You’re in the middle of the ocean, and your ship is sinking. The water’s cold, the sky’s angry, and every wave looks like the grim reaper dressed in black. You spot a piece of driftwood, and without a second thought, you latch onto it. You hold tight, convincing yourself this scrap of wood is the only thing between you and drowning. But here’s the kicker—you’re so fixated on that floating chunk of tree, you don’t notice the entire lifeboat bobbing just a few yards away.
Welcome to the Anchoring Effect, the psychological shipwreck that creatives unknowingly cling to. We all have our driftwood—a past success, a particular style, or a method that’s worked before. It’s the comforting lie that whispers, This is safe. This is familiar. Don’t let go.
But let’s rewind a couple of centuries to meet the granddaddy of artistic anchors: Claude Monet. Picture him in his garden at Giverny, painting water lilies. Sounds idyllic, right? But Monet wasn’t always the serene master of impressionism. Once upon a time, he was a struggling artist, just another guy trying to make a name in the ruthless art world of 19th-century France. Early in his career, Monet clung to the driftwood of Realism—a style that promised safety, a paycheck, and approval from the art critics who held the keys to fame.
Then came the storm. Monet’s work wasn’t selling, and he was drowning in debt. He had a choice: keep clinging to the driftwood of Realism or let go and swim toward the unknown. So, he let go. He turned his back on the old rules and pioneered Impressionism, capturing fleeting moments of light and color that defied the rigid structure of the art establishment. It was a gamble, but it saved him from artistic obscurity.
The Anchoring Effect is a creative’s worst enemy—especially if you’re not even aware you’re holding on to something that’s holding you back. It’s that first idea that feels so right you can’t imagine another. It’s the comfort zone disguised as a winning formula. But here’s the brutal truth: what got you here won’t get you there.