Design is one of the oldest forms of human communication and craftsmanship. From the carved bones of prehistoric tools to the stunning cathedrals of medieval Europe, every age has left its mark. But here’s the truth most modern creatives don’t want to hear: the best designs almost always start as someone else’s idea. Not stolen in a sinister sense, but borrowed, adapted, and improved upon. It’s time to recover that bold tradition — the practice of learning by imitating the masters who came before us.
At its heart, the creative world was never meant to be a vacuum of self-expression. The great artists, inventors, and architects we revere weren’t obsessed with being “original.” They were obsessed with doing things well — and the fastest way to do that was to copy the work of those they admired. Iron sharpens iron, and that sharpening starts with honest imitation. In a world obsessed with novelty, the courage to imitate might just be the most rebellious thing a designer can do.
Stealing Designs: The Oldest Creative Tradition
Design copying is not a betrayal of creativity — it’s its foundation. Historically, apprentices in art and design did not begin by “exploring their voice.” They began by copying. During the Italian Renaissance, students in painting studios were tasked with duplicating their master’s works down to the last stroke. This wasn’t cheating — it was discipline. Only once they had mastered technique through imitation were they considered ready to branch out.
In the 15th century, Michelangelo Buonarroti famously copied ancient Roman sculptures housed in the Medici collection in Florence. He studied the Laocoön Group and the Belvedere Torso, absorbing anatomical precision and ideal proportions. Leonardo da Vinci, before inventing his own visual language, sketched works by Verrocchio and fellow artists around him. In Northern Europe, Albrecht Dürer made direct copies of Italian engravings to understand perspective and composition. These weren’t acts of desperation — they were deliberate paths to mastery.
Shakespeare, often considered the most original writer in the English language, borrowed nearly all his plots. His 1599 tragedy “Julius Caesar” was lifted directly from Plutarch’s Lives, translated by Thomas North. “Macbeth” is largely drawn from Raphael Holinshed’s Chronicles (1577), while “King Lear” was adapted from a preexisting play, “The True Chronicle History of King Leir.” Shakespeare didn’t invent — he elevated. His genius was in language, pacing, and character, not plot originality.
In truth, the whole concept of “plagiarism” as a cultural crime didn’t arise until the late 1700s, when the Romantic movement began to idolize solitary genius. Before that, borrowing was normal — even expected.
Michelangelo, Shakespeare, and the Copyist Tradition
Both Michelangelo and Shakespeare exemplify the classical attitude toward design and creativity. Michelangelo’s 1490s drawings mimicked Donatello’s sculptures and ancient Roman sarcophagi. These sketches weren’t hidden in shame; they were proudly preserved in notebooks. He even forged a Roman sculpture — the Sleeping Cupid — in 1496, tricking Cardinal San Giorgio. Once exposed, it didn’t damage his career; it launched it.
Shakespeare’s “Hamlet” has clear connections to earlier versions of the same story, particularly a lost play scholars refer to as the “Ur-Hamlet.” He took these raw materials and refined them into cultural gold. His work wasn’t great because it was new, but because it was better.
Copying as Craftsmanship: A Lost Principle
The idea of beginning one’s career by copying a master has been cast aside in today’s educational systems. Most art schools now push students to express themselves from day one. This is a recipe for confusion and mediocrity. Traditional apprenticeship began with imitation, followed by guided deviation, and finally personal innovation.
Throughout Europe, the guild system maintained this order for centuries. Carpenters, blacksmiths, and textile makers learned by replicating their masters’ designs, often over and over, before earning the right to introduce their own. Copying was not a threat to identity — it was the path to earning one.
Examples of historical figures who copied early in their careers:
- Michelangelo (copied Roman sculptures)
- Albrecht Dürer (copied Italian engravings)
- Thomas Gainsborough (copied Van Dyck and Rubens)
- Rembrandt (copied Pieter Lastman)
- Johannes Vermeer (copied Caravaggio’s chiaroscuro technique)
Why Innovation Comes After Imitation
Originality is not the starting line — it’s the finish line. The belief that a person must produce something novel before they’ve mastered the basics is a modern poison. Throughout history, creativity has come after years of dedicated imitation. Only by building a deep internal catalog of others’ work can a designer make something truly worthwhile.
