Imitation, Inspiration, and Making It Your Own
Imitation is often said to be a form of flattery.
When it comes to studio design, I think that idea fits surprisingly well.
I’m probably not alone in occasionally going online to look at photos and videos of both home and professional studios—partly out of curiosity, partly for inspiration, and partly just because it’s fun.
The Visual Overload Problem
It’s easy to get overwhelmed.
You see:
- Massive SSL consoles
- Walls of rack gear filled with legendary compressors and preamps
- Beautifully lit rooms that look more like spaceships than studios
That kind of visual overload can trigger a serious case of gear acquisition syndrome.
Before you know it, you’re back online shopping—or heading to your local music store.
But inspiration doesn’t have to lead to excess.
The Good and the Bad of Endless Inspiration
One of the biggest advantages of designing a studio today is access.
You can instantly see how other people solved problems:
- What shelves they used
- How they mounted keyboards
- Where they placed their Eurorack case
- How they routed cables
- How they managed lighting
None of that was readily available when I built my first home studio in my late teens.
Back then, inspiration came from:
- The occasional TV studio shot
- The rare photo in a recording magazine
If you were lucky.
Today, ideas are everywhere.
That can be both a blessing and a curse.
These images can:
- Make you long for things you’ll never realistically own
- Push you toward chasing an idealized version of a studio
- Or—if you approach them carefully—help you shape something that feels right for you
In my case, it was always the third option.
Getting a “Taste” of the Experience
As a keyboard player, I often think about this in terms of instruments.
Yamaha’s flagship synth is the Montage. For players who can’t justify or afford that price, there’s the MODX.
Roland’s flagship is the Fantom. For many others, there’s the Fantom-0 line.
You don’t get everything—but you get a meaningful taste of the experience.
That same idea guided how I approached my studio.
Translating That Idea to Gear
Using a $5,000 outboard compressor is almost certainly not the same as using a $500 one.
But the $500 unit still gives you something important:
- A real, hands-on experience
- An understanding of the workflow
- A feel for how outboard gear fits into the signal chain
For me, that was enough.
I wasn’t trying to recreate a world-class mastering facility.
I wanted a functional, relaxing studio that let me experience elements I admired in larger, more extravagant spaces—without needing to sell the house to get there.
From Imitation to Interpretation
Imitation doesn’t have to mean copying something exactly.
It can also mean:
- Borrowing ideas
- Modifying them
- Filtering them through your own needs and personality
That approach shows up all over my studio.
A Practical Example
My main production desk is a good example.
I took ideas from:
- Professionally designed studio desks
- An IKEA hack I came across that had a few clever concepts I liked
From there, I altered both ideas heavily—changing:
- Dimensions
- Layout
- Function
until I ended up with something that worked for me.
That process became a recurring theme throughout the redesign.
I’d see something interesting, pull apart what I liked about it, discard what didn’t apply to my situation, and reshape the idea into something more realistic and personal.
Making Inspiration Work for You
Looking at other studios doesn’t have to lead to frustration or comparison.
It can simply be a way to explore possibilities.
The key is knowing what you’re actually trying to achieve.
For me, the goal was never to replicate someone else’s studio.
It was to build a space that:
- Felt good to work in
- Functioned reliably
- Gave me a small taste of the elements I admire in more elaborate setups
In the end, that balance—between inspiration and practicality—is what shaped my studio more than any single piece of gear ever could.
