The real thing about ‘zines
We Did Zines Before the Internet — And Walked Uphill Both Ways Let me tell you something about doing zines way before the web. We were actually doing zines. With scissors. And glue sticks. And that one Xerox machine at Kinko’s that jammed if you looked at it wrong. No Canva. No Instagram. No “link in bio.” We had staples. Real ones. That drew blood if you weren’t careful. And we worked hard. We did not have social media to do things. We had legwork. The long way. The “walk to the post office with a box of 200 zines and pray you had enough stamps” way. We were not lazy. Lazy wasn’t invented yet. Lazy showed up when Wi-Fi did. Back then, if you wanted to get recognized by newspapers, you had to do something. Mail a press kit. Call a reporter on a landline. Fax them — yes, FAX — a pitch at 2 AM and hope it didn’t end up as confetti. You didn’t go viral. You went local. And if the Statesman Journal wrote 200 words about your art show, you framed that clipping like it was the Mona Lisa. I was that girl. At 12, clacking on my brother’s typewriter writing to companies for donations. In the 90s, working with casting agencies, doing zines, booking gigs, walking on The Tyra Banks Show. One of 5 teens out of 10,000 for Teen Magazine. No manager. No agent. No blue check. Just hustle, a bus pass, and a dream. You think “content creator” is hard? Try being a creator when content meant paper cuts. When “posting” meant physically posting flyers on telephone poles in the rain. When “followers” were people who actually followed you to your poetry reading because you handed them a zine. We didn’t have algorithms. We had allegiance. People showed up because you showed up first. You licked the envelopes. You stood at the art show. You modeled for the gallery. You did the radio interview at 6 AM with bedhead because you were grateful someone spelled your name right. Today’s kids: “I posted and only got 12 likes.” Back in my day: “I mailed 100 zines and got 3 letters back. One had a $5 bill. I framed it.” We worked the long way. And you know what? It made us tough. It made us funny. It made us good. Because when it takes you three hours to lay out one page with an X-Acto knife, you make damn sure that page is worth reading. Now I’m 51, soon to be 52, launching a website and a nonprofit. And yes, I’ll use the internet. I’m not a dinosaur. But I’m a dinosaur with skills. I know how to build without a template. I know how to get in the newspaper without a hashtag. I know how to be seen without a ring light. Because I did it before the web. So to all my fellow zine kids, Kinko’s veterans, and “fax me your headshot” survivors: We were not lazy. We were legendary. And at 80, we’ll still have the scars from that stapler to prove it. — Cathryn M. Harris Teeth and all. Curls and all. Paper cuts and all. Zines and all.