Thomas Edison, often called America’s greatest inventor, didn’t invent the light bulb — he improved upon dozens of pre-existing versions. In 1879, he created a more durable, longer-lasting filament and used a better vacuum technique inside the bulb. Edison studied the work of Joseph Swan, Alessandro Volta, and Humphry Davy. What made Edison different was not that he “invented from scratch,” but that he made an existing idea actually work.
Frank Lloyd Wright, a revolutionary architect, was deeply influenced by Louis Sullivan and Japanese design. Early in his career during the 1890s, he borrowed entire structural motifs and woodwork patterns from his mentor’s projects. It wasn’t until 1900 that he began developing his distinctive “Prairie Style.” Without imitation, there would have been no innovation.
The “Learn First, Invent Later” Model
The idea of “learn first, invent later” is time-tested. It’s how blacksmiths, masons, and weavers were trained. You repeat what your mentor does until your hands can do it blindfolded. Only then do you change it.
For example, Johannes Vermeer studied Caravaggio’s dramatic lighting in the mid-1600s. His early paintings like “Christ in the House of Martha and Mary” (1655) show direct influence. By the 1660s, his style had matured, but that journey began in another man’s shadow.
Originality Is Overrated (and Often Fake)
“Original” ideas are usually just good combinations of borrowed elements. Steve Jobs openly admitted this. In a 1996 interview, he said, “Picasso had a saying — ‘Good artists copy, great artists steal.’” Jobs borrowed heavily from Sony’s minimalist product designs, the Xerox PARC GUI system, and calligraphy classes at Reed College in 1973.
Many so-called visionaries, from Walt Disney to Coco Chanel, began their careers by mimicking others. Their genius wasn’t in inventing — it was in refining, combining, and presenting with confidence. Those who scream the loudest about being “original” are often the ones hiding their influences.
The Difference Between Theft and Tribute
Copying a design does not automatically make one a thief. There is a crucial difference between dishonest plagiarism and the honorable tradition of creative tribute. The former is lazy and deceptive; the latter is bold and intentional. Knowing where to draw the line is essential for any designer who wants to learn ethically and build something lasting.
When a designer studies and copies another’s work to learn technique or master structure, that’s tribute. When they duplicate a piece and claim it as their own, that’s theft. The difference lies in intent and transparency. Great design builds on the past while contributing something new, however small.
Plagiarism Is Lazy, Copying Is Strategic
Plagiarism is when someone tries to pass off another person’s work as their own without credit. It’s dishonest, and it cheapens both the copier and the original creator. But copying with purpose — to learn, to study, to transform — is strategic. It’s how nearly all masters began.
An apprentice architect who studies Gothic cathedrals by redrawing their facades isn’t plagiarizing; they’re internalizing centuries of design wisdom. In woodworking, building someone else’s chair pattern can teach you ten things you’d never learn by sketching from scratch.
Credit Where It’s Due — But Keep Building
Honest designers give credit. When Steve Jobs introduced the Macintosh in 1984, he didn’t deny the influence of Xerox PARC’s interface. He built on it. Likewise, Renaissance painters often wrote notes attributing ideas to older masters. Copying was not a scandal — it was a sign of respect.
But the goal is not to live in someone else’s shadow. The real purpose of design tribute is to take a foundation and build a stronger house. You acknowledge the original, but you make it better, more useful, or more beautiful.
How Young Designers Waste Time Chasing Novelty
One of the modern design world’s greatest missteps is its fixation on being “original.” Young designers, especially in academic environments, are often told to avoid imitation at all costs. This toxic mindset leads them to prioritize novelty over mastery, resulting in forgettable, half-baked concepts. They spend more time chasing trends than building timeless skills.
Historically, no young craftsman was encouraged to “find their voice” before they had copied a hundred others. The workshop model, from 12th-century French stonemasons to 19th-century American cabinetmakers, was grounded in humility — you followed before you led. In the pursuit of originality, students today often skip this essential stage, and it shows in the quality of their work.
