexuality. You don’t have to figure this out alone.
• Reality TV doesn’t care about your wellbeing. If you’re ever approached by a producer, get a lawyer and a therapist before you sign anything.
• A candle like the car guy candle makes a thoughtful gift for the enthusiast in your life. It’s a way to say “I see your passion” without mocking it.