Titanic Is My Roman Empire: Why We Can't Stop Thinking About It—Especially Neurodivergent Minds
When a Special Interest Becomes a Lifelong Compass
When I was a teenager, I was the Titanic girl. You know the one. Always doodling the ship and heart of the oceans in class. Movie script memorized in full— intonation, beats and everything. An iPod Mini loaded with rare cuts of unreleased music from the film. I lived and breathed Titanic long before I understood why it had taken hold of me so completely. Years later, I’ve come to learn I wasn’t alone. In fact, I was part of a quite a fanbase of people who also never let go.
Lately, the internet’s been abuzz with the question: What’s your Roman Empire? That one historical obsession you can’t stop thinking about—decades later, unshaken. For many of us, it’s Titanic. And not just the ship, but the story. The film. The feelings. The artifacts. The tragedy of it all. Titanic isn't just something we watched; it’s something that lives inside us.
Sure, it was a box office behemoth, reigning supreme for twelve years. It won eleven Oscars. It was a cinematic juggernaut. But those facts don’t explain the depth of devotion. After all, there are countless historical events, tragedies, and love stories. So why did this one imprint on us so deeply?
The New York Times recently published a piece exploring why kids today still fall under Titanic’s spell. They marvel at the ship’s engineering, the opulence, the hubris, the wreck. But that’s only part of it. For many of us—especially those of us who are neurodivergent—the draw goes deeper. Titanic offers a perfect storm of emotional resonance, historical detail, and moral tension. It’s a psychological ecosystem where our brains can roam freely, collecting, connecting, feeling.
For those with ADHD, autism, or simply a heart wired to wonder, Titanic becomes more than a movie. It becomes a mirror. A metaphor. A map for what matters most.
It took me years—and eventually, becoming a therapist—to understand what Titanic truly meant to me. People ask why I love it so much, and I usually offer the obvious: the sweeping score, the unforgettable performances, the iconic love story that feels as inevitable as the iceberg. And all that’s true.
But that’s not why it stayed with me for 28 years.
Titanic, at its core, is a story about what it means to truly live. It reminds us—again and again—that our time is finite, and the only thing worth clinging to in the end is love. That in the face of death, the only victory is having made it count.
So this is my tribute. To the ship of dreams. To the movie that shaped me. And to everyone out there who still thinks about it daily—neurodivergent or not. If Titanic is your Roman Empire, welcome. You're among kindred spirits. Here’s to the ones who never let go.
Here’s to making it count.
“Titanic, at its core, is a story about what it means to truly live. It reminds us—again and again—that our time is finite, and the only thing worth clinging to in the end is love. That in the face of death, the only victory is having made it count.”
The Timeless Fascination: Existential Questions and Titanic
The story of Titanic isn't merely a historical tragedy or blockbuster movie. At its core, Titanic taps into profound existential themes, prompting the audience to reflect deeply on how to live meaningfully and how to face death bravely. The questions it raises—such as "What creates a life worth living?" and "How do we face our mortality?"—resonate universally, but even more deeply for introspective, emotionally sensitive, or neurodivergent individuals.
Sometimes I wonder if I was always destined to develop a life-long reverence with this movie— if its messages on life, death, and love were always meant to become a sort of poetic spirituality in my life. Ever since I saw the film in theaters at the tender age of six years old, I have felt deeply enthralled by the idea of self actualization and what it means to live a fulfilling life. In my adolscence, Titanic became a more solidified spiritual compass of sorts. It taught me that authenticity and making choices in alignment with myself we’re critical to living a meaningful life.
Titanic as a Special Interest and Hyperfixation
The terms "hyperfixate," "autism hyperfixation," and "ADHD hyperfixation" have gained popularity, describing intense, passionate interests common among neurodivergent people. Titanic often becomes such a special interest, offering a rich tapestry of historical detail, emotional intensity, and narrative complexity—perfect ingredients for fixation.
From a neurodivergent lens, Titanic checks so many of the boxes that make an interest go from interesting to all-consuming. First, there's the sheer volume of factual information to absorb—details about the ship’s construction, specifications, crew, passengers, and the real-life timeline of events. Then there are the emotional layers: the grandeur of the unsinkable ship, the tragedy of hubris, the class inequities, and of course, the deeply impactful human stories of love and loss. Titanic offers a sensory-rich world to dive into: the maritime safety standards, the aesthetic of the Edwardian era, the dichotomy between first class opulence to third class restrictions, and the and the palpable emotional bridge between past and present—the way the film immerses us in 1912 while simultaneously speaking to the modern viewer’s sense of mortality and meaning. It's a story that invites obsession, because every rewatch, every deep dive, reveals something new—another thread to pull, another emotion to feel.
For many autistic or ADHD individuals, interests like Titanic aren’t just hobbies—they’re portals. Spaces where we feel safe, understood, and endlessly curious. Titanic becomes both a refuge and a quest. It’s not just about knowing everything there is to know about the ship; it’s about metabolizing what it all means—about humanity, about risk, about beauty and tragedy. That’s what makes it timeless—and for some of us, lifelong.
Psychological Themes: Rescue, Trauma, and ADHD/Autistic Women
A significant psychological draw of Titanic is the deep identification many viewers, particularly neurodivergent women, feel toward characters like Rose. The narrative explores trauma, the longing to be rescued, and the drive toward self-actualization—Rose’s transformation from trapped to liberated resonates with those who feel misunderstood or constrained by societal expectations.