The irony is that copying doesn’t kill creativity; it enables it. By internalizing what works — the structure, the spacing, the rhythm — a designer develops instincts. These instincts eventually take the reins and produce something new. Without them, a designer is just guessing.
Chasing “Originality” Hurts Development
The push for originality at all costs has led to a generation of designers with surface-level skills and limited depth. When schools and media glamorize newness, they discourage time-tested excellence. As a result, we see portfolios filled with loud, abstract designs that fail in function, clarity, or lasting appeal.
Many 21st-century designers can manipulate a digital interface but struggle to draw a straight line freehand. That’s because they haven’t done the hard work of copying masterworks — whether it’s a classical painting, a Bauhaus chair, or a Roman column. Novelty is fleeting; skill is permanent.
Copying Builds Muscle Memory for Creativity
Muscle memory matters in design just like it does in music or sports. A pianist doesn’t start by composing symphonies — he practices scales. Similarly, a designer who copies classic layouts or color palettes learns more than they realize. They train their eye to see balance and proportion and their hand to build with confidence.
Vincent van Gogh painted copies of Millet’s rural scenes during the 1880s. These weren’t exercises in laziness but in observation and empathy. In the process, Van Gogh deepened his style. Copying great work builds a visual memory bank from which a designer can later withdraw.
Design Icons Who Copied First
Many of history’s most celebrated designers and creators began their careers by copying others. This fact is rarely advertised in modern biographies, but it’s undeniably true. The road to mastery almost always starts with mimicry. The difference between failure and success lies in what happens next.
Steve Jobs didn’t create Apple’s visual language out of thin air. In the 1980s, he and his team studied Sony’s product aesthetics meticulously. He also borrowed interface ideas from Xerox PARC’s Alto computer. Frank Gehry, known for his abstract, metallic forms, began with heavily European-influenced architecture — symmetrical, restrained, and classical.
By understanding what worked for others, these men learned what might work for them. They weren’t afraid of imitation. They saw it as a training ground, not a trap.
Steve Jobs and Japanese Design
Steve Jobs was enamored with Japan’s design principles, particularly those of Sony in the 1970s and ’80s. Sony’s minimalist aesthetic — clean lines, neutral tones, compact forms — directly inspired Apple’s product design under Jobs. His 1983 visit to Japan was formative, deepening his respect for Zen simplicity and craftsmanship.
Jobs also studied calligraphy at Reed College in 1973, learning about the structure and flow of letterforms. This would later influence the Macintosh’s use of proportionally spaced fonts. Apple’s DNA is full of deliberate, respectful borrowings — never wholesale theft, but informed transformation.
Frank Gehry and Historic Influences
Frank Gehry’s early work in the 1960s and ’70s was far from the swooping titanium facades he became known for. His Bixby House (1978) and Norton House (1984) reveal heavy influences from European modernism and traditional residential design. He didn’t arrive at the Guggenheim Bilbao (1997) overnight — it took decades of studying, adapting, and gradually breaking the mold.
Even his famed Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles (completed 2003) echoes elements from Le Corbusier and Antonio Gaudí. Gehry built a vocabulary from others’ language before crafting his own dialect.
Five famous creators who copied early in their careers:
- Steve Jobs (borrowed from Sony and Xerox PARC)
- Frank Gehry (influenced by modernists like Le Corbusier)
- Pablo Picasso (copied El Greco and classical sculpture)
- Coco Chanel (lifted silhouettes from men’s tailoring)
- Vincent van Gogh (repainted works by Millet and Delacroix)
The Apprenticeship Model: Why It Still Works
Long before modern universities, the apprenticeship model shaped the greatest builders, painters, and craftsmen. This model emphasized discipline, humility, and imitation. You didn’t claim to be an artist until you’d worked under one. In design, this process still works — and works better than anything else.
An apprentice in a traditional studio learned by doing. He’d copy his master’s work over and over until his hands could repeat every flourish. This wasn’t punishment. It was training. Only after this grueling, character-forming stage could the apprentice add something new.
