The Zine Renaissance: How Analog Publishing is Reclaiming Power from Social Media
One sunny afternoon in May, a century-old power plant in Brooklyn was buzzing—not with electricity, but with hundreds of creatives congregating at the Black Zine Fair. Handmade booklets piled up on table after table, forming vast paper topographies of politics and activism and culture. Marginalized groups in skating! Fictional characters “that probably made me queer”! Someone else presented zines dedicated to all the TV shows they had recorded onto VHS. Still more tables hosted zine assembly. Everyone seemed to have stickers for sale. The scene evoked New York in the 1980s or ’90s, when the city was home to a thriving DIY zine culture built on late nights at Kinko’s. Only now many of the zine makers swapped online handles along with their analog wares.
This vibrant gathering in Brooklyn is just one snapshot of a growing movement. Across the globe, people are rediscovering the power and appeal of zines – small, self-published booklets often produced cheaply and distributed independently. This resurgence is happening at a time when the digital public square, once hailed as the ultimate tool for free expression and connection, feels increasingly compromised. For over a decade, social media platforms have served as cultural loci, and in many ways still do, but recent events have deepened the notion that digital spaces aren’t safe or effective for everyone.
The Shifting Sands of the Digital Public Square
The initial promise of social media was revolutionary: a place where anyone could have a voice, connect with like-minded individuals regardless of geography, and bypass traditional gatekeepers of information and culture. Platforms like Twitter (now X), Facebook (Meta), and Tumblr offered seemingly boundless opportunities for expression, community building, and even organizing. They became indispensable tools for artists, activists, subcultures, and everyday people looking to share their lives and ideas.
However, the utopian vision of the digital public square has eroded significantly. What began as spaces for connection and creativity have increasingly become battlegrounds for misinformation, harassment, and corporate control. The very platforms that promised liberation now feel like they are actively stifling certain voices and perspectives. Once beloved platforms like Twitter have been overtaken by white supremacist speech. Meta now allows users to call gay and trans people mentally ill under certain policy interpretations, a move that deeply impacts marginalized communities who relied on these spaces for solidarity and visibility. TikTok has been on the verge of being banned in the US for years now, raising concerns about the fragility of digital communities built on foreign-owned platforms. Meanwhile, government surveillance is a growing concern, with agencies announcing plans to monitor social media activity, further chilling free expression.
Even beyond explicit censorship or surveillance, major platforms often feel like content wells for advertisers and AI scavengers, picking through the detritus of influencers chasing engagement. The algorithms that govern visibility are opaque and constantly changing, prioritizing content that drives engagement (and thus ad revenue) over genuine connection or meaningful discourse. Breaking through the noise seems impossible for independent creators, and the ephemeral nature of posts means that even significant contributions can be lost in the endless scroll within hours or days. The feeling of not truly owning one's content is also a significant deterrent. As photographer Kyle Myles, who sells zines, notes, “I think a lot of people worry that when they share things on, say, Instagram, suddenly it’s the property of Mark Zuckerberg or Meta.” This lack of permanence and ownership stands in stark contrast to the tangible nature of physical media.
A Storied History: Zines as Tools of Resistance and Community
The current disillusionment with social media isn't the first time people have sought alternative channels for communication and community building. Zines, and their predecessors, have a long history of political and cultural impact, particularly in the US. Before the internet, before even widespread access to printing presses, pamphlets served a similar purpose.
In the 18th and 19th centuries, pamphlets were crucial in disseminating ideas and organizing movements. Abolitionists used them to spread anti-slavery messages, reaching audiences that might not have access to or be swayed by mainstream newspapers. These were often cheaply produced, easily distributed, and allowed for a level of direct communication between activists and the public.
The modern zine movement, as we often recognize it today, began to take shape in the mid-20th century, evolving from science fiction fan magazines ("fanzines"). However, it truly exploded as a countercultural force in the late 20th century. In the 1970s and 80s, punk rock scenes embraced zines as a way to share music reviews, political commentary, personal rants, and artwork, bypassing corporate media and creating a direct line of communication within the subculture. This DIY ethos – doing it yourself – was central to the punk movement and found a perfect outlet in zines, which could be produced with just a photocopier and a stapler.
