The Myth of Originality
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I worry that we obsess over the idea of being original and how important it is. We imagine artists, writers, and creative directors locked away in châteaux in the Cotswolds or the Berkshires in Massachusetts conceiving brilliant ideas never before seen or heard by another human. In our search for originality, we hold ourselves back: I can’t write a book on {insert any topic here} because it’s already been done. I won't get that job because many people are qualified for it. We think originality is the golden ticket.
I think it holds you back. In your quest to be original, you say no when instead, you should be saying, “How can I lend my own perspective, my own take to this idea that’s already been done?”
“There are no new ideas. There are only new ways of making them felt.” - Audre Lorde, the legendary essayist and poet.
To look at a blank page and demand absolute novelty is paralyzing, and to let that go is liberating.
There might be a thousand or a million people doing what you’re doing, but the stories of who you are, what you’ve done, and what you can make possible - no one else can lay claim to those stories. That’s where originality comes in. This is the storytelling snowflake - because no two snowflakes are alike, not a single person anywhere on the planet will have the same stories that make you real, relatable, and riveting.
Consider some of the big innovations in tech over the last few decades. Zoom wasn’t the first virtual conference platform. Google wasn't the first search engine. Facebook wasn't the first social network. The iPhone wasn't the first smartphone. Rather than inventing something entirely new, these companies achieved success by refining existing concepts and making them more effective and precise. It’s called combinational creativity.
The same dynamic plays out at a much smaller scale. A client of mine produces an annual event that draws the same core audience year after year, with new attendees mixed in. One year, a session was incredibly popular, and she was at first reluctant to repeat it the following year. In fact, she wasn’t planning on doing so. But she couldn't find anything that felt stronger, so she brought it back. The returning attendees loved being able to experience it again, and the new people, well, they didn’t know one way or another that it had “already been done.”
Here's the question worth asking: Who benefits from originality? Your ego might, but not your audience. They want to feel seen. They want an experience. They want connection. Give them that, and you will get traction.
The question isn't "has this been done before?" It should be "has it been done by me?"
