Life Imitates Art: How Creative Works Script Our Reality

The Archetypal Connection Between Culture and Our Life Stories

When I was in first-year university, sitting the Intro to Communications exam, I was asked to respond to a deceptively simple statement: Life imitates art.

We hadn’t studied it. There were no readings, no lectures. The task was less about content and more about coherence—could we string together a vaguely convincing argument? Could we survive an arts degree?

I remember blinking at the prompt, completely lost. I didn’t know life could imitate art. Beyond the obvious: people buying clothes they saw on a celebrity and parroting slang they heard from rappers.

So I wrote something about that—media influence, unconscious mimicry, basic psychology stuff. Not terrible for a freshman, but about as deep as a puddle compared to the ocean of meaning beneath the surface.

Here’s what I think about this statement today.

Beyond Consumer Psychology

Yes, life imitates art in the ways we all sort of know. Trends. Fashion. What we find cool. But it goes deeper than influencers peddling beauty products on Instagram.

Way deeper.

Art captures us emotionally. Stories stay with us. Symbols lodge somewhere in the psyche and start shaping things. What truly captivates us tends to manifest in our lives whether we recognize it or not because the ideas, images, and narratives that stick with us aren’t just influential—they’re instructive.

And I mean this literally.

They cue something ancient in us. They animate us. What we obsess over often maps onto something unresolved—or aspirational—within us. It’s not just that your favorite movie scene reminds you of your life.

It’s that your life might be arranging itself according to that scene.

As an example, consider the music you’ve been drawn to at different times in your life. Then, think about the events that came to pass shortly after, and you might notice your tastes were a prelude, a warning, or a prophecy.

Spot enough of these patterns, and you’ll soon stop calling them coincidences and start calling them synchronicities—something I go into more detail about here:

Eventually, you start to realize the motifs in art and culture are the only available ingredients for scripting a life, and you are its director.

Once you realize that, the game gets interesting.

Welcome to the Role of Co-Creator

At the moment of conscious recognition—when you realize you’re not just passively experiencing your life but actively co-creating it—you’re faced with an interesting dilemma: from where will you draw inspiration for this conscious self-authorship?

The answer, somewhat obviously in retrospect, is that you have nowhere to turn except the symbolic language you’ve absorbed through art and culture. There simply isn’t an alternative source material. We’re all essentially remixing cultural references into personal narratives, like DJs sampling from the collective unconscious.

You still don’t get control over everything. But you do get intentional with the symbols you surround yourself with. The stories you tell. The moods you let linger.

Scripting Some Excitement

Not following me? Here’s an example.

I love a good thriller.

Consequently, I’ve realized a part of me likes scripting suspense into my own life—dragging things out, heightening tension, dangling plot twists. It doesn’t matter whether it’s in my work, friendships, or love life.

Risk, loss, and unpredictability in pursuit of a potentially large payoff all form part of this equation. Because without suspense, life just feels dull—and I like my wins to be hard earned.

Could a simple look at your favorite genre afford you a similar insight too?

Moving Forward: Conscious Narrative Design

That eighteen-year-old kid writing her exam? She didn’t know she was quietly authoring her reality. That girl just wanted to finish her essay and hit the pub.

But I like this new version of me more—the one who sees the story while living it.

For those who recognize this pattern, the question becomes not whether life imitates art, but which art you’ll allow your life to imitate. What stories resonate? Which characters inspire? What themes feel worth exploring?

Making this process conscious doesn’t diminish its mystery—it simply allows for more intentional participation. The experimenter and the experiment continue their peculiar dance, simultaneously separate and inseparable, observer and observed.

So if you’re not already, I invite you to ask yourself: How will your next chapter unfold?

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Thanks for reading. If this reflection helped you see your own story a little more clearly, consider subscribing to The Aussie Mystic for more essays on self-awareness, cultural symbolism, and how to become the main character without losing the plot.