In a twist of fate that would surprise even the spirits of “Spirited Away,” the internet has been flooded with photographs doctored by OpenAI’s new image software to look like the characteristic, surreal imagery of Hayao Miyazaki’s Studio Ghibli films. The craze went on to such an extent that OpenAI ultimately decided to release the free version of its in-app image generator—a digital equivalent to opening Pandora’s box after its contents had long since spilled out.
What is so interesting about this online feeding frenzy is that it is entirely at odds with Miyazaki’s strong beliefs about artificial intelligence. In a 2016 documentary that now seems almost prophetic, the celebrated director was shown a demonstration of an AI-created 3D model.
His response was unambiguous: “I am utterly disgusted,” he said, clearly appalled by what he was seeing. The demonstration, he explained, reminded him of a disabled friend, and he couldn’t bring himself to reconcile the technology with his ideas about creativity. “If you really want to make creepy things, you can go ahead and do that. I would never want to use this technology in my work whatsoever,” he said with a strong conviction that has informed his body of work as an artist. Perhaps most disturbing was his final remark: “I strongly feel that this is an insult to life itself.”
Most social media users do not appear to enjoy the irony as they follow the trend with much fervor. They make and post Ghibli-style images of everything, from the JFK assassination to images of Donald Trump with Jeffrey Epstein, and even the September 11 attacks, demonstrating the internet’s affection for bad taste.
AI-generated images becoming popular is not new, but the sheer popularity of the Ghibli meme is new. It has become so much a part of social media culture that even Sam Altman, the CEO of OpenAI, was swept up in it. He posted that “no one” paid attention to him until he woke up “to hundreds of messages: ‘look i made you into a twink ghibli style haha.'”
The trend picked up so much steam that Emad Mostaque, the founder of Stability AI, joked that his timeline had reached “AGI”—not Artificial General Intelligence, but “All. Ghibli. Images.” Even boxing legend Mike Tyson joined in, tweeting an AI-created image of himself Ghibli-style, cradling a white pigeon. This strange digital mashup perfectly encapsulates our current age of depending on technology and losing imagination.
This is not only against what its initial creator intended, but it also reflects the extreme amount of controversy over copyright, intellectual property, and artists’ and publishers’ rights today. That investigations have revealed just how simple it is to produce many of the graphic images in the distinctive Studio Ghibli style is even more chilling, indicating the open issues with OpenAI’s lack of adequate ethical guidelines and content filters.
Why mixed reactions for Ghibli AI?
The scenario is a particularly poignant new reality, one that significantly devalues the legendary, labor-intensive work of human animators who have spent years honing their craft. As one Twitter commenter wryly noted, “Imagine being Miyazaki, devoting decades of heart and soul to creating this transcendent beautiful tender style of anime, and then having it sloppified by linear algebra.” Others have noted the environmental cost of generative AI systems—an irony that particularly hurts considering how many of Studio Ghibli’s most popular films are about human carelessness with regard to nature and the balance of the ecosystem.
“Irony is dead and all but it’s pretty depressing to see Ghibli AI slop on the timeline not only because Miyazaki famously thinks AI art is disgusting but because he’s spent the last 50 years making art about environmental waste for petty human uses,” another social media user noted, highlighting the philosophical contradiction at play.
Our response to new technology, either in this particular case of Ghibli AI Art, or in general, is illogical and inconsistent, particularly when it threatens something we hold dear. When AI generates art in the style of Studio Ghibli, people instantly label it as theft and claim it destroys the purity, authenticity, and uniqueness of the artist. But the same individuals use AI to craft their LinkedIn bio to make them sound like ‘the top voice’, design their social media posts, generate their responses, and compose marketing presentations without guilt or outrage.
The reason for the inconsistency is simple and revealing. When AI is serving them conveniently and unobtrusively, it is a tool; but when it encroaches on a creative space they do not own or threatens art they love, it is a threat. This response is actually about control and comfort, not principles. We must address the backlash head-on. Some critics believe that a machine that can mimic an artistic style is far removed from technology that merely duplicates existing texts, therefore they disagree with equating AI art with earlier technologies such as the printing press.
