Lucia Harley Senior Copy Editor

In a little room above the Tranzac club, a not-for-profit arts and music performance space located in Toronto’s Annex neighbourhood, is the Toronto Zine Library (TZL). It is my favourite archive. I first encountered the collection during the intermission of a jazz show, as the volunteer-run space is open on Tuesday and Friday evenings. Wandering upstairs and into the room, I was struck by the informality of their collection. The walls were ornamented with fairy lights, grunge posters and large blow-up balloon letters reading “ZINES.” Having studied archives in a course that semester, I was also struck by the power of that informality.

Zines, small self-published booklets or magazines, originated in the early 20th-century amateur press movement, with their modern form emerging from 1930s science fiction fan magazines. From the 1970s to the 1990s, zines embodied an anti-establishment ethos, acting as independent forms of media outside mainstream culture. They became central to punk movements, circulating new music and band information quickly and affordably. Since the emergence of zines, they have been tools of resistance and self-expression for marginalized communities. As the @torontozinelibrary Instagram says, Zines are micropublications that anyone can create; they “talk back to the dominant culture, bringing voices from the margins to the center.”

Categories in the diverse TZL collection include literary zines featuring poetry or prose, personal zines, also known as “perzines,” that recount lived experiences, and “fanzines” that explore fandom culture. Many of the zines in their collection blur or reinvent these genres entirely.

Some are vivid, handmade, and handwritten, while others are black-and-white photocopied manifestos that engage with political ideas. Their website and social media platforms promote community-building through events ranging from collaborative zine-making sessions to protests against corporate housing development. In the library, visitors can spin display racks and leaf through zines without strict oversight.

The archive’s casual structure contrasts with that of a traditional institutional archive. When picturing an archive, one might imagine a quiet, climate-controlled room: white walls, fluorescent lights, sign-in sheets, and materials handled with gloves. Access is mediated, and value is decided by professional authorities. While zines are meaningful cultural artifacts, institutional approaches might risk stripping away what makes them special. A stapled booklet, personal story or piece of handmade art might never pass the threshold. Instead, the library preserves culture in a space meant to be entered, touched, and shared.

So, this is your sign to venture upstairs during intermission. Flip through a zine or attend a zine-making night. As the @torontozinelibrary Instagram puts it, we’re living in a “zine renaissance,” driven by a desire for authenticity and autonomy in how people tell their stories. The Toronto Zine Library reminds us that archives don’t have to be distant or intimidating. They can be comfortable and collective, with wide open doors. They can be waiting for you just upstairs.