"Breakfast at Tiffany’s" Is A Masterclass In Attachment Theory

Truman Capote's Breakfast at Tiffany's, brought to life on the silver screen in 1961, is often remembered for its iconic imagery of Audrey Hepburn in her beautiful Givenchy black gown, gazing wistfully into the window of Tiffany. However, beneath its glamorous veneer lies a profound exploration of human relationships and the struggle for emotional connection. This beloved classic offers an immaculate portrayal of attachment styles through its main characters, Holly Golightly and Paul Varjak, as they navigate the complexities of intimacy and personal growth. At its core, this classic romcom speaks to the universal human desire for genuine connection and the courage required to overcome our fears of intimacy. This theme transcends time and continues to captivate audiences across generations.

Understanding Attachment Theory

Attachment theory, developed by psychologist John Bowlby, explains that the bonds we form in early childhood significantly influence our adult relationships. Interestingly, this theory was published in 1958, the same year Truman Capote’s book was published and only three years before the film hit the silver screens. Which leads me to think that this was certainly the topic of the times and I would add that this topic has never faded away. Bowlby’s Attachment theory identifies four primary attachment styles:

1. Secure: Characterized by comfort with intimacy and independence.

2. Anxious-preoccupied: Marked by a strong desire for closeness and fear of abandonment.

3. Dismissive-avoidant: Defined by a high value on independence and discomfort with emotional intimacy.

4. Fearful-avoidant (disorganized): Combining a desire for closeness with a fear of rejection.

In Breakfast at Tiffany's, Holly Golightly and Paul Varjak embody different attachment styles, and the storyline revolves around their personal growth process towards secure attachment.

Holly Golightly: The Quintessential Avoidant

Holly Golightly, portrayed brilliantly by Audrey Hepburn, is a textbook example of dismissive-avoidant attachment. Her fear of commitment and longing for freedom are evident throughout the film, manifesting in various ways:

Naming Her Cat "Cat"

One of the most telling signs of Holly's avoidant attachment is her refusal to name her cat, simply calling it "Cat." When questioned about this, Holly argues, "We don't belong to each other. He's an independent person and so am I." This reluctance to name her pet reflects her broader fear of attachment and ownership in relationships. She actively rejects the idea of belonging to each other and allowing the interdependence that comes with all relationships. 

This applies to all of her relationships, but it is constantly emphasized in her relationship with her cat, since the cat is the closest one to her. They live together, she feeds him, he depends on her; and still, Holly refuses the intimacy of giving the cat a proper name. 

Surrounded, Yet Alone

Holly's social life is a whirlwind of parties and admirers, yet she finds herself profoundly alone in moments of crisis. When the police raid her party and arrest her for suspicion of being involved with the mafia, all her friends flee. Was she actually guilty? We never find out. All we know was that she provided weather reports in exchange for accounting services, but according to the police, these weather reports were actually reporting the movement of illegal trades. It's just another example of her transactional relationships. This situation is characteristic of avoidant attachment, where individuals maintain a facade of independence and self-sufficiency in order to keep one “safe” while struggling with deep-seated fears of intimacy.

While she is immensely popular and has no issue throwing a good party and filling her apartment with people who know her by name, when Paul asks who these people are, she admits that she simply does not know. This is the perfect example of being alone in a room full of people, and in this case, she experiences this in the most intimate of places, her own home. Perhaps this is why her apartment is never really "home" and she refuses to decorate it and take care of it. At a deeper level, let’s not forget that Holly is an escort and she has become numb to letting people use her physically and emotionally, and her home is just another example of this. 

The "Mean Reds"

Holly's description of the "mean reds"—a state of inexplicable anxiety—can be interpreted as a manifestation of her unresolved attachment issues. Her coping mechanism of visiting Tiffany, where "nothing very bad could happen," speaks to her need for a safe haven without the perceived risks of human attachment. Tiffany is where she feels safe and therefore where she goes when she feels emotionally unsafe. It's no wonder then why she goes for breakfast. It's a soothing ritual after a night spent feeling alone while surrounded by "friends". 