Although the exact techniques will differ, the nature of the response is similarly very close. Throughout the history of man, any significant shift in creative tools and technologies has been met with fear, backlash, and a wistful sense of loss for what people believe is being “lost.”
When Johannes Gutenberg introduced the printing press to the world in the 15th century, scribes and illuminators wailed that books would lose their soul, that the sacred act of hand copying would be profaned by mechanical reproduction. The monks who had devoted their lives to mastering the laborious art of manuscript illumination saw their craft—developed over years of disciplined practice—suddenly rendered obsolete by a machine that could accomplish in hours what had taken months. Did literature lose its soul? Did the democratization of the written word dilute its power? History says otherwise.
When the camera joined the scene with photography in the 19th century, artists feared that their profession was in danger. They believed that the camera could produce realistic images and render traditional painting obsolete. Conversely, this technology liberated painting from mere depiction of reality. It introduced new forms of art such as impressionism and expressionism and many other movements that allowed human creativity rather than restricting it.
When recording and production technology came into the music scene, there were those who resisted. Critics predicted that electronic music and music made by computers would be the downfall of “real” musicianship. But the musical landscape now is more diverse, open, and alive than ever. Analog and digital approaches are combining in ways that have expanded the sound palette to musicians.
When self-publishing sites and blogs came along, professional editors and literary gatekeepers were sure we would be flooded with masses of raw, amateur writing. What really happened was an explosion of new voices, perspectives, and forms of expression that would have never had an audience in the old publishing model.
In even recent, alst year, the IT legend Narayan Murthy, in a discussion, recalled a similar situation when in 1975 a set of tools were introduced called “case tools”, which were feared to displace jobs in the area of software development. However, it didn’t happen.
Will Ghibli AI will destroy the original Ghibli Art?
In each of these previous instances, the doomsday predisctions did not come about. We lost no means of communication; we expanded it. We did not destroy art; we expanded access to more individuals to make art. Naturally, there are some very serious questions to be asked—of consent, compensation, credit, and authorship. These must be addressed with some care and some level of detail. But ill-considered outrage is not genuine questioning, and emotion is not a substitute for rational discourse.
The unpleasant reality is that the majority of individuals who are upset about Ghibli AI art have not actually considered the technology or the ethics. They are opposed due to a powerful intuition that something significant like original Ghibli is being damaged, and they have constructed a moral case to justify the intuition. This is a simple error in our thinking: intuitions, though real and important, are not facts. Attempting to preserve things while feigning to do so for a noble cause only works to maintain existing power dynamics.
The hypocrisy is also there when individuals use AI technology to enhance themselves but grumble about others employing the same technology to be creative. You can’t bless AI for enhancing your productivity and curse it for enhancing another individual’s creativity. This position is not a principle of fairness but one of entitlement—believing technology changes are acceptable if they suit you but unacceptable if they disturb your preferences or cultural leanings.
What is happening is not the death of original Ghibli art but a shift in who gets to make it. It is a sign that walls and boundaries are breaking down, and it shifts who gets to make and how they make. This shift will not always be beautiful; it will not always occur smoothly; it will sometimes produce results that disturb us or cause us to question what we believe is valuable in art. But these uncomfortable shifts are necessary because art is not something that is to be possessed as something a privileged few are born to own. It is a right that everyone possesses.
Finally, tools do not destroy art, in general, and Ghibli art, in particular. They never have and never will. What they destroy are monopolies—monopolies on techniques, on aesthetics, on access, on sharing, and on the right to enter the creative conversation. The proliferation of AI art tools may disturb some established artistic hierarchies, but history shows that human creativity can not only survive such disturbances but thrive and grow as a consequence.
Perhaps the true insult to life is not the production of new technology but attempting to restrict it. This is causing artificial scarcity in human expression and declaring that certain individuals, doing things in a particular manner, should be able to produce great art. As we enter this new creative frontier, let us recall that the history of art is not about maintaining purity but about pushing boundaries, applying tools in new contexts, and extending possibilities.
The question is not if AI will alter art—it already has—but if we can welcome that alteration with wonder rather than fear, with a sense of wanting to learn rather than defensiveness, and with a sense of wanting to rethink rather than merely keep things as they are.
