Zines and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
The Zine-O-Sphere #009: On ego, gumption traps, and losing your private self in your public persona
I never thought I’d start to lose touch with zine culture, but alas…here I am.
The WIRED article from a few weeks ago sort of threw me for a loop. Actually, most things about zines these days throw me for a loop. I even forgot July was International Zine Month. I feel like I’m drifting off course at a rapid rate with no way to get back on track.
I love what this platform has brought me in terms of community, value, and inspiration, but it’s still a pervasive form of social media. The little green monster just won’t get off my fucking back. How naive was I to think I could avoid that little fucker forever.
Let me explain.
I have struggled with envy for most of my life. Be it financial, social, professional, or personal, I’ve come across so many people over the course of twenty-eight years, many of whom have seemingly brought this uglier side of me to the surface. It’s always been some version of the same refrain: “I wish I was as cool, talented, or smart as _______ is.”
Engaging with social media consistently since the age of twelve doesn’t exactly provide the best context through which to investigate and confront these faults.
As a teenager, I felt the regular peer pressures of “fitting in” tenfold. Instagram, Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook, and Snapchat all worked together to wreak havoc on the first generation of teenagers to go through puberty with an iPhone in their hands. I was ruthlessly cyber-bullied by friends and strangers alike. Instead of developing a thick skin, I would delete my social accounts in a panic and cry for days on end.
My ego just couldn’t take it.
Similarly, working in the performing arts actively made things worse, which is one of the main reasons I left that field. I lived in a perpetual state of jealousy. The competition was fierce. Every interaction was charged with some unspeakable layer of “Where do we fall in the talent hierarchy?”
Unfortunately, it was kind of obvious. I fell somewhere in the middle of the pack—a great singer, a decent actor, but a truly horrendous dancer. I wasn’t pretty or innocent-looking enough to play ingenue. I looked too old or too masculine or too severe or not severe enough. I played a lot of men and mothers and always found myself lost in the ensemble. I felt unremarkable. Negativity ruled my life.
I repeated these phrases to myself in the mirror every day like affirmations—
“You’ll never be good enough.”
“You’ll always fall short of whatever it is you’re chasing.”
“No one will ever see you, as hard as you try to be seen.”
When I went to college and shed that mindset like an old skin, something finally clicked. Zines found me at exactly the right time.
Many of the first zines I read were of the Riot Grrrl era and spoke plainly to an inner rage I’d never had the courage to express. There were typos. Everything was messily taped together or glued down. Words and images got cut off in the margins. As a long-time perfectionist with a massive stick up her ass, I was both entranced and confused by the DIY ethos. Finally, here was something I could participate in that didn’t have to mean everything.
I wanted more.
As a zine librarian, I’ve built close relationships with dozens of zinesters and their work over the last three years. Up until this year, I rarely, if ever, felt an ounce of envy towards them. Zines from every level, background, and creed surprised and excited me. I felt more inspired to make my own zines and find my own sense of artistic vision and style. I felt welcomed and accepted in a way I never had before. The zine community appeared to be envy-proof.
Then, I wrote that long, “Anti-AI” zine note back in May. You know the one—
Suddenly, strangers were asking me constantly about zines. What are they? How can I make one? Where can I find them? I had to mute the notifications out of fear of drowning. Once again, I felt the urge to burn my entire online presence to the ground in a panic.
I can’t explain why this triggered my fight or flight response. It’s illogical, but then again, most things on the World Wide Web are these days.
Ever since that note went viral, I’ve distanced myself more and more from this place and my newsletter because I never wanted zines to feel like an obligation or something to obsess over. Or worse still—a burden to have to carry. When I wrote this note, I had no expectations it would go anywhere. Then, suddenly, I had so many people to respond to—well-wishers, instructors, other librarians, zinesters, and of course, the dreaded AI Bros.
My Substack platform exploded overnight. I still don’t know that I have the emotional, mental, or physical infrastructure to manage it all efficiently. I feel guarded, resigned, and unsure how to move forward in this new era. I’ve mostly kept quiet on the zine newsletter front, perhaps with the hope that the gumption I felt four months ago might return without me having to do the reflective work to earn it.
Even before starting this newsletter, zines were a deeply personal thing. I made shitty zines without thinking about who would want to read them. I read as much as I could about the varied histories of alternative press, digging deeper into how this culture came to exist as it currently does. I rarely shared any of this with anyone, not even my friends.
