Grappling with untenable speed of the digital world is a recurring theme here on Another Realm. In an essay I wrote earlier this year on the visionary Marta Becket, I briefly mentioned the Jumi Bello plagiarism scandal and the circumstances leading to the author’s untimely demise, which ultimately ended in the loss of her book deal. Author Carmen Maria Machado, who wrote Her Body and Other Parties (a fantastic book of stories and very seasonally appropriate) wrote about the business of publishing and the havoc it wreaks on the actual process of writing, which is, more often than not, an arduous and time-consuming task.
“None of the trappings of literary success—which can be quick, and flashy, and very exciting—can substitute for the (singular, difficult, slow, and at times unbearable) work of writing.”
This is in response to the publishing world, yes—and yet I’ve observed this rings true for other written mediums: poetry, investigative journalism, editorial pieces, reviews, and even Substack posts. The problem is that we’ve become so accustomed to the immediacy of the short-form digital world that writers are struggling to keep up with the demands of our voracious appetites. The vast majority of us do not crave long-form writing in the ways we did before. Unfortunately, what we crave almost constantly is content. And I wouldn’t necessarily rush to call a novel or a well-written and researched article content. They feel much more like art forms, and in order to develop something as beautiful and meaningful as a work of art, you must be willing to sacrifice inordinate amounts of time and energy.
To echo Machado, publishers are not affording authors the conditions necessary for good writing. Instead, writers are beholden to abusive and unrealistic deadlines that flatten and demean the processes that make it all possible, hence Bello’s choice to circumvent this labor and lift full sections of other writers’ work for her own. As I stated above, this phenomenon does not stop at novels and the publishing world. It’s bled into the online world of writing as well.
Lauren Sands, the writer behind A Whimsical World, appears to agree with this sentiment. “Evolution doesn’t happen overnight,” she writes.
“It needs space, room for failure, and above all, time. It happens when you know your work, your product, or your narrative, but allow for change. When you embrace discomfort and explore new ideas. When you trust that the essence of what you’re building will carry through.”
Given the abundance of exceedingly talented writers, artists, curators, historians, and archivists on this platform, the process of finding and developing your voice, of carving out a space for your words to exist within this vast digital echo chamber, can be quite daunting. I certainly rub up against this insecurity every time I publish something here. And as more users flock to the platform, each one eager to receive their own slice of the pie, it becomes increasingly difficult to differentiate yourself among a sea of equally talented human beings.
Some, however, become so daunted by this fact, so pressed for time and the need to put something out right now as if their lives depend on it, they resort to outright plagiarism. Glenn Mae, who writes Trash Panic, a wonderful Substack about sourcing beautiful vintage and secondhand goods, was recently a victim of this. Mae provides immense value and beauty to the online world from a distinct perspective that many have come to recognize her for. The same Lauren Sands I quoted above, who waxed poetic about her own creative process, was one of them. She clearly loved Mae’s voice and perspective so much that she decided to claim it as her own.
Sands also did this to me, although admittedly more subtly, lifting some of my writing and tweaking the words slightly to avoid any fingers pointing in her direction. Her Substack title, A Whimsical World, bears a strange resemblance to my own, as if she fed it through ChatGPT and asked it to generate a list of title ideas that rang with a similar, watered-down timbre. Sands’ color scheme and overall branding is also a little too familiar. I ignored it at first. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt, because I like to believe the best in people. But after seeing this note and its striking resemblance to my own publication’s tagline, “Oscillating between the profound and the mundane,” I changed my mind. My subsequent discovery that Sands had also copied Glenn Mae’s work and not just mine was the final nail in the proverbial coffin. She was likely doing this to countless others, and I decided enough was enough. I felt obligated to say something, fool’s errand it may be.
Sands-gate is merely the tip of the iceberg here. Plagiarism is rampant on this platform, just as it is out there in the real world. My dear friend Kelsey, a brilliant archivist at the Eames Foundation and art history aficionado, also writes a wonderful newsletter called Absolument! chronicling her love for art, design, and architecture, and the life she is building abroad in France. She shared a similar experience of being copied and plagiarized recently. Like me, Kelsey wanted to give the person in question the benefit of the doubt, but the evidence continued to accumulate. It was all a little too coincidental. To add some levity, it seems this person in question and Sands are friends, often praising one another’s work publicly. The punchline writes itself.
The unfortunate reality of our situation is that people steal and will continue to steal. I do not know how to stop plagiarism and copy-cats, but I do know one thing: my perspective, my voice, my words, and my natural inclinations are entirely unique to me. That is my only solace at this time. Creativity is a mysterious process that belongs to the creator alone, and it cannot be replicated. Trying to do so is as fruitless as trying to replicate the Big Bang. It is informed by the phenomenology of the person who created it: all their trauma, lived experiences, and creativity, all encoded neatly within their DNA. Try as you might, another person’s creative process can never be yours. Only yours can be yours.
We can easily see through a flimsy disguise or façade. It isn’t hard to spot when someone uses AI to generate a piece, or when someone’s post looks eerily similar to another’s. We notice when something feels two-dimensional, unfinished, and missing some essential piece. Like when a soul leaves a body, it is not that person anymore. It is just what remains—their corporeal form. The light that once inhabited it is gone.
It is devastating when you are shamelessly copied and plagiarized. It has happened to me and my friends countless times. Kelsey’s essay written for The Metropolitan Museum of Art was plagiarized nearly word for word by prestigious outlets you’d think would know better. My dear friend Preston, a talented industrial designer, has been ripped off several times (one time by his previous employer, pictured below). This has happened and will continue to happen largely because there is no consequence. The speediness of the world we live in has accidentally created a culture of entitlement, one that emboldens people to copy and steal, almost involuntarily. And I understand the impulse—I really do. It is, quite literally, my job to empathize and understand human behavior. In a world of infinite choice and possibility, it can feel as if everything already belongs to you. But there’s a darker side to this. I don’t know for certain whether their actions were driven by the false assumption that they wouldn’t be caught, but I think they all had something else in common: they knew it wouldn’t matter.
To recount and analyze how many times this has happened throughout history would be futile; and yet, I cannot help but think of all the famous husbands who have stolen the work of their brilliant, lesser-known wives. How many Mary Shelleys or Sylvia Plaths or Lee Krasners have been overshadowed by the Percys, Hugheses, and Pollocks of this world? Do you really want to follow their lead? Is your own world so droll and vacuous that you had to steal someone else’s? Do you have such little faith in your own creative imagination? The impulse to steal and deny the world of your own unique perspective feels like a devastating waste of a wonderful opportunity.
It is particularly disappointing because we have, unfortunately, come expect this kind of pillaging behavior from men. We have seen it before. Their reputations are so often scaffolded by the work and brilliance of others. But when women (women who claim to support other women, no less) adopt these methods of deceit, it reveals how deep the foundations of this architecture lie.
With the limitlessness of human potential, surely you can do better than this.
My heart is so with you, Kaity, and I will always cherish your intelligence, sensitivity, and creativity!!! ❤️❤️❤️