For many people with ADHD and autism, particularly women and those raised to be caretakers or “good girls,” the longing to be rescued isn’t just a romantic fantasy—it’s often rooted in complex trauma. From a young age, neurodivergent individuals are often made to feel “too much” or “not enough”—too sensitive, too intense, too scattered, too rigid, too emotional. We learn, implicitly and explicitly, that our natural way of being is wrong. Over time, this can create a deep core belief: If I were truly seen and loved, someone would save me—from myself, from the world, from the weight of being misunderstood.
This trauma-induced yearning to be rescued isn't always about wanting a person to swoop in and fix everything. It’s often about the deeper wish to finally rest. To be allowed to fall apart without losing love. To stop performing, masking, caretaking, striving. Many neurodivergent women, especially, are highly competent on the outside—gifted, productive, high-achieving—but internally exhausted, craving a safe container to collapse into.
And then comes Titanic. The film gives us Rose, a woman trapped in a gilded cage of expectations, silently screaming inside. Her longing is visceral, her grief unspoken. And then Jack appears—not as a savior in the traditional sense, but as someone who sees her. Who mirrors her aliveness. Who offers her escape not just from circumstance, but from self-erasure.
For neurodivergent viewers, this hits hard. Jack doesn’t rescue Rose because she’s weak. He rescues her by reflecting her strength, her wildness, her right to exist outside the lines. And that is the kind of rescue many of us long for—not to be fixed, but to be known, and loved anyway.
Symbolism and Self-Actualization: Butterfly Comb and Flying Scenes
Titanic masterfully employs symbolism, notably through the butterfly comb and iconic flying scene at the ship’s bow. Butterflies represent transformation and rebirth, capturing Rose’s metamorphosis and symbolizing the profound journey of self-discovery and self-actualization. Such symbols profoundly impact neurodivergent viewers, who often deeply connect with visual metaphors and sensory-rich narratives.
Titanic Memorabilia: The Neurodivergent Collector
Titanic memorabilia holds special allure for collectors, particularly those who hyperfixate. There’s something uniquely comforting about collecting tangible relics tied to a beloved interest—something that takes up residence in the heart and refuses to leave. For neurodivergent individuals, memorabilia isn’t just about fandom or nostalgia—it’s a way of anchoring meaning in the physical world. It helps make abstract emotion and fixation feel grounded, visible, real.
Some collect every edition of the film released on VHS, DVD, or Blu-ray. Others track down replica Heart of the Ocean necklaces, museum exhibition tickets, or vintage newspaper clippings from 1912. Each object becomes a kind of sacred token—a memory holder, a ritual, a conversation starter. In a world that often doesn’t understand the intensity of special interests, collecting becomes a quiet form of protest: This matters. It’s not frivolous. It’s part of who I am.
Memorabilia can also function as a soothing sensory or emotional touchpoint. The visual aesthetic of Titanic merchandise—the sepia tones, the Edwardian elegance, the oceanic blues—often appeals to highly sensitive or sensory-seeking minds. Owning a piece of Titanic becomes a way to stay connected, to keep the story close, to never let go.
Grief, Loss, and the Comfort of Titanic
Titanic offers an exploration of grief and loss that feels both universal and intimately personal. Themes like anticipatory grief, death anxiety, and existential questioning are prominently woven through the narrative, offering a safe yet powerful medium for viewers, especially those dealing with their own grief or existential fears.
The film doesn't shy away from devastation—it lingers in it. It invites us to witness the slow, tragic unraveling of lives, not through sensationalism, but through deeply human moments: a mother singing lullabies to her children as the water rises, elderly lovers clinging to each other in their final minutes, passengers helping strangers onto lifeboats knowing they will not survive. These scenes don't just evoke sadness—they validate it. They offer a space to feel grief fully, without needing to explain it.
For those who have experienced profound loss—whether of a loved one, a sense of safety, or a way of being—Titanic becomes more than a film. It becomes a container for mourning. A companion in the quiet hours. A way to process that death and love are always intertwined, and that grief, in all its aching forms, is a reflection of how deeply we loved.
Cultural Resonance: Why Titanic Still Captivates New Generations
Decades after its release, Titanic remains a cultural phenomenon. Recent discussions, including the New York Times article exploring children’s enduring fascination, indicate the story's lasting power. Titanic symbolizes more than tragedy; it reflects timeless human struggles with class, privilege, and the search for authentic meaning.
It remains relevant and ripe with fascination because it’s ultimately an unthinkable tragedy that embodies so many themes about human behavior. From the White Star Line’s promotional press about the ship being “unsinkable,” to how one’s identity impacted their likelihood of survival during the sinking— Titanic encompasses a thorough existential analysis of how humans struggle to answer life’s biggest questions.
The scope of the tragedy has innumerable elements that can be investigated by anyone, young and old. We all want understanding about how a tragedy on such a large scale can happen— especially one that was boasted as unlikely to happen. Hubris, arrogance, and greed ultimately caused a preventable disaster. We are also fascinated by death. Titanic, therefore, offers a strangely, illuminating window into exploring our own death anxiety.
Conclusion: Lessons from Titanic—How We Choose to Live
Ultimately, Titanic reminds us of the fragility and preciousness of life. Whether it becomes a hyperfixation or remains a cultural touchstone, it challenges us to reflect deeply, live authentically, and find meaning despite inevitable loss and uncertainty. So if Titanic is also your Roman Empire, you’re in good company. Embrace your curiosities and fascinations with the story, facts, real people, and existential themes. You may just learn a lot about yourself!