Video Game fanzines

An alternative history of 90s gaming

The internet changed the way we communicate. It connected the world and allowed anyone to share news, opinions, and photos of their brunch. But before we had the internet, YouTube, apps and Twitter, homemade fanzines powered the video game discourse with little more than some A4 paper and a photocopier.

Press start

People have always found a way to come together and create like minded communities. If we’re talking computer and video and games, the humble fanzine was the preferred medium throughout much of the 80s and early 90s. A cheap and cheerful way to share news, reviews and opinions, these DIY publications were powered by a low-fi mix of glue, paper, scissors and photocopiers.

Looking back, this cottage industry provides a unique snapshot of the era. A treasure trove of community drama, enthusiasm and obsession that runs parallel to the official history of video games in your old copies of EGM, Mean Machines or CVG.

As New York’s National Museum of Play wrote in 2019, “Video game fanzines, and the print culture of which they were part, constitute a vital but overlooked chapter in the history of games, affording a glimpse at the inner lives of players and the culture of gaming’s second and third generations.”

So let’s take a closer look…

Introducing Arnie Katz

You can’t talk about video game fanzines without mentioning Arnie Katz. He first came to prominence as the co-founder of Electronic Games magazine way back in1981 - the first U.S. periodical dedicated to video games.

But it was Katz's next chapter that would cement his legacy. He re-emerged in 1989 at Video Games and Computer Entertainment (VG&CE) magazine with a monthly column dedicated to gaming fanzines.

Drawing on the science fiction fan tradition that Katz knew from his youth, the column provided a hub for the limited run, hyper localised fanzines that kids had been creating and trading around the U.S. (and abroad) as the video game boom of the late 80s accelerated.

As Katz explained in a rare interview with Gamasutra, “I had been a participant in science fiction fandom since I was about 17… In that time I did maybe 300 fanzines… I thought it would be interesting for Electronic Gaming fans to communicate with one another and exchange fanzines, and find like-minded people because it was something I enjoyed as an amateur publisher.”

That column would run for several years, jumping across a number of publications. In the process it stitched together a network of mostly teenage kids producing simple A5 magazines printed at local libraries and / or in their parent’s offices.

Oh, it’s a scene, man

For a generation of kids raised on consoles and computers in the 80s and early 90s, zines were a DIY way to contribute to the conversation. The medium was going through a period of unprecedented growth and technical leaps. People had opinions. And zines were the only game in town when it came to sharing them.

Trying to accurately measure the size of this scene some 30 years after the fact is difficult. There are no official records or distribution numbers because the whole thing was an ad-hoc mix of amateurs held together with nothing more than word-of-mouth and the monthly Katz column.

But if you want to do some rough, back of the envelope maths, Arnie Katz’ column would usually highlight 5-6 different publications and was published twelve times a year. That’s maybe 50 publications a year during the early 90s heyday. If we assume that each one ran 2-3 issues and printed enough copies to sell or swap with other fans we’re talking about thousands of photocopied zines in circulation at one point.

Some of these publications lasted longer than others. Digital Press published their first issue in 1991. The folks behind it would continue to produce publications into the new Millenium, eventually branch out into books, websites, and other media.

Not that the official numbers really matter. Because trying to quantify these things goes against the whole ethos of the zine movement. It was never about turning a profit, regular release schedules, or detailed book keeping. As the name suggests, fan-magazines (fanzines) are defined by their hobbyist approach. For the fans, by the fans.

When the going gets weird

Zines might not have been fussed about the commercial aspects of publishing, but initially at least, they tended to follow the blueprint set by magazines on newsstands. That meant news, previews, reviews and guides served as the cornerstone. But as the scene evolved, that regimented approach soon gave way to more personal stories, experimental articles, and the freedom that comes from not having to worry about income, advertisers or commercial pressures.

Chris Kohler is one of the folks who learned his craft via zines. These days he’s an Editorial Director at Digital Eclipse, and he previously worked for both Kotaku and Wired, but he got his start writing and producing the Video Zone fanzine from 1993 until 2000.

As he explains, “At first, like everyone, I was imitating what I saw in magazines. But it was through reading fanzines that I saw all kinds of personal essays, comedy writing, and other unique angles on writing about games that you’d never, ever see in a corporate publication… It was a much more raw, unfiltered commentary from writers who didn’t have any need to toe the corporate line or keep publishers happy.”