The model worked because it reinforced order and respect for proven excellence. There’s a reason the Sistine Chapel ceiling is still studied today, but most modern installations are forgotten within a year. Apprenticeship built quality; our current obsession with quick expression builds disposable fluff.
Copying in Trade Schools and Guilds
In the Middle Ages, European guilds set rigorous standards for craftsmanship. A would-be goldsmith might spend seven years as an apprentice, working on standard designs and learning from a master. Even as late as the 1800s, American furniture makers like Duncan Phyfe trained under established artisans before striking out on their own.
Trade schools in the early 20th century in the United States emphasized practical skills over abstract ideas. Drawing from life, replicating blueprints, and mastering traditional joinery were the core of industrial design education.
The Biblical Basis of Learning Through Imitation
Scripture is full of examples where learning begins with imitation. In Proverbs 13:20, it says, “He that walketh with wise men shall be wise.” Paul tells believers in 1 Corinthians 11:1, “Be ye followers of me, even as I also am of Christ.” This is not about blind copying, but disciplined learning by example.
Even Christ’s own disciples were not asked to invent; they were called to follow. The foundation of wisdom — whether in faith or design — is formed by observing those who already walk the path with skill and grace.
Copying as Competitive Advantage
In a fast-paced world, copying smartly can be the edge that keeps a designer ahead. Major companies and successful designers use informed imitation to skip the guesswork and deliver quality results. This isn’t theft — it’s strategy. When you build on what works, you reduce risk and increase effectiveness.
Consider Amazon. Its interface and UX principles borrow heavily from earlier e-commerce experiments like eBay and Barnes & Noble. Amazon’s strength was in refining and optimizing what already existed. The same principle applies in industrial design, architecture, and branding.
By studying existing solutions, you shorten your learning curve. You don’t waste time reinventing what someone else already perfected. Instead, you stand on the shoulders of giants.
Big Brands Borrow All the Time
Apple borrowed from Sony. Google borrowed from Yahoo. Tesla took design cues from BMW and Mercedes. None of these companies tried to act like they invented the concept of design from scratch. They saw what worked and did it better.
In architecture, neoclassical revivalists like Robert A.M. Stern took ancient Roman motifs and applied them to modern buildings. They weren’t ashamed — they were successful. Borrowing done right is how you stay competitive without compromising integrity.
Learn the Rules Before You Break Them
Before you bend the rules, you have to understand them. Copying great designs gives you the vocabulary to later invent with confidence. Without that grounding, your “original” ideas may just be chaotic noise.
Legendary designer Paul Rand said it best: “Don’t try to be original. Just try to be good.” When you know what good looks like, you’re less likely to fall into gimmicks. Copying gives you that foundation.
Practical Ways to Copy Designs the Right Way
Copying designs effectively and ethically is both an art and a science. It starts with the right intent: not to deceive, but to understand. When approached with discipline, copying becomes a tool for learning, analysis, and improvement. The goal is never to replicate mindlessly, but to grow in ability and insight.
A good designer knows how to break down the anatomy of a great piece of work. Why does a poster’s layout feel balanced? What makes an interface intuitive? The answers lie in close observation and re-creation. By copying well-crafted designs, you internalize techniques that would take years to discover on your own.
The process should be immersive. Choose one piece — a magazine layout, a building facade, or a product label — and try to rebuild it from scratch. This isn’t about uploading it to your portfolio, but about developing the hands-on intuition that turns theory into skill. That’s how great craftsmen and artists trained for generations.
Study, Break Down, Rebuild
The first step in copying well is to study intentionally. Choose a design that has stood the test of time — something admired for both aesthetics and function. Study its structure. Sketch it. Annotate its elements. Then try to rebuild it from nothing, observing every curve, margin, and proportion.
For example, take a classic mid-century Eames chair. Study the materials, the way the wood bends, how the joints fit. Once you’ve done that, try to reconstruct it using similar methods or tools — even digitally. The process teaches far more than a YouTube tutorial ever could.
Add, Subtract, Twist: How to Transform
Once you’ve copied the design faithfully, begin to adapt. This is the critical second step. Add a new detail. Remove a redundant one. Shift the color palette. Change the typography. Through subtle transformations, the piece begins to become your own — still rooted in tradition, but with your fingerprint.
