You Don't Need to Sand off the Edges that Made you Different

There’s a Harrison Ford quote that’s been sitting with me lately:

“All I would tell people is to hold on to what was individual about themselves, not to allow their ambition for success to cause them to try to imitate the success of others. You've got to find it on your own terms.”

That idea feels especially relevant in voiceover.

Most of us came up with heroes. The voices that made us stop what we were doing. The reads we rewound just to hear again. Maybe it was Don LaFontaine and that unmistakable authority. Maybe it was Will Arnett’s effortless confidence and wink-to-the-audience delivery. Maybe it was someone else entirely, like Mel Blanc (Elmer Fudd anyone?) but chances are, there was a voice that made you think, I want to do that.

That admiration is natural. It’s how tradition is passed down. You listen. You study. You absorb the rhythm, the pacing, the confidence behind the mic. In the early days, imitation can even be a useful tool. It teaches your ear what’s possible.

But here’s where Harrison Ford’s wisdom really comes into play: the moment admiration quietly turns into imitation, growth stalls.

You can respect Don LaFontaine’s presence without trying to be Don LaFontaine. You can appreciate Will Arnett’s tone without borrowing his personality wholesale. Because the truth, one that’s as old as storytelling itself, is that a copy is never as memorable as the original. And casting directors, producers, and listeners can hear it immediately when a voice is wearing someone else’s clothes.

Voiceover isn’t about sounding like the heroes who came before you. It’s about understanding why they worked.

They weren’t successful because they chased trends or tried to fit neatly into a mold. They were successful because they leaned into what was singular about them, their life experience, their instincts, their point of view. They found meaning in the copy that only they could bring to it, and that’s what made it resonate.

That’s the real inheritance they left us.

Yes, you can acknowledge the attitude of a read. You can understand the genre, the emotional temperature, the intent behind the words. But the work, the real work, is finding your own way into the copy. What does this script mean to you? Where does it live in your body? What truth are you bringing that no one else can?

That’s how voices become recognizable. That’s how careers last.

There’s something deeply traditional about this idea. Crafts have always been passed down this way, by watching the masters, learning the rules, and then eventually stepping out from under their shadow. The goal was never to replace them. The goal was to carry the craft forward.

And that’s the exciting part.

If you want the voiceover artists of the future to dream of sounding like someone, it won’t happen because you perfected an impression. It will happen because you trusted your own sound. It is enough. Let it be heard. You don't need to sand off the edges that made you different. You'll win if you show up honestly, consistently, and on your own terms.

That’s the work Harrison is pointing to. And in voiceover, just like in acting, storytelling, and life, it’s the long game. The kind worth playing.