That’s a view and a sentiment that Katz encouraged, and as he later wrote in EGM2, “Fanzines are like pirate radio broadcasts, compared to the official, approved networks (the professional gaming magazines). Fandom is the underground that keeps people all over the country in communication and on the inside.”

In that sense, zines were very much the social media of their day. A chance to come together and air views, opinions and hot takes. New York’s Museum of Play explored that idea in a 2019 blog post about the early zine movement. Author Michael John Hughes wrote that, “Fanzines, regardless of quality, helped gamers to form a community in the years before consumer internet services began to supplant this analog social network.”

A photocopier and an idea

If zines helped start conversations, the effort required to produce and distribute them meant the discourse was generally of a higher calibre than you’ll see on social media.

That’s how Mollie Patterson recalls the 90s scene. She created a number of well received zines and ultimately landed writing gigs with GameFan, EGM, Play and a bunch of others. She’s best known for the Digital Anime zine, and still remembers the effort required to turn an idea into a tangible, printed product.

“When we went through the process of making an issue of a fanzine, the writing, the editing, the layout, the printing, the stapling, the mailing - and all of that coming via money from our own pockets - I have to believe that it made us think harder about what was going into each issue and how those copies would represent us as a person.”

It’s a sentiment shared by Chris Kohler. “I think it’s important to point out that there was a pretty substantial barrier to getting one’s opinions into print in a fanzine – not from a cost standpoint since it was pretty cheap to run off some copies and put a stamp on them. But from the sheer amount of effort it took to write 12 pages’ worth of articles yourself, lay them all out, etc. You really had to be self-motivated and driven to do all this work for no money.”

Online is fine

As the 16bit console wars gathered pace and the number of people launching zines gathered momentum, Katz was trying to consolidate the scene around a set of core beliefs. This ultimately led to a manifesto of sorts, and calls for a union to represent the fans, which he published in a 1992 issue of the relaunched Electronic Games.

As he saw it, “Fans need a group to represent their interests in the professional gaming industry and to support projects that can benefit gamers everywhere. Among the worthwhile things a national organisation could accomplish: a fanzine index, new game release lists, an amateur press association, a letters forum for debate on game related issues, and ultimately, a World Electronic Gaming Convention. No single fan can do all these things, but fandom can turn them all into realities if we pull together.”

Those loft goals never came to pass. The fandom scene was already starting to splinter due to rivalries and jealousy. More importantly, a new digital landscape was promising to make the humble zine redundant. Bulletin boards, web forums, local intranet and the first blogs provided a slapdash network of online communities by the mid 90s. They also expanded the reach and opportunities for fans to participate.

As Mollie Patterson explains, “In those earlier days, we were chasing the idea of making our own magazine, and maybe someday using that as a stepping stone to working at one. Then, as us normal people started getting access to the internet, the power of webpages suddenly offered a completely different medium that could create new experiences rather than just replicate current ones. I made my first site before graphics-based browsers even existed, and when those came, the possibilities felt endless.”

Follow the crowd

Just as significantly, the industry itself was changing. PlayStation had taken gaming mainstream, and greatly expanded its reach and demographics. Suddenly you had consoles in nightclubs and Lara Croft on the cover of magazines.

Zines were a product of necessity. Small clusters of isolated fans created and traded them as a means of sharing their hobby with other diehard fans. As gaming reached beyond teenage bedrooms that sense of isolation dissipated, and so did the need for printed publications. Suddenly there were more people playing games, talking about games, and connecting online.

Writing about their recently completed exhibition, Copy Machine Manifestos: Artists Who Make Zines, The Brooklyn Museum highlights how zines have traditionally “given a voice and visibility to many operating outside of mainstream culture.”

By the turn of the millennium video games were well established within mainstream culture, and the fan base had several avenues for getting online and sharing their opinions. Which meant fans didn’t need printed zines to connect and argue their case. They could do so from the (relative) comfort of their Pentium PC and the sound of 56k modem screeching from the wall socket.

An alternative history of the world

If old gaming magazines provide a glimpse into a world that no longer exists, fanzines add context and help colour in the details.

According to the National Museum of Play, “Fanzines are first and foremost historical documents, primary sources that help us understand game history not as marketers would have us remember it but as sites where ordinary experience was recorded.”

It’s that ordinary experience and the associated schoolyard conversations that zines preserve. They’re a physical manifestation of fan sentiment. A precursor to the social media landscape that would give everyone a voice - for better or worse.

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