Inside Zine Festivals (and Why Zines Matter)

"Everyone was doing the coolest shit­ at a local level."

Welcome to our weekly column offering perspectives on lit mag publishing, with contributions from readers, writers and editors around the world.

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This past summer, I attended my first zine festival. I wanted to go because I heard that the audience for these is incredibly friendly and centered around supporting indie artists. I also wanted to go because I was out of the country for most of 2022 and 2023, while teaching creative writing in Romania. This year, I was excited to catch the summer lit festivals happening here.

The Los Angeles Zine Fest in June was my first zine fest–ever. It was already a sweaty, hot morning when I pulled off the 5 freeway and found the FRANKIE building in sun-bleached downtown arts district of Los Angeles.

It was packed by opening time, with over 140 artists and writers selling zines, stickers, notepads, and books. Vending for the table for Bored Wolves, an independent publisher based in Poland, I had no idea what to expect. I’ve been helping at tradeshows since I was a kid, so I knew that each scene was different. The enthusiastic crowd of book and zine lovers delightfully surprised me.

During brief lulls at the table, I interviewed a few people about what zine culture meant to them, and how it felt to be there. At one table, Crystal, AKA XIRENV, a California-based visual artist, offered binders full of stickers, a stack of zines, and colorful notebooks. She described her work as Chicana-inspired personal stories.

“It’s exciting to be here and, also, it’s more packed than I thought. A little overwhelming,” Crystal told me.

I could relate. It was overwhelming, as a vendor. It was overwhelming for attendees too­. Many had deer-in-headlights expressions but out of excitement at the carnival-like spread of indie artists and creativity. People expressed eagerness to see all the tables, but also, wanting to buy something they liked quickly in case it ran out–-a good problem for vendors and an anxiety-inducing one for attendees.

Additional vendors told me that to them, the event stood out as “motivating,” “creative” “extra queer!” and “hot.” Alas, by hot, people weren’t trying to compliment present company. It was just hot, in the eighties with no AC. (Side note: I would bring a little fan or ice pack next time, for any summer lit festival).

Back at the Bored Wolves table, I chatted with my neighbor, a photographer and zine artist named Amina Cruz, who shared cold cubes of watermelon with me.

“I hope my zines communicate a kind of wildness and transgression,” she said between bites, adjusting the ice pack on the back of her neck.

My neighbors to the right were with Project Q, which is a nonprofit that provides a safe space for LGBTQIA+ youth, with a focus on offering hair services and mental health.

I enjoy the simple camaraderie at festivals like this. Everyone was doing the coolest shit­ at a local level. I didn’t expect to see nonprofits here, but it makes sense that arts nonprofits would be here, especially since zines have been used for decades to disseminate information quickly, hand to hand.

Before she left for the day, Amina sold out of nearly all her zines. Her photographs document youth protests of the last eight years, queer culture, and “outsider culture” in the Americas, according to her website. I see that agency throughout her work. When I asked her what themes unite her work, she paused, deep in thought.

“Everything I do, it’s all about ‘the now.’ Contemporary. There is urgency to it.”

And while Amina was talking about her photography, I think zine festivals also share that urgency, from table to table.

Bored Wolves table at LA Zine Fest; photo by Allie Rigby

Zines have been around since the ‘30s but grew popular in the ‘80s.

Zines (pronounced "zeens") are typically DIY publications featuring collages of images and text, which are then photocopied for easy distribution. Today, they range in design, scale, subject matter, texture, and more.

You could make a zine right now (directions from @thecreativeindependent), given you have the time and the basic materials: paper, scissors, magazines or collage material, and a pen.

What all zines have in common is that they are arguably the most indie way to get your stories out there and in circulation.

I knew how significant zines were for indie authors, but I did not realize how vital they have been–especially in the ‘80s and ‘90s–for advancing social justice movements. A quick Google search revealed zines like these made at Lesley University, which discuss censorship, allyship, bystander intervention, mental health, and more. There’s also a Social Justice Zine Collection at UCSB Library.