During the AIDS crisis, LGBTQ+ people and activists created paper booklets and pamphlets to share vital information about safe sex, treatment options, and community resources at a time when mainstream media and government agencies were often silent or discriminatory. These zines were lifelines, providing crucial knowledge and fostering a sense of solidarity in the face of a devastating epidemic.
The 1990s saw another significant boom in zine culture, heavily influenced by the Riot Grrrl feminist punk movement. Riot Grrrl zines were powerful tools for young women to discuss sexism, abuse, body image, and politics, creating a network of support and shared experience outside of patriarchal structures. Zines like Bikini Kill, Sassy, and Factsheet Five became iconic symbols of this era of feminist DIY publishing.
Graphic novelist and documentary filmmaker James Spooner stumbled upon his first zine, an anarcha-feminist zine called “Aim Your Dick” by Mimi Nguyen, in 1993. He recalls, “It introduced me to the idea that a teenager could have a voice that the world outside of school would be interested in hearing.” This personal revelation, shared by countless others, underscores the democratizing power of zines – the ability for anyone, regardless of age or status, to become a publisher and share their perspective with the world.
The Digital Interregnum and the Return to Tangibility
But within a decade of Spooner’s discovery, the internet reached the mainstream, and zines were drowned out by digital culture. The novelty and reach of the internet seemed to offer everything zines did, but faster and to a potentially infinite audience. Diehards kept making paper handouts, but most people with ideas or messages to share went on social media. The prospect of a digital public square where anyone could broadcast their thoughts to the world was new and exciting. Online platforms became the primary spaces for subcultures, activism, artistic expression, and personal connection.
Since then, however, Americans’ perceptions of social media have darkened. The shine has worn off. The initial excitement has been replaced by a weary recognition of the platforms' downsides: the constant pressure to perform, the algorithmic manipulation, the data harvesting, the exposure to harassment and hate speech, and the feeling that one's creative output is merely fuel for a corporate engine. The promise of permanence also proved false; platforms rise and fall, content is deleted or lost, and the digital landscape is constantly shifting. Friendster fizzled. Tumblr will never be what it was. Posts on X or TikTok get drowned in the churn of what’s trending or what platform owners want to boost.
In this climate of digital fatigue and distrust, zines are seeing a resurgence. They are popping up in museum collections, being featured in online comics, and finding new life in workshops and fairs like the one in Brooklyn. This isn't just nostalgia; it's a conscious choice driven by the desire for something different, something more real and controllable.
The Appeal of the Analog in a Digital Age
Why are zines making a comeback now? The reasons are multifaceted, reflecting a deep-seated need for authentic connection and uncensored expression in an increasingly mediated world.
One primary driver is the desire to escape surveillance and censorship. Organizer Mariame Kaba, cofounder of the Black Zine Fair, notes that people who want to talk about sensitive topics like abortion access, queer rights, or political conflicts are “feeling like they can’t say certain things” online. Zines allow them to “share personal experiences, to make connections with other people, to fight censorship, to evade the surveillance that's consistent and constant when you are on digital platforms.” In a political climate where certain types of information are being targeted, physical media offers a crucial lifeline. Kaba poses a critical question: “If they start criminalizing that kind of information, how will you access that information, if not literally somebody passing you a pamphlet or a flyer or a zine?” For activists and those on the left, finding ways to transmit important information outside of social media is becoming a necessity.
The tangible nature of zines is another significant draw. In a world saturated with fleeting digital content, a physical object holds a different kind of value. It requires a different kind of engagement – you hold it, fold it, perhaps even smell the ink. It exists outside the constant stream of notifications and algorithmic feeds. James Spooner emphasizes this point: “Writing things down on paper has value. It’s more permanent.” This permanence offers a sense of stability and longevity that digital content often lacks.
Zines also foster a unique sense of community. Zine fairs, workshops, and trading networks create face-to-face interactions and build connections that go beyond likes and shares. Jennifer White-Johnson, known for creating the Black Disabled Lives Matter symbol, presented a zine-making workshop at the Black Zine Fair and distributed copies of “A Black Neurodivergent Artist’s Manifesto,” which quickly sold out. She has also organized gatherings to create zines with other caregivers for autistic kids. For White-Johnson, making zines is “a powerful act of collective liberation and a radical practice of self and community care.” This focus on shared creation and mutual support is a powerful antidote to the often isolating experience of navigating social media.
