Zines in the Zeitgeist: Reclaiming Creativity in a Digital World

In my high school days in the early 90s, I remember going to record stores and a downtown coffee shop in search of a local zine. It was sporadic, produced in limited quantities, and lasted only about a year, but I vividly recall how humorous, cynical, shocking, and insightful it was about Fort Myers and Naples, Florida where I grew up. This raw, unfiltered content existed long before social media—it was like Pump Up the Volume brought to life in photocopied pages, stapled together and casually distributed next to the cash registers. Later, I also subscribed to Sneer, a zine by my friend Kate.

These zines were more than just printed pages; they were ephemeral artifacts of rebellion, infused with a DIY punk ethos and a perspective that news media either ignored, didn’t understand, or perhaps didn’t even know existed. Maybe I’m being nostalgic, but zines were a symbol of alternative outsiderness and creative defiance.

Fast forward to today, and zines are experiencing a resurgence. Their appeal has evolved, but at their core, they remain deeply tied to the same values: self-expression, grassroots activism, and creative resistance. Part of their modern allure lies in their aesthetic—the handmade, imperfect quality that feels refreshingly personal—but they’ve also become outlets for amplifying marginalized voices, platforms for niche communities, and channels for causes ranging from climate justice to queer liberation.

In an era where digital platforms dominate, zines offer something rare and tactile—a slower, more intentional medium that resists algorithms and monetization. This DIY culture aligns with broader emerging cultural trends: a push for authenticity in the face of corporate influence, a longing for personal connection amidst digital saturation, and a celebration of craft and uniqueness. As these trends continue to grow, zines serve as a hopeful counterpoint to an increasingly commercialized and curated digital landscape.

Zines, of course, have always been about more than just their content. Their renewed popularity feels like a surprising and encouraging reminder that creative resistance hasn’t vanished. It seems that zines are becoming part of a zeitgeist that values small, meaningful actions as catalysts for change and expression. As they become more visible, they also remind us of the enduring power of spontaneous and unrestrained creativity to inspire and challenge us.

The Maker Ethos & Zines

At its core, the "maker ethos" supports hands-on creation and experimentation. It’s a philosophy rooted in the belief that creativity is something everyone can access. This ethos has profoundly shaped libraries as they’ve evolved into vibrant hubs for creation and ideation.

Libraries have been building spaces and services where this ethos thrives: makerspaces equipped with 3D printers, crafting stations, and robotics kits; media labs with green screens, video editing tools, and podcast studios; even sewing machines and laser cutters have found their place in this current era of librarianship. These resources are designed to spark curiosity and invite experimentation, transforming libraries into centers for creativity and community engagement.

Within this spirit of making and sharing, zines are a natural fit. Accessible and deeply personal, zines embody the essence of the maker ethos. While the meta story of libraries has been about the steady shift of collections from print to electronic, it’s fascinating to see zines thrive as our world becomes increasingly dominated by digital lifestyles. Zines offer something rare: an analog antidote to algorithm-driven content. Their unpolished messiness and imperfection are both a celebration and an invitation—and perhaps even an act of rebellion against the image filters, auto-tuned perfection, hyper-curated aesthetics, and the performative nature that dominates social media.

By fostering zine culture, libraries are extending their commitment to the maker ethos, empowering their communities to not only consume but create. Zines become both a tool and a statement, perfectly aligning with the values libraries have been building toward: access, expression, and the power of hands-on making to bring ideas to life.

Zines & Social Change

Zines have always been more than just creative outlets—they’re also tools for amplifying marginalized voices and driving social change. As accessible, uncensored mediums, zines provide individuals and communities with the space to tell their stories, share struggles, and advocate for change.

Libraries play a vital role in supporting these conversations, serving as inclusive environments where zine culture can thrive. By hosting zine-making workshops and curating zine collections that highlight diverse perspectives, libraries become platforms for dialogue and empowerment. They give zine-makers the opportunity to confront challenging topics and offer readers a chance to engage with voices that expand and challenge their own perspectives.

Zines as Code

At their core, zines are a type of code. A language that operates beneath the surface. In an era where discussions around equity and inclusion can face limitations, zines offer a lo-fi outlet for creativity and connection, empowering individuals to share their stories and build solidarity.

Imagine a scenario where traditional avenues for diversity, equity, and inclusion work—whether in curricula, collections, or institutional offices and initiatives—are restricted or scaled back. Zines could help step into this space, channeling their punk origins to create opportunities for underground dialogue and organizing. Through zine-making, individuals and communities can explore complex topics, share perspectives, and confront conflict and contradiction.

Perhaps... zines also serve as a symbol that the library is a safe space—a supportive partner for free expression and diverse perspectives. By engaging with zine culture, libraries signal their commitment to fostering inclusion, creativity, and resistance, even when these values may not be explicitly articulated. If you know, you know. I wonder if this symbolic connection is part of the "code" of zines, creating trust, acceptance, belonging, and signaling solidarity to those who need it most.