A healthy literary ecosystem is one where zine culture is strong and healthy too–because it means one less publishing barrier to get your work out there. Many of us in the lit scene are familiar with literary magazines as a great way to get published, discover writers you love, and join the world of literature. But so many zines are also worthy of our time and attention.

The difference between literary magazines and zines is not a clear-cut division; I see lit magazines as usually featuring a collection of writers and artists, whereas most zines are tiny booklets featuring work by one person. But there are some creators who make a single zine in collaboration with many artists and writers.

Comics are also an integral part of the zine scene. Many zinesters are well-established comic artists with large social media followings; a few of them have published graphic novels too.

Zine festivals–like any big event–require a certain mindset

Zine festivals, for me, are not about “seeing everything” as much as taking my time with what I do see. Otherwise, even six hours is not enough time to “see everything” or “talk to everyone.”

If you are tabling at a zine festival, it can also be socially intense and even vulnerable to discuss your work, or the words and artwork of whatever zines and books are on your table. I try to bring humor with me, so when folks pick up my book of poetry, I don’t take it personally when they flip through it, sigh, and set it back down. LOL. It is a little awkward, but I like to think of those interactions as exposure therapy for rejection.

I am hands-down, way more smooth with talking about the zines and books by other Bored Wolves authors and still feel shy talking about my book. It is worth practicing your one-two sentence spiel about your zine or book beforehand, because people do want to know about it­­.

My mindset at zine festivals was to stay grounded by a larger ethos I try to bring to life: Make meaningful connections. That’s why I write poetry in the first place: to take what could be isolating moments and write about them in a way that connects me to people and the planet.

Lifelong zinesters like Jeff Yamaguchi helped me prepare for these zine festivals. Jeff is my publicist and was integral in helping me establish some goals and promote my book successfully. The zine scene meant a lot to Jeff, especially in the ‘80s, and he was excited for me to experience it.

As Jeff wrote in his Substack recently, “Zine fests are particularly meaningful to me, because it was at such an event where I tabled and sold my literary creations for the very first time.”

Obviously, making a sale at festivals is important too

Supporting artists and independent presses at zine festivals is a great way to directly support people in the arts or folks with nonprofits doing great work. While events are free and open to the public, it means a lot when your work resonates with someone and they buy your zine/book/stickers/etc.

Months after the LA festival, in September, I found myself at the San Francisco Zine Fest, buzzed by good conversation, indie presses, and of course, zines. This time, I arrived more prepared with snacks, plenty of water, and a general readiness for a hypersocial day.

Workshops were spread out throughout the day too, with sessions on screen printing with @print.organize.protest and panels on various zine-related subjects. There were also more literary magazines at this second zine festival too (so it seemed) including  The Ana, a San Francisco-based Lit Mag. Sadly, each time I tried to sneak away to say hi and chat with the creators, either my table or their table was swamped. Such is zine festival life when you are tabling.

As an indie press based in Krakow, Bored Wolves has relied on zine and literary festivals to connect with their readers as well as to chat with book buyers and possible future collaborators. Because presses like Bored Wolves cannot compete with the marketing budgets and publicity of “The Big Five” publishers, so these events are their main marketing shindigs each year.

If you are a DIY artist making zines, or you are involved in various literary, arts, and social justice circles, you should consider applying to have a table at a zine fest. It’s a fabulous way to connect with people and yes, sell your art. To be a vendor, you may have to re-apply every year, so keep application deadlines in mind.

To find a zine fest near you, Google “zine festivals near (your city)” or explore this growing list of zine festivals. You might even ask your local library to hold a one-day zine fest in your town, especially if that kind of event doesn’t exist yet. It’s a great idea for an “all ages” event that can bring the community together.

Or you can always encourage your local library to offer a zine workshop–considering pairing up with a local nonprofit to make zines with a certain awareness-raising goal or call-to-action. I’ve also seen “zines for teens” events popping up, though zines are for all ages.

I have a newfound respect for zine culture after diving into the scene this summer. Zines remain the ultimate “indie” self-publishing route.

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