The DIY ethos remains central to the zine movement. Making a zine is an act of taking power into your own hands, bypassing traditional publishing and media structures. It’s about creating exactly what you want to create, without needing permission or validation from a platform or publisher. This empowers individuals and communities to tell their own stories in their own way. The variety of forms seen at zine fairs—from newspaper-like structures to grade school art styles to punk aesthetics—reflects this freedom and individuality.
Zines as Vessels for Activism and Information
The political and social justice dimensions of zines are particularly prominent in the current resurgence. At the Black Zine Fair, many zines focused on solidarity and social justice. Mariame Kaba's own zine, “Arrested at the Library: Policing the Stacks,” delves into the history of law enforcement's presence in libraries, a topic with significant implications for marginalized communities and intellectual freedom. An independent publisher called Haters Cafe presented “10 Anarchist Theses on Palestine Solidarity in the United States,” demonstrating how zines are being used to address pressing global issues.
The potential for zines to transmit critical information outside of mainstream or surveilled channels is particularly relevant in the context of health care access. With restrictions on reproductive rights and gender-affirming care increasing in many places, zines about DIY health care for trans people or pamphlets about self-managed abortions could become essential resources. These physical formats offer a level of privacy and resilience that digital information lacks, making them invaluable tools for harm reduction and resistance.
Many modern zine makers are not anti-technology; rather, they are critical of the structures and consequences that often come with its use. They recognize the internet's power for connection and promotion, often using social media or websites to announce events, share previews, or facilitate sales of their physical zines. Haters Cafe, for example, hosts some of its works on its website while also producing physical copies. One of its creators notes that while the internet allows their zines to spread far, the untraceable physical forms appeal to those concerned about repression. Anonymous zines serve a similar function, contributing to a broader cultural distaste for surveillance.
Beyond the Political: Zines in Unexpected Places
The zine resurgence isn't limited to politics and counterculture. The format's flexibility and personal touch are finding applications in diverse fields, including science.
During the 2024 meeting of the Society for Molecular Biology and Evolution in Mexico, computational biologist Pleuni Pennings chose to distribute a stylized zine, illustrated with hand-drawn diagrams, to accompany her presentation on antimicrobial resistance. This unconventional approach stood out from the typical dry paper handouts. Pennings hoped the zine would be shared among colleagues, spreading her research in a more memorable and personal way than a standard academic paper or digital presentation might. “I mean, that’s what we all want when we give a talk, right?” she remarked, highlighting the zine's potential as a unique and effective communication tool.
This example demonstrates that the appeal of zines extends beyond their political utility. Their ability to combine text and visuals in a highly personal and accessible way makes them suitable for explaining complex topics, sharing personal narratives, showcasing artwork, or simply connecting with others over shared interests, whether that's punk music, queer identity, or scientific research.
The Future is Tangible (and Digital)
Communication constantly evolves, along with the way people want to receive information. As social media replaced zines, the messages traveled farther, but their permanence dissipated. The current zine renaissance isn't necessarily about abandoning digital tools entirely, but about recognizing their limitations and seeking balance. It's about valuing tangible objects and direct connections in an increasingly virtual and controlled world.
The creators and readers flocking to zine fairs and workshops are building resilient communities and creating archives of their experiences and ideas that exist outside the volatile ecosystem of corporate social media. They are reclaiming ownership over their content and their narratives, free from the pressures of algorithms, advertisers, and potential censorship.
As fears of surveillance and authoritarianism grow, the zine community may provide a means to organize under the algorithmic radar, in a format less beholden to the whims of multibillion-dollar social media companies. The comeback of zines is more than just a nostalgic trend; it's a strategic response to the challenges of the digital age, a reaffirmation of the power of independent voices, and a vision of the future copied from the past, where tangible media and community connection remain vital forces for change and expression.
The energy at events like the Black Zine Fair underscores this point. It's not just about the paper booklets; it's about the people gathered, sharing ideas, collaborating, and building networks face-to-face. It's a reminder that while digital tools can connect us across distances, there is an irreplaceable value in physical presence and tangible creation. In the ongoing negotiation between the digital and the analog, zines are carving out a vital space, proving that sometimes, the most powerful way to take back control is to put pen to paper, fold, staple, and share.
Additional reporting by Angela Watercutter
