Whenever I walk into Berghs, I smile at a quote on the window. It resonates profoundly with me; it feels like it could have come from my own thoughts. It’s from Leonardo di Vinci, a name synonymous with creativity, exploration, and wisdom. Yet, as much as I wish those words were my own, they’re not.
They’re from a kick-off meeting before summer with the team that organised the graduation exhibition. I like to imagine that when my students hear those words and nod in understanding, they’re nodding to something that came from me. And in a way, maybe they are because I repeat it so much.
This phenomenon isn’t unique to me. It’s something I see all around: the subtle way we adopt quotes, beliefs, and even entire attitudes as if they’re our own. It’s a way of saying, “I see myself in this,” but also, “I want you to see me in this”. It’s not just about borrowing words; it’s about borrowing reflections of ourselves that we wish to project outward.
We do this with more than just quotes. We do it with music tastes—”I listen to all kinds of music”—and with passions—”I love travelling”—or with professional advice—”follow your passion”. These phrases become shorthand for a shared set of values, a way to fit in, or sometimes, a way to stand out. They become part of our identity toolkit, each piece borrowed from somewhere, someone, or something else. I’m not sure we always mean it. I don’t listen to Chinese Opera, I’m not too fond of the last 10 hours of travelling home to visit my family in Australia, and if I followed my passion, my career would be watching motocross on TV and eating crisps.
But what do we call this act of internalising the shared attitudes of others? It’s more than mimicry; it’s not just parroting back words or abdicating thought. It’s a kind of reflective assimilation, where we see the value in someone else’s perspective and blend it seamlessly into our own self-image. It’s not quite appropriation either because it’s often unconscious—a natural blending of the edges of one’s self with the broader, collective attitudes that feel safe or aspirational.
We could call it attitudinal mirroring. Like looking into a mirror that reflects not just our physical selves but the composite of quotes, beliefs, and attitudes we admire and decide, consciously or not, to adopt. After all, it’s an ego’s delight to recognise wisdom in someone else and to feel it as our own—if only for a moment. And in those moments, we are not just ourselves; we are a kaleidoscope of shared human experiences, refracted and reshaped into a form that feels uniquely ours.
So the next time you hear yourself say, “I love travelling,” or nod knowingly to a quote you didn’t write but deeply connect with, take a second to smile at your attitudinal mirroring. It’s a reminder that our identities are not fixed but are in constant flux, borrowing reflections that help us navigate through the world, one borrowed quote or shared attitude at a time.
But for now, I think it’s wise to channel the words of French mime artist Marcel Marceau, “It’s good to shut up sometimes” because there’s plenty of better expressions of this stuff, here, here and here.