Up until the last academic year, zines were barely part of my job description. I made them where I could so the typical 9-5 work didn't consume me. I taught with them maybe twice a semester. Our zine library was still very small. We were begging for money from every source just to buy $2 zines. I barely called myself a zine librarian. I think the first time my colleague introduced me as one to a faculty member, my brain short-circuited.
Zines? As a job? I couldn’t handle how deeply entrenched I was in my own imposter syndrome.
Still, I felt like zines were my calling. I somehow girl-bossed my way into being an advocate for zines and the people who make them—an accidental steward, if you will. With that role comes a lot of responsibility to the community, various distros, other libraries, and to individual zinesters. There are moments, more as of late, where I feel overwhelmed by the pressures that come along with being this public version of myself.
Even worse, I’m working on a zine for work right now and can’t seem to make anything that looks or feels right to me. I think some of this stems from the fact that a lot of conflicting interests have to be met with this single 16 page, quarter-size zine. There’s so much to cover. I can’t just spend a few hours on a shitty zine and call it a day. It needs to be well-designed & well-executed. Yet, I am having trouble achieving both. I can already feel the perfectionist thought patterns creeping back into my brain.
Zines used to center me in these periods of intense criticism and self-doubt.
I could take the J train to a friend’s zine workshop or the short walk over to the Zine Library. I could get up early on a Saturday and travel to a Zine Fair to soak up all the greatness of zines and their makers. Anything to bring me back to whatever it was that first spoke to me in that seminar classroom back in the Fall of 2017.
Now? I find my most private self trapped inside my public persona. What was once deeply personal—my safe haven—is now more or less my entire public identity. At shows and zine fairs, I introduce myself as a zine librarian. Part of me loves seeing their faces light up at the thought of someone getting to work with zines for a living.
Another part of me dreads what I already know is coming: the not-so-awesome intrusive thoughts forever reminding me of my own shortcomings and the pressure I place on myself to be “perfect” all the time.
“You’ll never be good enough.”
“You’ll always fall short of whatever it is you’re chasing.”
“They know you’re an incompetent and utter fraud.”
“No, Abby. No one wants to see your Michael Stipe Hands Zine.” (Well, maybe they do!)
All bullshit, really. If wading deeper into zine culture has taught me anything, it’s just how supportive and empathetic this community can be, particularly in our not-so-perfect moments.
I considered not posting this newsletter because I feared pushback. I feared rejection. To someone with a brain like mine, it’s easy—funny, even—to count up all the white lies you can convince yourself to believe in as universal truths.
Then I remembered how warm and welcoming the zine community has been here on Substack and beyond. Even in the midst of my months-long spiral, I recognized how lucky I am to be part of it, alongside so many of you cool cats. I feel accepted here, again and again, even when faced with setbacks and my own hang-ups.
Nothing is perfect, but the zine community comes pretty damn close.
Upcoming Events in the Land of Zines
It’s International Zine Month! Check out Stolen Sharpie’s 31 Prompts for 31 Days of July!
ABC No Rio & Bluestockings are co-hosting a Zine Swap! If you’re in the NYC area, you should swing by on July 19th from 2-6pm and swap some zeeens.
8Ball is hosting the FIRST EVER NY State Zine Fair on July 19th at La Plaza Cultural Community Garden from 12-5pm. I believe they will also have some live music, so it’s sure to be a freaking blast!
Til Next Time!
Hi zine friends! I hope you all had a good week, in the midst of well—everything. Thanks for hearing me out with this kind of newsletter. Stay cool out there, literally and figuratively.
If anyone has any resources, thoughts, or zines to share with me, please leave ‘em in the comments below. I would love to hear from you :)
Happy Zine Making!
As a longtimer, all I can say is “you’ve got this.” Seriously. If I could go back and do it all over, I’d hang out with more zine creators asking “Why the hell am I doing this?” over the people with supreme confidence of their skills and their products. Folks like you produce art we WANT and NEED, long before we know we need it, and we keep coming back because we know you’re doing it for the right reasons. From long experience, I know the supremely confident are, without fail, screaming narcissists who dump on contributors and readers the moment they’re not getting their expected levels of adoration, and for all of the noise they make early on, nobody remembers or cares even five years later, much less 30 or 40. Just keep doing what you’re doing: you’re doing great.
Sister in perfectionism recovery here. One thing helps me when I spiral out. When the monkey brain kicks in with its depreciating commentary I say "oh, I am thinking these thoughts again." It sounds like a clumsy hack and a cheap trick, but it works for me. It makes me remember I think thoughts; I am not thoughts.
....and I, too, am off all social media except Substack. 🤣🤣🤣