At first glance, “Did you make that?” might sound like a compliment. It hints at amazement, maybe even admiration. But for those of us who create—whether in fashion, writing, music, or visual art—it often lands as something else: a question soaked in doubt. It suggests surprise that we, specifically, are capable of something complex or beautiful. And when you hear it repeatedly, it doesn’t affirm your work—it undermines it.
The Fashion Double Standard
I spent two decades building a fashion business from the ground up—designing, sewing, fitting, troubleshooting, marketing. I was still in high school, still in the days of AOL Hometown, Angelfire, and Geocities. And yet, despite the years of experience, people still met my work with the same question: “Did you really make that?”
Strangely, no one ever seems surprised that a sweatshop worker in China or India can construct an elaborate garment. No one questions whether the dresses at Shein “were really made” by someone. But when I present something handmade, there’s doubt. I know others in this space, of course. Two decades of networking makes that happen. This is a very common frustration. Well, this and being asked constantly to meet Shein pricing.
Ultimately, that doubt didn’t just chip away at my pride. It chipped away at my business. I eventually closed up shop when I got tired of people asking me to match the price of a $7 fast fashion piece churned out in ethically questionable conditions. It wasn’t just unsustainable—it was insulting.
The Writer’s Dismissal
Then there’s writing. I carry my iPad everywhere in case inspiration strikes because writing isn’t a hobby; it’s a way of life. Even if I’m out flying a plane and obviously can’t write, my iPad is in the back seat. Still, I regularly get surprised reactions when people find out I’ve finished writing a book. It’s as though the idea of someone in front of them being disciplined enough to complete such a thing is unthinkable. Who do they think writes the books they read? Well, the books up to this point, now that AI is in town.
Yes, a large percentage of people who start writing a book never finish it—according to a widely cited statistic, over 80% of Americans want to write a book, but fewer than 1% ever do (source: New York Times, referencing publishing industry data). But that doesn’t mean no one finishes. The question “Did you write that?” carries the implication that finishing is something other people do, not the person standing in front of you. And that doubt is both misplaced and exhausting.
Music and the “Surprise Factor”
Now that I’ve added music composition to my creative repertoire, I’ve heard it again—“Did you really compose that?” This, despite the fact that I’ve been earning a degree in music for the past two years. Granted, music is more specialized. Not everyone has met a composer. It’s harder to fake. But still, if you know someone is studying music, is it so unbelievable that they might, you know, write music?
Visual Art in the Age of AI
Visual art is a whole new beast now, thanks to AI. Solid doubt has become people’s default reaction. I’ve literally worked on a piece in front of someone and still been asked, “Did you really do that?”—as if their eyes deceived them.
I get it: the internet is now flooded with people who previously showed no artistic interest or skill but are suddenly posting elaborate “original” works. It’s natural for people to be skeptical. But skepticism doesn’t have to be your first instinct. And even if you feel it, you don’t have to voice it.
Because that question isn’t just about curiosity. It’s about doubt. It’s a subtle expression of disbelief that someone you know could be capable of what’s in front of you.
And the inspiration for this very article? It came from what happened just today alone.
I shared a digital art piece, an ice skating rink that I’m using for a book cover. Soon, it’ll have a figure skater and hockey player on it. The background may be reused if this becomes a series. Immediately, I was met with doubt. Someone I’ve known for two decades, who knows very well how passionate I am about art, someone who’s well aware of the two rooms in my house packed with sewing and art supplies, the two drawers in my dresser filled with tools, and still more materials with nowhere to put them, still asked if I had actually made it. Bonus: I was actively working on it at the time.
That wasn’t even the only time today.
In an art group specifically dedicated to non-AI-generated work, I posted it there, too, and I was questioned again. I get it to a degree in that group. I’ve been doing this for a long, long time, possibly longer than some of them have been alive (coincidentally, I JUST NOW got a notification of a reply posted by a mod, checked it, and he’s not happy that the first reaction to my piece was to question if I really did it), and a lot of the members are still newer to digital art, and—I don’t mean this in any negative way, but their skill level isn’t up to mine yet, though they’re trying and may get there. We’re all aware of the AI boom, and how many people are passing off generated images as their own.
But I still had to go out of my way to prove that I made it. I recorded a short video, showing the primary I use—Procreate, which doesn’t even have AI tools—one of the reasons I love using it. For the curious, the other program I use is Photoshop Express, and then regular Photoshop when assembling the full cover and adding text. I even demonstrated the use of texture brushes, which help create rich, layered effects so efficiently that I no longer feel comfortable taking full credit for every stroke—I always mention when I’ve used them. It’s the truth, and it matters to me.
But still—the doubt.
The burden of proving you made something, over and over again, even in spaces where you should be trusted, is draining. The constant defense undermines not just your work, but your identity as a creator.
Doubt Isn’t Always Wrong—But It Doesn’t Have to Be Your Opening Line
To be fair, some skepticism can be natural. If someone with no visible history of creating suddenly presents a complex, high-level piece and claims it as their own, it’s okay to wonder. But don’t lead with suspicion. Lead with curiosity. Give people the benefit of the doubt—especially those you know to be passionate, consistent, and committed to their craft.
Ask Better Questions
Here are questions that show interest, invite depth, and affirm the creator’s role—without implying disbelief:
For Fashion:
• “What inspired this design?”
• “What materials did you use?”
• “How long did it take to make?”
• “What kind of construction techniques did you use here?”
• “Have you made other pieces in this style?”
(Note: This section is shorter because AI hasn’t taken over fashion construction—yet. While it can help with design mockups, actual sewing and fabrication remain a skilled human process.)
For Books:
• “How did the idea for your story come to you?”
• “What part was hardest to write?”
• “Did you outline it or just dive in?”
• “How long did the whole process take?”
• “Are you planning a sequel or more in that world?”
For Music:
• “What software or instruments did you use to compose it?”
• “How did you come up with the melody?”
• “Did you arrange all the harmonies yourself?”
• “Who were you thinking of when you wrote it?”
• “Are you planning to release it, or was it just for fun?”
For Visual Art:
• “What medium did you use?”
• “How did you achieve that texture?”
• “Did you use references or work from imagination?”
• “What’s the story or meaning behind this piece?”
• “How many layers or revisions did it go through?”
Questions That AI Users Will Struggle to Answer Honestly
These questions are especially telling—ones that reveal a hands-on process, decision-making, or emotional intention, and are difficult for someone using AI to fake without lying:
• “What tools or techniques did you use to get that effect?”
• “What part did you struggle with most?”
• “Can I see your earlier drafts or sketches?”
• “How did you decide on the color palette or arrangement?”
• “What was your inspiration for this piece, and how did it evolve?”
These questions go beyond the superficial. They assume the person did make the thing—and they ask them to go deeper. And that’s the difference. That’s how you show someone that you see them not just as a person holding something beautiful, but as the person responsible for it.
If you want to respect artists—really respect them—ditch the doubt. Be curious, be thoughtful, be impressed. But don’t make admiration sound like disbelief. Creators deserve better.