It's a bit cliche, but you can't go wrong by writing what you

When Issa Rae said, “It’s a bit cliché, but you can’t go wrong by writing what you know. Even if you’re a horrible writer, your own knowledge and experience is unrivaled. Nobody knows what you know like you know what you know. The way you see things is pretty unique,” she spoke with the quiet authority of one who has turned her own life into art. Beneath these humble words lies a profound truth — that authenticity is the wellspring of all creation. Rae’s wisdom teaches that the voice of the soul, however imperfect, is worth infinitely more than imitation of another’s brilliance. For there is no truth more powerful, no story more resonant, than the one born from a life honestly lived.

The origin of this quote flows from Issa Rae’s own journey as a creator. Long before she was known to the world through Insecure, she was the voice behind Awkward Black Girl, a small web series born of her frustration with the absence of real, relatable Black female voices in mainstream media. She did not try to write what others deemed popular or polished; she wrote what she knew — her own experiences, her own humor, her own awkwardness. And in doing so, she awakened a generation of creators who realized that truth, not perfection, is what moves hearts. Her words echo an ancient wisdom: that self-knowledge is the root of all art and all power.

To “write what you know” is not to limit the imagination, but to anchor it in truth. The poet who writes of love must know loss; the painter who captures light must have known darkness. So too, the storyteller who speaks authentically of the world must have lived and felt deeply within it. The ancients knew this. Homer, in his epics, may have spoken of gods and heroes, but his wisdom came from the soil of human experience — the grief of war, the longing for home, the frailty of mortal pride. Issa Rae’s teaching, though modern in language, shares the same spirit: before you can write the world, you must first understand your own heart.

Her declaration that “nobody knows what you know like you know what you know” is more than a clever phrase; it is a call to self-trust. In a world filled with noise, comparison, and imitation, the greatest courage is to stand by your own vision. Every human being carries a private universe — a landscape of memories, pains, joys, and dreams that no other soul can replicate. The artist’s task is to reveal that world, not conceal it. To doubt one’s uniqueness is to bury a gift meant to illuminate others. As Issa reminds us, even if the craft is rough, truth has a beauty of its own — the kind that cannot be taught, only lived.

History abounds with those who triumphed by embracing what they knew best. Frida Kahlo, confined by pain and illness, painted her suffering into color and shape; through her own face, she gave voice to millions. James Joyce, wandering the streets of Dublin, turned his own city into the map of modern consciousness. Each of them proved Issa Rae’s point: that one’s lived experience, honestly expressed, has the power to touch eternity. It is not perfection that immortalizes the artist, but sincerity — the refusal to counterfeit the soul.

Yet Rae’s words apply not only to artists, but to all who seek meaning in their work and life. To “write what you know” is to live what you are — to speak, act, and create from authenticity rather than ambition. The leader who leads from empathy, the teacher who draws wisdom from her own struggles, the parent who raises children through love shaped by their own past — all follow this law. The heart that dares to express its truth becomes a force of transformation. It teaches, inspires, and heals not because it is perfect, but because it is real.

So let the lesson of Issa Rae’s words be this: honor your own story. Do not be ashamed of your perspective, your struggles, your tone, or your imperfections — for they are the signature of your humanity. Use your life as your canvas, your voice as your instrument. In the end, it is not genius that endures, but authenticity; not mastery, but meaning. As the ancients might have said: to know thyself is the beginning of wisdom — and to share thyself, honestly and boldly, is the beginning of art.