Escape as a Defense Mechanism

Throughout the film, Holly's instinct is to flee when faced with emotional vulnerability. Her plans to marry for money in Brazil and her initial rejection of Paul's love are classic avoidant behaviors, prioritizing perceived safety and independence over emotional connection. She seems to very quickly sweep under the rug all her problems and without much hesitation dives into learning Portuguese and working on floor plans for a ranch in Brazil. Paul interjects and tries to bring reason to her madness, but Holly pushes through without much hesitation. 

Paul Varjak: The Anxious-Preoccupied Pursuer

While Holly Gollighty keeps the audience in a trance with her beautiful Givenchy outfits and charming personality, George Peppard's Paul Varjak presents a more complex attachment style, leaning towards anxious-preoccupied, but with elements of secure attachment developing throughout the film. Let me explain:

Patient Pursuit

Paul's patient yet persistent pursuit of Holly reflects the anxious-preoccupied tendency to seek closeness and validation from a partner. His willingness to weather Holly's emotional storms demonstrates both his anxiety about the relationship and his capacity for secure attachment. He finds her odd from the beginning, but perhaps due to curiosity or genuine intrigue, he is the only friend who shows consistency and genuine care for her. 

Writing as a Metaphor

Paul's biggest dilemma at the start of the film is his writer's block. He has not published a book in six years and is starting to get desperate for a breakthrough. Interestingly, this creative breakthrough eventually happens simultaneously with his own personal breakthrough towards a secure attachment. As he becomes more grounded in his relationship with Holly, his ability to express himself creatively also flourishes, symbolizing personal growth and emotional security. Let’s not forget that Paul was an escort too. There was a woman who he refers to as his "decorator" (Patricia Neal), who is paying for his apartment and working as a "patron" of his craft. By the end of the film, Paul ends this relationship and delivers the iconic monologue that describes Holly’s attachment problems, her tendency to cage herself in fear of being caged by others, and he seemingly gives up and decides to let her flee, as she wishes. 

If you need a refresher, here it is, word by word:

“You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-You-Are? You're chicken. You've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, 'Okay, life's a fact.' People do fall in love. People do belong to each other. Because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness. You call yourself a free spirit, a 'wild thing,' and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself."

If you've ever seen this movie, you know that this moment is everything. It encapsulates the tension between Holly’s desire for freedom and her fear of vulnerability—and Paul’s desperate plea for her to see that real freedom comes from love and connection, not escape.

Holly's Transformation

Another iconic scene is when Holly bolts out of the cab looking for Cat, while the rain washes over her as if rinsing away years of hurt and trauma that had led to her disordered attachment. This decision to go after Cat symbolizes her willingness to finally embrace a secure attachment and take emotional risks. Her tearful realization that she belongs with Paul and Cat marks a significant shift from her avoidant patterns. As the soundtrack starts to play and Holly and Paul embrace, the story wraps up with its happy ending: they have reached a secure attachment and are finally together. While this is a classic Hollywood ending, in the book and original story, Holly and Paul’s story ends with Holly simply vanishing. Her disordered attachment is not truly healed and she continues on with her pattern: running away. 

Why It's a Classic

This impeccable portrayal of attachment styles is precisely what makes Breakfast at Tiffany’s a timeless classic. More than sixty years after its release, this film has not failed to gain relevancy in every generation it has touched. Beyond the pearls, Givenchy gowns, and wistful soundtrack, the film speaks to something deeply human: our longing for connection, our fear of vulnerability, and the inner work it takes to truly let someone in. Holly and Paul’s relationship is more than a vintage love story; it’s a cinematic study in emotional growth, perfectly capturing the way love—real, honest, grounded love—can transform even the most guarded hearts. Perhaps that’s why the film still resonates so deeply today. It reminds us that behind every cool exterior is a heart aching to be understood, and that the most iconic romance of all might just be the one where healing is mutual, and intimacy is chosen over fear.

Breakfast at Tiffany’s isn’t just a romantic classic wrapped in pearls and Givenchy—it’s a detailed study in human attachment. Beneath the glamour, Holly and Paul’s emotional tug-of-war reveals how deeply our childhood wounds shape our adult connections. Their journey from guarded detachment to vulnerable intimacy is more than just romance; it’s a testament to how healing happens through love. This film remains a timeless reminder that true connection—messy, risky, and real—is always worth the leap.