Many iconic logos — from FedEx to UPS — were updated versions of older designs. Good designers take something known and add something fresh. That’s not theft; it’s refinement. And it works.
When “Stealing” Sparks Real Creativity
Some of the most iconic works of the past 200 years were born out of respectful “stealing.” Jazz musicians riffed off each other. Classical composers borrowed themes and reworked them. Even in digital art, remixing and layering existing visuals has led to entirely new genres. Copying — done right — often triggers genuine creativity.
Creativity doesn’t flourish in a void. It thrives on constraints, references, and known patterns. When a designer imitates with intention, new ideas begin to spark. You see something that almost works — then you push it further. That’s where breakthroughs come from.
Artists who wall themselves off from existing work in the name of originality often produce weak, ungrounded results. Real creativity is rooted in continuity, not rupture. When you borrow from tradition, you place your work on firm footing — and from there, you can leap farther.
The “Remix” Principle in Traditional and Digital Art
The idea of the remix is as old as art itself. Bach reworked Vivaldi. Mozart borrowed from Handel. In the 20th century, Andy Warhol took familiar commercial images and elevated them into commentary. He didn’t create the Campbell’s Soup can — he transformed it.
In digital design, remixing is essential. GIF art, web templates, and meme culture all rely on shared references. This doesn’t diminish originality — it enhances it. Creativity in this space is built not on isolation, but on iteration.
Constraints Fuel the Best Ideas
Boundaries drive invention. When you copy a design, you’re working within its limitations — the grid, the layout, the palette. But those very constraints challenge you to make it better. When you can’t change the frame, you learn to sharpen what’s inside it.
One reason Renaissance art was so powerful is that it worked within strict boundaries: religious themes, patron demands, symbolic systems. Artists like Raphael and Titian had to innovate within those walls. The same principle applies today. Copying gives you a box — what you do with it reveals your genius.
Conclusion: Design Like a Master, Not a Martyr
Copying isn’t the mark of a hack — it’s the mark of someone serious about skill. Before you can master the brush, you must mimic the stroke. Before you can shape culture, you must respect it. Every great designer, from antiquity to today, started by studying those who came before.
The culture of modern design has sold a lie: that to be original is to be authentic. But the truth is, originality without foundation is shallow. It’s sound without structure. Great design grows out of great imitation — and there is nothing shameful about that.
Don’t be afraid to imitate boldly. Choose your influences carefully. Study the best and learn their language. Then, when your time comes, speak in your own voice — not by rejecting what came before, but by elevating it.
The Path to Mastery Is Paved With Borrowing
Skill doesn’t drop from the sky. It’s built brick by brick, lesson by lesson. And many of those lessons come from imitating what works. Mastery is never found in isolation — it’s discovered through effort, repetition, and respect for the craft.
Take What Works and Make It Yours
The end goal isn’t duplication. It’s transformation. Copy a great design not to stay in its shadow, but to learn how it casts light. Once you understand the structure, you can shape your own.
Key Takeaways
- Copying is the historical foundation of artistic mastery, not a sign of weakness.
- Many design legends, including Michelangelo, Jobs, and Gehry, began by imitating others.
- Ethical copying involves learning and transforming, not deceiving or plagiarizing.
- Practical design skills are built faster through imitation than through isolated experimentation.
- Copying respected work creates a springboard for authentic innovation and personal style.
Frequently Asked Questions
- Is copying someone else’s design illegal?
Copying for educational or personal use is typically legal, but commercial duplication without permission may violate copyright laws. - Did famous artists really copy others?
Yes. Artists like Van Gogh, Dürer, and even Shakespeare borrowed extensively from predecessors to develop their own styles. - What’s the difference between plagiarism and tribute?
Plagiarism hides the source and claims originality. Tribute acknowledges influence and seeks to build upon it. - How can I copy designs ethically?
Use designs for study, transformation, and learning. Never present copied work as fully your own without attribution or changes. - Does copying hurt creativity?
No. It enhances it. Copying builds muscle memory and teaches structure, both of which fuel future innovation.