Libraries are particularly well-suited to embrace this potential. Even in environments where official DEI programs may be limited, zine-making workshops offer an off-the-grid entry point. Framed as opportunities for self-expression and community storytelling, these programs naturally invite conversations about identity, justice, lived experiences, struggles, successes, aspirations, and commitments. Zines create a nurturing space for critical discussions to unfold without the need for institutional overhead or the concern over formal state or federal mandates. Zines don’t ask for, nor do they require, permission.

Zines have always thrived beneath the radar, operating as underground networks of communication. Libraries can amplify this legacy by positioning zine programs as accessible forums for creativity, connection, and activism. Hosting zine fairs, workshops, or drop-in stations allows libraries to offer spaces where patrons can explore their identities, share their ideas, and engage with their communities—all while participating in the inherently inclusive ethos of zine culture. Additionally, curating diverse zine collections that reflect a variety of voices, experiences, and perspectives ensures that libraries not only preserve these ephemeral works but also make them accessible to future generations of readers.

In this context, zine-making is both an act of creation and an act of rebellion. By embracing zine culture, libraries empower their communities to tell their stories, address pressing issues, and spark meaningful connections. Through zines, libraries reaffirm their role as champions of free expression and creativity, ensuring that important conversations continue to thrive, even in challenging times.

Zines & the Open Movement

I was recently discussing zines with my colleague Lynn Kawaratani, and the conversation serendipitously turned to the open access movement. At first glance, the two might seem like opposites—one rooted in analog creativity, the other in digital infrastructure. Yet they share a powerful mission: democratizing ideas and knowledge and amplifying diverse voices. Both represent a commitment to breaking down barriers and ensuring that information and creativity remain accessible to all.

Zines, with their lo-fi production and decentralized distribution, align well with the open movement’s push to remove paywalls and dismantle traditional gatekeeping in commercial scholarly publishing. Both prioritize creating opportunities for ideas and voices to reach wider, more inclusive audiences. Zines thrive on the DIY ethos, encouraging creators to self-publish and share on their own terms, much like open access relies on preprints and repositories to bypass conventional publishing bottlenecks and limitations.

At their best, zines bring the values of open research to life, transforming complex ideas into accessible, creative formats. Together, zines and the open movement remind us that knowledge and creativity flourish when they’re shared freely, inviting open participation and open access in the pursuit of equity and understanding. Thanks for the chat Lynn.

Zines @ CMU

Zine-making has been an integral part of the Carnegie Mellon University Libraries for many years. My colleague Jill Chisnell, our Art & Design Librarian, has been a longstanding champion of zine culture. Her zine cart is in constant use, sparking creativity across campus.

Jill and I work on the same floor, and nearly every day, we talk about DIY, craft, and the joy of making things. See these articles for more information about her vision and outreach: Zine cart rolls into action & Zine machine.

My archivist colleagues, Emily Davis & Crystal Johnson are also passionate zine-makers. They regularly integrate zines into their outreach, using them as tools for connection, storytelling, and preserving voices that might otherwise go unheard. See: What’s your Tartan Legacy? A Zine for Archiving Student Organizations

More and more of our library faculty and staff are experimenting with zines. This summer, several of our liaisons collaborated to create a "how-to" library zine as part of our orientation program. This semester, zines have felt seemingly omnipresent in our library and across campus. It seems like every week, I come across a new zine or zine-like creation made by someone at CMU.

When I look at what other libraries are doing, I see many experimenting with zine-related programming, undoubtedly recognizing how zines resonate with students and today’s cultural moment. As mentioned earlier, zines are entering the zeitgeist. But their appeal goes deeper—perhaps it’s tied to a search for purpose, a desire to make meaning, and a longing to work with our hands, to create spontaneously, and to give form to unfinished or unspoken ideas. Zines embody these impulses, offering a space where raw creativity intersects with thoughtful action.

In our increasingly algorithm-driven world of hyper-polished digital content, zines stand as a sharp rebellion. They remind us of something elusive, something we may not have realized we’d lost until we glimpsed it again. Perhaps it’s the value of unplugging, of resisting the commodification of our thoughts and attention. Zines are messy, incomplete, and unapologetic. They invite us to reclaim something essential—an intimacy, a humanness, a connection to ourselves and others that cannot be mediated by a screen.

Perhaps now, more than ever, we need the spirit of zines. Could they hold restorative or even healing properties? Their very existence pushes back against curated distraction and manufactured conformity. Zines urge us to pause, to reflect, to embrace the chaos of emergence, and to create for the sake of creating—for the sake of expression, connection, and discovery. Zines aren’t just artifacts; they are acts of defiance. They symbolize a unifying framework, one that hovers just beneath the surface, unseen but deeply felt. They offer proof that there is still a space and a desire—somewhat underground—where you can find and manifest your voice.