On 'Borrowing' Ideas

You’re scrolling late at night, and there it is—a design that stops you cold. A sleek layout, a daring palette, a typographic choice that feels like it was made for you. It’s not just good; it’s exactly what your project needs. You save the screenshot, pin it to your mood board, and start sketching. The ideas flow faster now, sharper, alive.

But then, a pang. Is this yours? Or theirs? The line blurs, and the excitement sours into something heavier—guilt, doubt, a quiet fear of being found out. Every designer knows this moment: the weight of the borrowed idea, pressing down, whispering, Did you steal this?

The Pull of Inspiration

We’re trained to hunt for sparks. Mood boards, Pinterest, Dribbble, old magazines, random street signs—everything is fair game. Inspiration is our fuel, and we’re good at finding it. A curve here, a texture there, a vibe that feels just right. We collect these fragments, piece them together, and call it process.

But sometimes, one fragment shines too bright. A website’s grid feels like the answer to your layout problem. A competitor’s campaign nails the tone you’ve been chasing. You don’t copy outright—you’d never do that—but you borrow. You reinterpret. You nudge their idea into your own.

And then the questions start. Where does their work end and yours begin? Is this homage or theft? The weight settles in, not because you’ve done something wrong, but because you’re afraid you might have.

The Guilt of Borrowing

It’s not just about ethics—it’s about identity. Designers pride themselves on originality, on having a voice, a style, a signature. Borrowing feels like betraying that. Like you’ve cheated your way to the finish line. You imagine the client squinting at your deck, saying, “This looks familiar.” You imagine a colleague spotting the influence, raising an eyebrow.

So you tweak harder. You obscure the source. You add layers, shift angles, change colors—anything to make it feel more you. But the weight doesn’t lift. Because deep down, you know: that spark wasn’t yours first. And no amount of polishing can hide that from yourself.

The Myth of the Original

We’re taught to chase the new, the unique, the never-before-seen. But the truth is, nothing is born in a vacuum. Every idea has roots—somewhere, someone, something. The Bauhaus inspired Apple’s minimalism. Street art shaped early web aesthetics. Even the most groundbreaking designs lean on what came before.

Borrowing isn’t a failure; it’s a reality. The greatest artists, from Picasso to Bowie, built their legacies on reinterpretation. They took what existed, saw it differently, and made it their own. The line between stealing and creating isn’t about the act—it’s about the transformation.

The Art of Making It Yours

So how do you carry the weight? By owning it. Borrowing isn’t theft; it’s conversation. That design you saw? It’s not your endpoint—it’s your starting point. Take its energy, its logic, its feeling, and run with it. Add your context, your client’s story, your quirks. Twist it until it speaks with your voice.

The weight lifts when you stop hiding. Acknowledge the spark—maybe not to the client, but to yourself. Let it be the kindling, not the fire. Because the real work isn’t in finding the idea; it’s in what you do with it. A borrowed seed, planted in your soil, grows into something no one else could have made.

That’s not stealing. That’s creating. And it’s heavier, messier, and far more honest than pretending you invented the wheel.