Can True Originality Even Exist?

Between innovation and renovation.

Did you ever wonder if true originality exists? And if so, where does it come from? Is its source endless, or is it finite? Can anyone be original, or is it reserved for a handful of people? Are original ideas born from talent, circumstance, or change? Or are they simply the combination of what already exists?

Questions like these have wandered through many minds for centuries. Just like clockwork, philosophers, artists, scientists, historians, and writers have turned to them repeatedly, while each generation reinterprets them anew. Yet despite the countless attempts to define the core of originality, there is still no certain answer.

Today, these questions feel more urgent than ever. We live in a time where nothing feels original anymore. Everything seems to be a poorly made copy of something that was made before. Interior design repeats the minimalist aesthetics, bestselling novels echo familiar plots, and fashion cycles through the same silhouettes that were popular ten and twenty years ago. But it’s not just our surroundings that begin to blur into another. We ourselves seem to lose our individuality through filters, cosmetic procedures, beauty ideals, and the need to fit in. Literally.

In response to this cultural shift, a collective nostalgia has emerged. An almost forgotten longing for a time before AI, before mobile phones, and before the internet. This cultural ennui, combined with nostalgia, manifests itself as the current fascination with the analog: vinyl records, Polaroid photography, handwritten letters, and retro fashion are highly sought after. All of them are attempts to reclaim authenticity and ownership in a world that feels increasingly artificial and repetitive.

This raises an interesting question: if originality feels absent today, where did it come from? Where did it go? And can we get it back?

To answer this, we have to take a look beyond the present moment and discover how originality has been preserved throughout history.

In ancient Greece, the word “poiesis,” which means “to make” or “to create,” refers to the process of creation and transforming one thing into another. A poet, politician, artist, or blacksmith did not invent reality. They reshaped it. For them, originality was defined by the ability to reveal something that was hidden. At the same time, the cultural philosophy was rooted in the belief that truth, beauty, and knowledge were universal and eternal concepts. Their methods remind me of scientific procedures that are used nowadays: rather than creating new ideas, they sought to uncover principles that already existed. For them, originality was less about invention and more about discovery.

However, even this understanding invites some doubt. Who can say with clear certainty that the Greeks came up with every single idea on their own? Perhaps they, too, were inspired by what was already present: cave paintings that imitated animals and movement. Architectural forms echoed in natural patterns. Mathematical proportions that appear in leaves, shells, and galaxies…the list goes on.

If human creation is always inspired by observation, can anything ever be fully original? If we take it a step further, we can ask another question: was there ever originality at all? Therefore, can originality even exist?

Throughout most of history, people lived with limited access to ideas, languages, cultures, communication, and information. Their inspirations were shaped by their immediate surroundings: nature, architecture, local culture, and personal experience. Because the options were so reduced, people were forced to work deeply with what they had. Boredom was (in contrast to today) a part of daily life. Through long stretches of silence and repetition, the mind had the ability to wander, explore, and discover. As a result, new connections emerged and creativity was born.

In contrast, modern life offers constant access to endless ideas. What might seem trivial at first might become a problem later. At this point in time, we are aware that our tastes are shaped by algorithms and trends that reward familiarity. We see the same images, hear the same opinions, listen to the same music, and consume the same content while staying in our bubble of familiarity. While our physical environments still influence us to a varying degree, their power has decreased. Digital spaces have become the primary source of inspiration but also imitation.

As a result, creativity (and other forms of creative self-expression) often feels flattened or not as “new” or “interesting.” Instead of developing ideas slowly, we skim, copy, adapt, and reuse at high speed. Between those, there is not much space for discussion, boredom, or reflection left. Instead of sitting with uncertainty or something that feels slightly out of our comfort zone, we search for immediate answers and try to ignore the uncomfortable thoughts and feelings or push them away entirely. Paradoxically, the immense pressure to create something “new” has resulted in copying and reproducing the same thing over and over.

So, what can be done differently?

Perhaps the first step is making peace with the idea that nothing is completely original. Every thought, artwork, invention, and design is, in some way, a replica or composition of something(s) that has existed before. But rather than diminishing creativity at once, this realization can deepen your understanding and interaction with it. There is beauty to be found in understanding that everything we create is part of something larger: an interconnected network of influences, changes, and reinterpretations shaped by countless individuals across time. Through this, originality is not something sacred and perfect that wants to be found. It is something to create and reshape (collectively!); it grows and strengthens with every new addition.

Another possibility lies in reclaiming boredom. In an age of constant stimulation, boredom feels almost inconvenient. Our attention spans are fragmented, and moments of stillness, when they occur, are quickly filled with screens. Yet boredom creates space for imagination, creativity, and (you might have guessed it) originality. As mentioned above, while “originality” in the sense that most people imagine it does not exist, the possibility of creating something out of many different things does.

In addition, trying something you are unfamiliar with can reawaken your mind to see things from a different perspective. This can show up in bigger changes, like learning a skill you always have been curious about, talking to someone outside your usual social circle, or exploring a topic that has nothing to do with your regular life. However, it can also show up within intentional changes, such as holding your toothbrush with your non-dominant hand, taking a different route to your destination, or rearranging something in your immediate surroundings.

Some of these gestures may seem silly or insignificant, but they challenge your mind to break familiar patterns. By doing so, they create space for a fresh perspective, allowing you to connect ideas you may not have thought possible before.

As Albert Einstein famously suggested, doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results is madness. If we want fresh ideas, we must first be willing to live differently.

In the end, originality may not be “lost,” but rather something we have forgotten to access. Even so, we still hold the key.

Nevertheless, the questions about originality prevail. Ultimately, the answers are for each person to decide. Those are some of my thoughts on the matter, and I would like to hear yours in the comments.

PS: After two weeks, I’m back. Going forward, one essay will be published every two weeks on Thursday at 2pm UTC.

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