The internet could not keep calm over the heartbreaking videos of a six-month-old macaque named Punch at the Ichikawa City Zoo in Japan. Abandoned by his mother shortly after birth, the young macaque faced quiet rejections while trying to fit in.
Social media couldn’t stop swooning over Punch and his stuffed companion. But what does this move – embracing an inanimate object – tell us, if anything?
After being ‘thrown away’, Punch settles into the warmth of an orangutan soft toy, something that resembles his own kind. He does not fight endlessly to feel wanted or loved, to reclaim a place he was denied. He tries. He is rejected. And then he withdraws, slowly rejoicing in the steady cuddles of a soft toy.
One may wonder — do monkeys know how to step back and self-soothe better than humans?
In the 1950s, psychologist Harry Harlow found infant monkeys preferred a soft cloth surrogate over a wire mother that provided food. Comfort, not just survival, binds us.
The day Punch stopped fighting
On constantly being rejected, little Macaque Punch does not fight endlessly for a space where he was made to feel like an outcast. Rather, he moves away.
Seeking comfort – even in inanimate objects – is not indulgent. It is survival. When connection is not reciprocated, we instinctively withdraw from unstable structures. Punch’s behaviour suggests that attachment may not be about where it comes from – a real or artificial source – but about the feeling of being held and safe.
British psychiatrist and psychoanalyst John Bowlby argued that human infants are biologically wired to form secure attachments with primary caregivers. We are, quite literally, built to seek comfort. Though strongest in infancy, that wiring does not disappear in adulthood – it simply evolves.
Monkeys and apes, being closely related to humans, show similar attachment-seeking patterns. And humans, especially children, are no strangers to finding comfort in objects. Toddlers form deep attachments to soft toys – dressing them up, feeding them imaginary meals, putting them to bed, whispering secrets to them as if they are alive. The child may appear to be caring for the toy, but in truth, it is the toy holding the child steady.
Developmental psychologist Mary Ainsworth observed that when connection feels uncertain, the brain gravitates toward anxious or avoidant patterns. So when a little monkey chooses a soft toy after being excluded, it is not a weakness. It is redirection. A neurological pivot toward what feels predictable.
Punch does not protest. He self-soothes. He reduces exposure to what feels hostile. He chooses low-demand comfort over high-stakes belonging.
Humans do this too – we withdraw from messy relationships, limit emotional exposure, curate who gets access to us. We call it boundary-setting now. Sometimes it is self-defence. Sometimes it is simply exhaustion.
Artificial objects make this easier. Soft toys do not interrupt. They do not leave mid-conversation. They do not lash out. They stay. They do not betray. As adults, we no longer reach only for stuffed animals. We reach for something that types back.
The ‘Cloth Mother’ now types back
We are increasingly confiding in ChatGPT and other AI tools, turning to AI therapists, even seeking answers to our fears and uncertainties from digital astrologers. We share secrets with a chatbot that we hesitate to tell our friends.
AI has moved far beyond ‘help’ buttons and customer-service pop-ups. It suggests what we should buy, summarises what we should read, drafts what we should say. It imitates human conversation so well that it begins to feel less like a tool and more like a presence.
Be it managing work communication, drafting apology texts, overanalysing a situationship, or venting to a listener who does not sigh or check the time – we are seeking comfort in artificial systems that mimic human behaviour and understand the greys of our lives.
So why does talking to AI feel easier than seeking human connection?
Is it simply convenience and instant availability? Or are we, like Punch, withdrawing from the unpredictability of real relationships and choosing something safer?
AI responds instantly. It does not judge. It does not interrupt. It has no ego. It does not abandon mid-conversation. It mirrors our emotions back to us with unnerving precision.
For many adults, confiding in AI resembles turning to a cloth mother – one that offers no nourishment, only comfort. It is a low-risk attachment where felt safety becomes louder than messy, uncertain, real-life bonds. Social interactions are high-stakes, exhausting, time-consuming and often conditional. Real relationships can bruise. Artificial ones rarely do.
Developmental psychologist Mary Ainsworth observed that when attachments feel volatile, we retreat. Certainty becomes seductive. AI offers certainty on demand.
Turning to AI for comfort may well be the adult parallel of a macaque clutching a soft toy. When belonging feels unstable, artificial companionship becomes appealing. It soothes neurological needs without demanding reciprocity. It offers reassurance without risk.
Psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott described “transitional objects” – soft toys and blankets that help children move from total dependence toward independence. They are not replacements for human bonds, but bridges.
Perhaps AI is becoming our bridge.
The question is not whether it comforts us. It clearly does. The question is whether we are using it to heal – or to avoid ever returning to the wire.
Punch had an orangutan. We have chatbots. The instinct is the same. Only the illusion is smarter.
Punch clings to his orangutan soft toy after being rejected by his troop. When belonging feels uncertain, comfort — even artificial — becomes survival. (Image generated by AI) 
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