If Ghibli Was Influenced, Too, Why Are We Gatekeeping AI Art?
AI-generated images in the iconic Studio Ghibli style sparked outrage online after OpenAI released their new and vastly improved image generator. Critics cry theft. But beneath the controversy lies a deeper truth about art, ownership, and the myth of originality. If Ghibli didn’t invent their style, why are we gatekeeping who gets to use it?
A Flood of AI-Generated Ghibli-Style Art
OpenAI’s significant AI-generation upgrade on March 25, 2025, now allows users to generate sophisticated visuals directly in ChatGPT without the need for plugins, external apps, prompt engineering, or advanced skills. One of the most viral uses of the tool after it launched? Images in the aesthetic of Studio Ghibli, a Japanese animation studio based in Tokyo.
If you’re on social media, you’ve probably seen the whimsical, softly colored AI renderings of family portraits, pets, and even business headshots, all mimicking the Ghibli look. It was a beautiful and exciting flood of AI-enhanced nostalgia and a demonstration of how AI-generated visuals are reshaping creative self-expression.
But not everyone welcomed it.
“It’s theft,” critics argued. “You’re stealing Miyazaki’s soul.” (Hayao Miyazaki is Studio Ghibli’s co-founder.)
Zelda Williams, daughter of Robin Williams, called out the trend as a continuation of what she considers unethical mimicry, referencing previous outrage over AI-generated images of her late father. Meanwhile, critics resurfaced Hayao Miyazaki's infamous statement that AI-generated art is "an insult to life itself."
The mood among many artists and fans shifted from playful curiosity to protective outrage, but these emotional responses raise important questions:
What exactly is being stolen?
Is a visual style itself intellectual property?
What are we really afraid of? Misuse or mass access?
Critics say OpenAI didn’t just mimic Ghibli’s style with their updated image tool; they cloned its soul without consent, turning a whimsical tribute into what some now call a violation of artistic legacy. To them, these aren’t acts of creativity, they’re acts of appropriation, repackaging Hayao Miyazaki’s emotional depth into algorithmic kitsch.
On the surface, the frustration seems valid: the Ghibli style is distinctive, beloved, and deeply human. But beneath the outcry lies a contradiction we rarely confront.
Studio Ghibli didn’t invent their style.
Studio Ghibli’s visual and thematic language draws from a deep well of influence, and they didn’t pay or formally attribute the many artists, traditions, and movements that inspired them:
Osamu Tezuka, the “God of Manga,” whose cinematic layouts and iconic large-eyed character designs shaped modern anime;
French animation and illustration, especially Paul Grimault’s The King and the Mockingbird and Jean “Moebius” Giraud’s visionary comics;
Walt Disney’s animation principles, particularly fluid motion and emotional resonance;
Traditional Japanese art forms, including watercolor aesthetics, folklore, and Edo-era linework;
And European literature, such as the works of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.
This is not an accusation, it’s context.
If we’re going to have an honest conversation about creative ownership in the age of AI-generated visuals, we need to begin by acknowledging how artistic influence has always worked.
Studio Ghibli’s influences weren’t hidden, but they also weren’t formally credited in film credits or legal acknowledgments. Not because of secrecy or neglect, but because that simply wasn’t the norm.
And honestly? It still isn’t.
We don’t cite every influence because so much of influence is ambient. It’s absorbed, echoed, and remixed. That’s how art works. It’s how it’s always worked.
The Myth of Originality
As literary critic Harold Bloom noted in The Anxiety of Influence, all creative work is born in relation to what came before. No style emerges in a vacuum. It is inherited, interpreted, and transformed. And history offers no shortage of proof.
Look at art history for more evidence:
The Impressionists shared a common aesthetic vocabulary.
Cubism followed a recognizable structure.
Pop art, pointillism, Art Nouveau, and Art Deco were all movements that shared visual languages.
They were shaped collectively by artists responding to one another and to their times. Entire art history textbooks are filled with periods where everyone “looked the same.”
Most movements also had a whole constellation of talented contributors, but only a few became household names. Why? Often it wasn't just the quality of the work but the visibility, connections, timing, narrative, or even proximity to power or privilege.
Movements are, by nature, collaborative and iterative, even when driven by a few standout names.
It was never considered theft, it was evolution.
Attribution Then and Now
Historically, attribution has been implicit, not explicit. The expectation wasn’t financial compensation or even public acknowledgment. Creative borrowing was foundational to the process of artistic evolution.
Today, digital tools and digital culture have changed the terrain.
Artists are now searchable, taggable, and traceable.
Platforms reward transparency and naming sources.
Enter AI.
AI art generators introduce an entirely new scale of influence replication, and this shift has created a moral reckoning. But are we asking AI to follow attribution practices that many (most/all) legendary human creators never followed themselves?
Note that this doesn’t mean the AI industry is exempt from scrutiny, but it does raise a fair question about consistency.
A New Standard, But for Whom?
