I’ve been thinking about that a lot this month. October was chaos — in a good way — but chaos can trick you into thinking you’re making progress just because you’re moving fast. November exposes the truth: the half-finished drafts, the projects you swore you’d circle back to, the good intentions that turned into clutter and out-of-date Notion boards. There’s a humbling moment when you realize that what’s left after the riot is what you actually have to build from.
Let’s not forget that we’ve been here before. This is She Zine 2.0, after all. Like so often in hindsight, I forgot about the beginning — the long rumble before the hopeful storm. We shelved a community in 2018 that we’re now trying to rebuild, and all of that takes more time than I’d like to think about.
There’s a kind of déjà vu in opening the same file names, reusing old templates, digging through folders labelled “final_FINAL.” It’s humbling and a little embarrassing to realize how much I thought I’d already finished. Turns out, nothing stays finished for long. Not work, not websites, not people.
It’s easy to romanticize rebellion until you hit the paperwork stage. That’s when the work becomes less cinematic and more like maintenance: cleaning brushes, updating spreadsheets, trying again. There’s no applause for that part, but it’s the only reason anything survives long enough to matter.
This new version isn’t about starting over. Or at least not entirely. It’s about picking up where things fell apart and deciding what still deserves space. The early days of She Zine were fast and chaotic — built on caffeine and conviction. This time, it’s slower. Smarter, I hope. Less about announcing ourselves, more about making the work hold up.
There’s pressure in relaunching something that once mattered –– even if it was only to a few of us. People expect evolution, not repetition. But the truth is, I don’t want to reinvent it. I want to rebuild it — properly this time, with walls that don’t buckle under the weight of good intentions. It’s not glamorous. It’s long nights, broken links, and the occasional small victory that no one but me will ever notice.
I keep thinking about what it means to outlast a trend. The world needs proof that small things can return from the dead. That’s what this is: proof. We’re still here, trying again, with less noise but more intent.
This issue sits in the space where creation turns into upkeep, where ideas have to prove they can stand on their own. That’s how we landed on this month’s theme: Cut. Paste. Riot. Repeat. It’s about momentum — the discipline to keep shaping, editing, and rebuilding while the world keeps moving the goalposts. How do you keep creating? How do you rebuild what matters without starting from scratch every time? How do you stay sharp when everything keeps shifting?
Sometimes the answer is just: keep the light on. Not forever, not heroically — just today. Make the thing. Fix the thing. Feed yourself. Rest when you need to.
November is for that kind of work — the slow, unsexy building that keeps a thing alive after everyone’s moved on. It’s a reminder that a magazine isn’t a product; it’s a pulse. You keep it going, or it stops.
So if this feels quieter than October, that’s on purpose. The riot’s over for now. We’re back to the long rumble. And honestly, it feels right.
No slogans this month, no rallying cry. Just the work between waves — slow, repetitive, necessary. Proof that something real is still happening, even when it’s quiet.
—AXO
#newgirlarmy
shezinemag.com
AXO (she/her) is a multidisciplinary creator, editor, and builder of feminist media ecosystems based in Toronto. She is the founder of She Zine Mag, Side Project Distro, BBLGM Club, and several other projects under the AXO&Co umbrella — each rooted in DIY culture, creative rebellion, and community care. Her work explores the intersection of craft, technology, and consciousness, with an emphasis on handmade ethics, neurodivergent creativity, and the politics of making. She is an advocate for accessible creativity and the power of small-scale cultural production to spark social change. Her practice merges punk, print, and digital media while refusing to separate the emotional from the practical. Above all, her work invites others to build creative lives that are thoughtful, defiant, and deeply handmade.
