Can OpenAI claim originality while leaning so heavily on Ghibli’s unmistakable voice, or is that just algorithmic elegance dressed in someone else’s legacy?
Ghibli as a flex, not a feature
In an era where artificial intelligence can already write, speak, and even sketch like humans, OpenAI has now taught it to imagine.
On Mar. 25, OpenAI introduced a new feature within its GPT-4o model that quickly captured the internet’s imagination. Dubbed “4o Image Generation,” the tool enables users to produce stunning, photorealistic visuals using nothing more than a text prompt.
What truly ignited the online buzz, however, was the AI’s uncanny ability to replicate the beloved animation style of Studio Ghibli.
Studio Ghibli, the iconic Japanese animation house, is renowned for its hand-drawn aesthetic and emotionally resonant storytelling. Its visual language is so distinct that even subtle imitations are instantly recognizable.
So when users on ChatGPT Plus, Pro, and Team tiers began sharing AI-generated images in the Ghibli style, reactions ranged from wonder to disbelief. The images were so authentic that many viewers assumed they were crafted by human hands.
OpenAI CEO Sam Altman seemed to lean into the viral moment. He changed his profile photo on X to a Ghibli-inspired portrait of himself and encouraged others to create better versions.
According to OpenAI, the 4o image tool is its most advanced visual generator to date, engineered to produce content with “precision, accuracy, and photorealism.” What distinguishes it from past tools is its built-in multimodal intelligence.
This means it doesn’t just convert text into images — it understands context, emotional tone, and artistic cues. In essence, it prompts the way an illustrator might read between the lines of a story.
But powerful tools come with growing pains. The sudden spike in demand pushed OpenAI’s servers to the brink.
Altman acknowledged that the company’s GPU infrastructure was “melting” under the load. In response, OpenAI temporarily restricted free-tier access and imposed usage caps on image generation to ease the strain.
For now, users are enjoying their AI-crafted fairytales. But just beneath the surface, deeper questions are beginning to take shape.
The artistic firestorm: Plagiarism or progress?
As social media was filled with whimsical Ghibli-style portraits generated by ChatGPT’s new image tool, a very different kind of reaction was unfolding elsewhere online.
The strongest backlash came from working artists and creatives who saw a multibillion-dollar tech company monetizing what appeared to be artistic imitation — without credit, consent, or compensation.
On X, users criticized the AI-generated visuals as soulless replicas, lacking the “emotion, depth, the heart and soul” that animators pour into every frame of a Studio Ghibli film.
Several posts went further, accusing OpenAI of “plagiarizing” decades of hand-drawn artistry and storytelling. One user called it “identity theft in the history of art,” referencing the uncanny accuracy of the Ghibli-style outputs.
Others were blunt in their critique, labeling the feature “a plagiarism program” and accusing OpenAI of “stealing Studio Ghibli’s artwork.” A user asked bluntly: “Would you like it if I stole your designs and never paid you a royalty?”
Karla Ortiz, a professional illustrator known for her work with Marvel and Dungeons & Dragons — and one of the artists currently suing several AI firms for scraping her copyrighted content — also weighed in.
She described OpenAI’s Ghibli-style feature as yet another example of how AI companies “do not care about the work of artists,” calling the image generation a form of exploitation.
Ortiz’s ongoing lawsuit, along with others, seeks to hold AI developers accountable for training models on massive datasets that include copyrighted works, often gathered without permission or transparency.
The outrage also echoed a warning voiced years earlier by Studio Ghibli’s co-founder, Hayao Miyazaki. In a widely circulated 2016 interview, after viewing a clip of early AI-generated animation, he didn’t mince words.
“I can’t watch this and find it interesting. Whoever creates this kind of content clearly has no understanding of what real pain is. I’m utterly disgusted. If you truly want to make creepy things, go ahead — but I would never want to incorporate this technology into my work. I strongly feel that it’s an insult to life itself,” he said.
What the law can’t see, AI can steal
As public anger grew, many began urging Studio Ghibli to pursue legal action. But here’s the catch: under existing laws, the studio may not have much ground to stand on — especially in Japan, where it operates.
Unlike most major economies, Japan has adopted a notably permissive stance toward AI and copyright. A report by DeepLearning.AI notes that Japan is currently the only major country where AI models can legally train on copyrighted material without needing approval from the original creators.
In practical terms, that means even if OpenAI had used frames from Spirited Away, Princess Mononoke, or any other Ghibli classic to train its image generator, it wouldn’t necessarily violate Japanese law.
This legal gap leaves Ghibli — and other artists whose work may have been used — in a precarious position. The law hasn’t caught up with the pace of AI, creating a zone of ambiguity that can be exploited by companies pushing the boundaries.
Ironically, just one day before this controversy took off, The New York Times won the right to move forward with its lawsuit against OpenAI, centered on the large-scale use of its written content to train ChatGPT.
Though that lawsuit involves text rather than visuals, it raises a parallel question: can AI learn from copyrighted work without consent — and then generate something that imitates it?
OpenAI says it’s taking precautions. In a recent technical paper, the company explained that it built in a “refusal” mechanism to prevent image generation in the style of living artists.
But those safeguards don’t appear to extend to brands or deceased creators. And since Studio Ghibli is a studio — not an individual — its distinctive visual style doesn’t seem to fall under those restrictions.
This is where the legal gray area deepens. While trademarks can protect logos, characters, and specific imagery, style itself remains elusive under current copyright law.
You can trademark Totoro. But you can’t trademark “whimsical, hand-drawn landscapes with magical realism and emotional silence” — even if that essence defines Ghibli’s signature look. Right now, there’s no international legal standard for protecting artistic style on its own.
And this likely won’t be the last time the issue surfaces. As AI becomes more advanced, future models will be capable of composing music, editing films, and replicating entire creative aesthetics — sometimes with eerie accuracy.
When that happens, society will be forced to grapple with bigger questions: Do we prioritize authenticity or convenience? Emotional resonance or infinite output?
Because ultimately, this debate isn’t just about Ghibli. It’s about the place of the human in human creativity — and whether that still matters when machines can mirror it flawlessly.
