The Rise of Art Zines: Why Handmade Magazines Are Popping Up Everywhere
Posted: July 24, 2010
You’ve probably seen one at some point—a small, stapled booklet at a coffee
shop, an art fair, or tucked inside a friend’s backpack. The paper is uneven.
The drawings are hand-scanned. The text is pasted like a ransom note. And yet,
it pulls you in.
That’s the power of a zine.
For those who don’t know: a zine (short for “magazine”) is a self-published,
small-batch booklet made by artists, writers, and thinkers who just want to get
something out there. And in case you haven’t noticed, zines are everywhere
lately.
In studios, bookstores, dorm rooms, libraries, and bedrooms, people are
creating handmade publications that don’t ask for permission or perfection—just
expression.
Why Zines Matter in a Digital World
It might seem strange that zines are thriving in 2010, when blogs, PDFs, and
Twitter (still pretty new!) seem to offer instant publishing to anyone with a
Wi-Fi signal.
But that’s exactly why zines matter. They’re tactile, personal, and slow. You
can hold them. Smell the paper. See the glue. Feel the time someone put into
making them.
Zines bring art and thought back into your hands—not your screen.
A Platform Without Rules
The beauty of zines is that there are no gatekeepers. No editor telling you
what’s marketable. No algorithm deciding who sees your post. No need for
approval, printing contracts, or ad revenue.
You want to make a zine about sidewalk chalk art in Portland? Go for it. A zine
about how breakups inspire your painting? Done. A visual zine with no words at
all? Even better.
Zines are freedom printed on paper.
From Xerox to Gallery Walls
A lot of today’s zines are still made the classic way—photocopied pages,
cut-and-paste design, hand-stapled bindings. But some have evolved into mini
works of art.
I’ve seen zines with letterpress covers, stitched bindings, layered textures,
and silkscreened details. Some include dried flowers, fabric scraps, or
handwritten notes. Each one feels like a portable art piece you can carry in
your pocket.
And while zines used to live mostly in subcultures—punk scenes, feminist
collectives, comic book swaps—they’re now making their way into art galleries
and design shops too.
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Community Over Commerce
The zine world isn’t about sales (though some zines do sell). It’s about
sharing, connecting, and documenting. Zine fairs and swaps are popping up all
over the world—from San Francisco to Berlin to Manila—where creators exchange
work face-to-face.
It’s a return to community-based creativity, where people don’t just
consume—they collaborate.
And in a time when so much online feels fast, fleeting, and filtered, zines are
intimate, imperfect, and honest.
What Goes Inside a Zine? Anything. Really.
- Some of the best zines I’ve seen this year cover topics like:
- Visual art diaries and unfinished sketches
- Personal essays about identity or mental health
- Collages of vintage ads and protest flyers
- Lists of favorite obscure films
- Photography zines made on disposable cameras
- Political zines about education reform, feminism, or labor rights
- Poetry mixed with torn magazine clippings
- Comics that couldn’t get a publisher—but got an audience
If you have a story, a message, or just a feeling you want to share—a zine can carry it.
Zine-Making Is Art in Its Purest Form
You don’t need a publisher. Or a budget. Or even confidence. You just need paper, scissors, tape, a pen, and your voice And maybe a friend to swap with.
Making a zine forces you to work with what you have, to think about what matters, and to create without worrying about likes, trends, or approval. That’s why it’s so addictive—and why more and more artists, especially young ones, are turning to it.
It’s raw. It’s immediate. It’s you.
Final Thoughts From My Living Room Floor
I made my first zine on a rainy Thursday with a glue stick and a stack of torn-up journals. I didn’t plan to share it, but I ended up giving copies to four friends. One cried. One laughed. One asked if I could print five more. That was all I needed.
So if you’ve been sitting on an idea, a sketch, or a story—you don’t need a publisher. You need a folded piece of paper.
Make it ugly. Make it weird. Make it yours.