They Not Like Us: The Copycat Epidemic in Design

Kendricks song is more than just a diss track—it’s an anthem of authenticity, a sharp rebuke of those who falsely claim originality and creative prowess. It’s a declaration that some people are simply not cut from the same cloth. In the music industry, artists who aren't original are called out, ridiculed, and, in some cases, see their careers fade. But in the design world, imitation isn’t just tolerated—it’s rewarded.

Copycats are everywhere in design, occupying the highest ranks of the industry while masquerading as visionaries. Among them are names like Kelly Wearstler and Ryan Saghian, whose repeated acts of copying seem to go unchecked. Independent designers—the real originators—watch their work get "reinterpreted" by these bigger names, who reap all the credit. A concept that took months, or even years, to develop can be copied, slightly altered, and turned into a commercial success by someone with the right connections. And yet, when these imitations are exposed, they are often dismissed as coincidence, as if originality is some collective experience rather than the result of an individual’s dedication, creativity, and effort. Having been on the receiving end of this theft myself, I know firsthand how infuriating it is. I have also witnessed young designers see their businesses decimated by this culture of copying. It’s a disgrace, and it needs to be called out. They not like us.

The media, which claims to champion innovation, is complicit in protecting these so-called icons. Major design publications such as AD rarely, if ever, hold these figures accountable. Instead, they celebrate them, giving them glowing profiles, prestigious awards, and lucrative collaborations. The journalists who should be exposing design theft often work for outlets that rely on these designers for access and advertising dollars. A feature on a prominent designer is more valuable than a story on an independent creator who had their work stolen. The result is a cycle where the same names are elevated, and their history of copying is conveniently erased.

When a smaller designer calls out a major figure for plagiarism, the response is predictable. Apologists rush in to justify the theft with familiar excuses: "It’s just inspiration," "Everyone pulls from the same references," or the ever-popular "This is just how design industry functions". But there’s a crucial distinction between influence and theft. Influence acknowledges its source; theft erases it. Throughout history, creative fields have thrived on building upon past ideas, but there is a clear difference between evolving a concept and taking someone else’s work and passing it off as original.

What makes this problem even more insidious is the hypocrisy of it all. Many of the industry’s biggest names have built their reputations on the illusion of being groundbreaking when, in reality, their archives are filled with borrowed ideas. And yet, they continue to be positioned as geniuses, their careers unfazed even when evidence of their copying surfaces. The rare times they are called out, they issue a half-hearted statement or ignore the controversy entirely, knowing that the industry will soon move on, eager to protect its own.

If the music industry has a culture of exposing frauds, why does design remain silent? Hip-hop, in particular, thrives on calling out inauthenticity. When someone tries to claim a place they haven’t earned, the culture responds. But in design, the community looks the other way. Whether it’s due to fear of burning bridges, the weight of industry politics, or the simple reality that calling out a copycat rarely leads to real consequences, there is an acceptance that plagiarism is just part of the game.

But should it be?

There is an opportunity to rewrite this narrative. The industry does not have to keep rewarding those who steal. Media outlets must take responsibility for holding powerful designers accountable instead of reinforcing their mythos. Consumers should be more conscious of where they spend their money, choosing to support independent creatives rather than brands that profit off uncredited ideas. Designers themselves must break the silence, refusing to participate in an ecosystem that allows theft to flourish unchecked.

"They not like us" signifies that some individuals simply do not belong in the same conversation as those who have built something from nothing. This should apply to design—those who rise by copying others should not be held in the same esteem as those who create with originality. It’s time to recognize the difference. Because when it comes to true creativity, no you not a colleague, you a f@%king copier.