If you’ve ever folded a piece of paper into a little booklet and scribbled your strangest thoughts, you’ve already made a zine. Zines are weird, personal, and wildly democratic. Anyone can make one. There are no gatekeepers, no curators, no algorithms in this medium—just unfiltered voices breaking through the noise to document their realities in real-time. And in a world where so much of our communication has become trapped in the digital vortex, zines are refreshingly tactile. You can hold them. Share them. Hide them under your bed like a secret treasure or leave them on the street for strangers to find.
Zines (pronounced “zeens”) are self-published, small-batch booklets that thrive on low-budget creativity and a resistance to the status quo. They often have an unpolished, raw, and deeply personal feel. Unlike their slick corporate cousin, the for-profit mass produced magazine, there’s an accessibility to zines that feels inviting. When I’m reading someone else’s zine, it’s as if they’ve opened the door to their bedroom and are letting me peek inside. When I make zines, it’s a practice in vulnerability—inviting others to know me, even when I often prefer they don’t (a topic for another zine, another time).
In our zine-making workshops at SMW, it has become tradition to gather around the back table and create with one another. Sometimes the conversation buzzes as we share ideas, cut up magazines, and pass the glue sticks. Other times, everyone goes silent for long stretches, immersed in their own mini worlds. When we find our way back to the present moment, in our hands we hold the paper manifestos, explorations, and celebrations of our own making. We share them with one another, make copies on the Xerox machine, then lovingly tuck them into our Zine Library for safekeeping and future reading.
Our mini-zines are also a bridge to our larger collective zines where our voices come together to create something louder than any one of us (shoutout to Vol. 1–6!: Time Candy, After Bloom, Dream Radio, 4D Stargazing, Interworld, & Lucky Fish).
Digitizing our collection marks the next phase for the mini-zine collection. As the self-appointed Zinester Emeritus at SMW (a title I gave myself because no one else was bold enough to claim it), I’ve made it my mission to bring our beloved physical works into the digital age so they can be shared far and wide. This process not only preserves the creativity and voices captured in each zine but also ensures future generations can marvel at our brilliance. I’ll be releasing a fresh small batch each week for the rest of the cycle, so stay tuned—your next favorite zine might just be round the corner.