The visual style now known as “Ghibli-esque” is celebrated worldwide, and that’s a testament to the studio’s vision and also to its accessibility. It was always meant to feel universal, emotionally resonant, and timeless.
AI now allows users to apply that same emotional palette to their own photos, stories, and imagined scenes, and for some, that’s a deeply meaningful experience.
I asked ChatGPT for a Ghibli-style photo of my much-beloved cats. The result was charming. I don’t pretend it’s equivalent to Spirited Away, but I love the result. It brought some warmth into my life, and I didn’t need a studio or budget to make it happen. As AI art becomes more accessible, so too does the emotional resonance that once belonged to elite creators or major studios.
This kind of wide, global access doesn’t diminish Studio Ghibli’s work, it extends its legacy. That extension, however, depends on how we engage with the source. It’s fair to say that the public's pushback played a role in ensuring the tribute didn’t cross into erasure.
“But It Was Created By AI. It Has No Soul.” Please.
The claim that AI-generated art is inherently hollow or passionless rests on a romanticized myth that only humans can convey emotion or meaning. But here’s the real truth:
Meaning is received, not just expressed.
If a piece of AI-generated art moves someone, makes them feel seen, makes them laugh, cry, or pause, who’s to say it’s hollow, meaningless, and without soul?
Besides, humans are more than capable of creating uninspired, lazy, or offensively bad art. Passion and depth aren’t guaranteed by a pulse. We’ve all sat through lifeless performances, skimmed soulless writing, or seen design that lacked any form or function.
Dismissing AI-generated art as inherently shallow isn’t just wrong, it’s incredibly short-sighted. It denies the reality that tools evolve, mediums shift, and creativity has always been about collaboration. Now, it just happens to include AI.
And AI, especially in the hands of intentional creators, can mirror, magnify, and remix human emotion in powerful ways. The artistry is often in the ask, the curation, the vision, and the interplay between the human and the tool.
But it doesn’t have to be.
Art doesn’t require intention to be meaningful, and meaning doesn’t require intention to exist.
Historically, artists have explored this concept with great depth.
Dadaism, an art movement that started in 1916, explored deliberate irrationality and a rejection of traditional artistic values with a focus on chaos, absurdity, and spontaneity
The avant-garde “music” of composer John Cage was deeply influenced by his studies of Eastern philosophies which led him to embrace chance operations and indeterminacy in his compositions
Rauschenberg’s erasures were Neo-Dadaist conceptual artworks that challenged traditional notions of art and authorship
Jackson Pollock’s drip paintings paved the way for future artists to explore new possibilities in abstraction and pushed the boundaries of what could be considered art
Note that art critic Clement Greenberg claimed that Pollock admitted that Janet Sobel's work "had made an impression on him" and was a direct influence on his drip painting technique
See the very apt Smithsonian article, Before He Created His Vibrant Drip Paintings, Jackson Pollock Took Inspiration From Pablo Picasso.
Entire movements have rejected intention to let chaos, randomness, or external systems co-create. Why? Because meaning often emerges rather than being assigned.
So yes, while intention can elevate and shape art, it’s not a prerequisite. What defines art is the experience, the reaction, the resonance.
Notice, too, that these artists were heavily influenced and inspired by others’ work.
Whether it’s born of code, chaos, or careful planning, if it connects, it counts.
And that strengthens the case for AI-generated art, not against it.
Art can be driven by randomness, human collaboration, or emergent behavior and still create beauty, evoke emotion, and spark conversation.
But This Really Isn’t About Theft or AI’s Lack of Soul.
What if the outrage over AI art isn’t about creativity being lost but about creativity being shared too widely? What if it’s about access?
For generations, style, skill, and storytelling were gatekept by institutions, access to tools, training, or privilege.
AI collapses that exclusivity. Not slowly. Radically.
A single sentence in ChatGPT can evoke an emotional aesthetic once reserved for major studios or career artists. It’s not that the work lacks meaning, it’s that the barrier to entry has been obliterated. And for some, that democratization feels threatening.
AI drops the cost of creativity to nearly zero. It turns every device into a potential studio. It gives a 12-year-old the same stylistic palette as a seasoned animator. And that, more than anything, is the true cultural disruption.
This new wave redistributes power.
For a creative class who were long taught to believe that their skill set was scarce, special, or sacred, this redistribution feels like an existential threat, not because they aren’t talented, but because no one’s painted a believable picture of where they go next.
This doesn’t feel like evolution, it feels like extinction.
When AI does in seconds what they spent years mastering, it’s not just a technical disruption, it’s a personal unraveling.
What happens to my role? My income? My identity?
These are valid fears. And platitudes won’t fix them. We need courage and a vision for the new world of work coming.
This isn’t about pretending nothing’s changing. No, your old job may not come back in the same form. But that doesn’t mean you or your art disappears. It means you’re being invited to choose:
Step into a higher role that guides, teaches, and shapes what comes next
If you’re deeply committed to the purity of your art form, keep going. There’s still a market for handmade pottery, film photography, letterpress printing, oil portraits, etc… Mass production didn’t erase craftsmanship; it made it more distinct. You can preserve the sacred. Pair your craft with strategy. Lean into what makes it rare.
