It should go without saying that America is also competitive, and that's putting it lightly. If one country figures out how to do something, anything, America wants the information, too, and he wants to make it better than the original. He views the world in his capitalist goggles, putting everything into a perspective that dictates power and standing by the cool things you have in your backyard because of all the money you make one-upping those other guys across the ocean. In the more pertinent case of Russia, the Soviet Union in 1975, for example, the nation started exploring space and putting heavy emphasis on education to help it grow. In response to this, America began a space program and enforced higher education nationwide, sparking the beginning of the Space Race of 1952. It was a competition so important it meant the world and everything outside of it to Americans when Lance Armstrong stepped onto the moon in 1969, signaling victory in the final frontier. However, even with his competitive nature and his need to be in the spotlight, if someone else has the attention in a group meeting, he won't make an effort to shine the light back on him; he no longer cares about being the center of attention once it's passed on to another.

America believes in the existence of aliens, houses one named Tony in his home, and is a horror movie/fiction junkie despite the terror he undergoes upon indulging in them. He continuously puts himself through the core of his nightmares with the reason that heroes, like himself, should be able to handle some slasher flicks. As shown in one doodle, America is depicted as a colony-baby reading a horror story with England behind him reminding him that he was told not to do so. In America's attempts to prove himself as a big damn hero, he's even taken his ability to handle horror into account since childhood. He'll pretend not to be scared, for as long as a calm demeanor of his can last, only for him to go home, curl up in bed, and, if he was lucky, pull whoever he could into bed with him to make sure nothing happens while he falls asleep; if said person falls asleep before him, he will throw a fit, and it will be a loud, flailing fit. When he has friends to watch movies with, he has the habit of clinging to them for dear life, screaming at the top of his lungs, reduced to a blubbering goo of terrified. In modern times, this poor soul is typically Japan, as America grows to have a fondness for Japanese horrors. This, in itself, could define his immunity to the horrors of battle, gore, and all the tangible aspects of fear, while he's unprepared for the unseen and suspenseful aspects all together (see: Vietnam).

Nostalgic and sentimental to his core, he has a problem with getting rid of things that remind him of something else. With his insecurity as a nation without as much history as the rest of the world, the things that he can deem historical remnants are of utmost value to him, since the material objects can stand for his history more than the two-hundred years can against a European's hundreds, soon to be thousands. This need to hold onto things is more so of a problem when it comes to objects that remind him of England, as their past is rocky and, to put it simply, tragic in its short-lived way. Having been raised by England, he finds it difficult to let their history go, despite the effort he puts into teasing and tormenting England with his false-ignorance. Certain things that mean something personal to him, as seen in the Storage Room Cleaning strips, are typically taken to a whole new level of secretive hiding. While he can't toss them away, he rarely wants to ever see them, much less others. Lithuania has been the only one to actually come into contact with America's hidden treasures, to which America didn't protest more than informing him that England was on his way and to hide everything.