Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how we create, how we represent, and how we live surrounded by images that are, themselves, made from other images.

French philosopher Jean Baudrillard introduced the concept of simulacra — copies of things that no longer have an original. Or perhaps never did. At first, it sounds like a sharp critique of modern media, capitalism, and hyperreality: a world so saturated with representations and symbols that we’ve lost contact with the “real.” But as I explored this concept more deeply, I started wondering — is this really a loss? Or could it be a new kind of freedom?

When Reality Becomes a Copy of a Copy

Baudrillard described different orders of simulacra — representations that once referred to something real, then became distorted, and eventually detached entirely from the original¹. Think of a theme park recreating a town that never existed. Or an Instagram profile that feels more “real” than the person behind it.

What struck me wasn’t just the philosophical idea, but how relevant it is to creative practice. We work with layers of meaning. We remix, reference, quote. We pull from archives, from memory, from emotion, from trends. Is this a world of simulacra? Probably. But is that inherently negative?

Simulacra as Creative Playground

Baudrillard may have sounded the alarm — warning that this proliferation of images risks flattening meaning, creating a society obsessed with spectacle over substance². But I think there’s more to it.

As artists, writers, performers, makers, we can treat this layered world not as a threat, but as a material. We navigate the tension between authenticity and representation every time we choose what to show — and what to conceal. Every act of creation can become an exploration of those layers, a peeling back (or building up) of what we think is real.

Sometimes, we don’t even know where a thought came from. Was it a dream? A film? A conversation from years ago? In that sense, even our inner worlds are simulacra — shaped by echoes and imprints, rather than pristine originals.

The Ethics of Influence

This also raises an honest question: where is the line between inspiration and appropriation? What do we owe to the sources of our ideas, especially when they’re hard to trace?

In academic settings, you cite your sources. In creative work, things are messier. We’re influenced by dozens of images, moments, and fragments we barely remember. But being aware of those layers — and respecting the complexity behind them — helps us stay grounded. Even if we’re swimming in simulacra, we can still swim with intention.

From Simulacra to Symbol

There’s a poetic turn here too. The image, no longer tied to an original, becomes something else: a symbol in its own right. It starts to carry emotional weight, cultural memory, shared imagination. That’s powerful.

In my own work, I’ve started to ask: What happens when we stop searching for the “original” and start listening to the resonances between layers? What kinds of meaning emerge in that space? Can art become a threshold — not a window to something real, but a portal into something felt?

Closing Thoughts

Maybe the real concern isn’t the simulacrum itself, but how we relate to it. Are we lost in the illusion, or are we engaging with the layers deliberately, vulnerably, critically?

For me, the simulacrum is no longer just a philosophical concept. It’s a way of naming the complexity of being a maker — and a human — in a world saturated with images, signs, and echoes. And maybe, just maybe, it’s a reminder that meaning isn’t always about origins. Sometimes, it’s about connections.

1. Jean Baudrillard, Simulacres et Simulation (Paris: Éditions Galilée, 1981). See especially the chapter “The Precession of Simulacra” for his breakdown of the four stages of representation: (1) reflection of a basic reality, (2) perversion of reality, (3) pretending to be reality, and (4) bearing no relation to any reality. ↩︎
2. Baudrillard’s critique of media and hyperreality runs throughout Simulacra and Simulation, but is especially sharp in his analysis of Disneyland as a “simulated” reality masking the unreality of the surrounding world (pp. 12–14 in the English translation by Sheila Faria Glaser, University of Michigan Press, 1994). ↩︎