Or evolve. Dive into new tools to elevate your vision.
All paths are valid. What’s not viable? Standing still, hoping the old world returns. It won’t. But your purpose can thrive in new forms if you’re willing to move forward.
This isn’t the end of artistry, it’s the edge of expansion.
The next art movement isn’t just AI, it’s AI-powered expression across entirely new dimensions. We’re stepping into an era of immersive storytelling, spatial computing, virtual worlds, mixed reality, and fully interactive content.
Imagine designing experiences that people don’t just view, they step into.
Writers become worldbuilders.
Painters become environment designers.
Musicians score realities.
The fusion of AI with VR, XR, AR, and real-time rendering tools unlocks a new frontier where creativity isn’t confined to screens—it surrounds us.
For creators bold enough to explore it, this is where the magic is going: multi-sensory, co-created, deeply human, and wildly immersive. The tools are catching up to the imagination.
What’s needed now is for artists to lead, not hoard. To imagine, not gatekeep. To co-create with the future, not cling to the past.
Tools evolve. So do we. Intent can matter, or not matter at all. AI, like the printing press, camera, and other digital art tools before it, is simply the next chapter in creative tech.
This is the prologue to what’s possible.
We’re not headed for a world with less creativity. We’re headed for a world with more creators.
Not everyone will become an artist, but more people will create things they never thought possible.
A small business owner will design their own product packaging
A therapist will write a book between sessions
A high schooler will turn a quiet passion into a viral comic series
A retiree will build an online course from decades of hard-earned insight
AI lowers the barrier to entry, but it raises the bar for depth. It helps you start, but it doesn’t finish for you. That’s still you. Your taste. Your judgment. Your why.
What changes is scale. Speed. Access. And most of all, who gets to participate.
This isn’t about replacing creatives. It’s about unlocking creativity in fields, roles, and people who’ve never had the time, tools, or confidence to try.
If We Love Ghibli, Let’s Honor Its Lineage
This article is not a defense of unrestricted AI scraping. Artists deserve protection. We must advocate for transparency, consent, and compensation where appropriate. But we must also acknowledge that this is not the first time we’ve grappled with these questions. If we believe in protecting artistic integrity, we must also protect artistic honesty.
Studio Ghibli stands atop a rich foundation of global influence, just as today’s AI tools stand atop theirs. That’s not erasure. That’s evolution.
Rather than see this moment as an attack on legacy, perhaps we could recognize it as what it is: a cultural inflection point. One where AI-generated visuals become part of our creative lexicon, where style becomes more accessible, and where authorship becomes more collaborative and layered.
No, not every AI-generated image will be beautiful, just as not every human-made one is. But many already are, and millions more will be. To deny that is to cling to the myth of originality, ownership, and artistic purity. That’s not protection. That’s fear dressed in critique.
Art doesn’t beg for permission. It shows up. It resonates. It multiplies. And with AI, it multiplies fast. And like every great creative movement before it, this one isn’t waiting for a gatekeeper’s blessing.
The paradigm is shifting. Shift with it.
Liz B. Baker is a lifelong artist and creator with a BFA from VCU’s School of the Arts, one of America’s top art schools. She’s also the producer of a new podcast, FUSE: The AI Creative Podcast, which she highly recommends that creatives check out at aicreativepodcast.com. Rooted in creativity and driven by the future, Liz sees AI not just as a tool but as a bridge to entirely new forms of expression, connection, and meaning.
Liz is also the Founder and Chief Advisor at Nimbology, where she leads executive AI strategy and organizational transformation for companies, government organizations, and nonprofits. As a fractional C-suite leader, Liz helps teams scale with clarity, capacity, and AI-powered leadership. A tech-minded creative with 20+ years of experience across Fortune 500s, SMBs, and startups, she also serves as the Community Engagement Chair for AI Ready RVA. Known for demystifying AI for executive teams, Liz blends strategy, innovation, and ethics to create lasting, human-centered impact. Connect with Liz on LinkedIn to explore how AI can elevate your organization.
Footnotes
Harold Bloom, The Anxiety of Influence: A Theory of Poetry. Oxford University Press, 1973.
For a breakdown of Ghibli’s artistic influences, see Susan Napier’s Miyazakiworld: A Life in Art (Yale University Press, 2018) and Helen McCarthy’s Hayao Miyazaki: Master of Japanese Animation (Stone Bridge Press, 1999).
OpenAI GPT-4o Image Generation Feature Release: https://openai.com/index/introducing-4o-image-generation
Social response and criticism roundup: https://www.axios.com/2025/03/26/chatgpt-images-ghibli-portraits and https://www.sfchronicle.com/entertainment/article/zelda-williams-studio-ghibli-ai-20246060.php