Scary Boots is an arts and literature zine born from a “chaos of imperfections”

Polish film posters, old matchboxes, pulpy book designs, escort calling cards from the 90s and Julia Fox – these are just a few of the visual inspirations behind Scary Boots, an arts and literature zine published “roughly quarterly” with each one themed and Risograph printed in limited runs. The harness of all of these influences is Elias Myer, a zine-maker in East London who is moved by homemade, self-published magazines made by artists who seize their means of production, including works like Ted Berrigan’s C Magazine, Edward Sanders’ Fuck You as well as Wyndham Lewis’ iconic and short-lived Blast magazine. Inspired by their vibrant, unapologetic styles, Elias was inspired to create something that had a similar roughness – an undeniably human quality to print, which is evident in the recent third issue of Scary Boots, which is all about “nostalgia”.

“I felt that I was surrounded by people with brilliant, creative minds, so giving those people a platform (a tiny platform, but a platform nonetheless) was a really exciting prospect,” tells It’s Nice That. “I developed a loose criteria that the work in Scary Boots should be truthful, incisive or innovative.” With a mission objective in mind, Elias set out collecting poetry, prose, essays, photography, illustration, collage and more from submissions. The third addition of the zine series features the “clean tramp” himself: Richard Hell, a counter cultural king whose work in 70s New York City was dirty, truthful and essential. “I fully expected him to say no. Unbelievably, he didn’t,” says Elias. “That’s probably the coolest thing that ever happened to me.”

Although technically a graphic designer by day, Elias starts like many who are obsessed with images do – with a moodboard surrounding a theme. After receiving submissions, which tackle the theme from all sorts of different directions, Elias selects a “core colour” that feels appropriate. Bright green for intoxication, fluorescent pink for desire and a soft lilac for nostalgia. Elias wants to avoid the “wood-effect vinyl floor” effect of digital fakery, and instead opts for the wonderful unpredictability of Risograph prints, or as he calls it: “a chaos of imperfection”.

“It’s a bit sad and soulless when I have to create a digital file pretending to be old or weathered for my day job,” says Elias. “I love texture and blemishes in design, but it feels fraudulent when it’s built into a digital file.” Scary Boots is anything but fraudulent, though. Elias spends “hours obsessing over typefaces, alignments and layouts”, taking into consideration the negative spaces for poetry and inventive design for longer fiction. “It feels like a craft, relying on expertise and a nuanced understanding of the eccentricities of the process,” says Elias. “It’s a hands-on process that is equal parts frustrating and rewarding, but at least it keeps me out of trouble.”

The zines speak for themselves, each page is a thoroughly satisfying result of editorial preciousness, with a print process that allows for vulnerability and themed prompts that inspire writers and artists to spill their guts. On the horizon for Scary Boots is more zines, more events and more frustrating but endearing processes of printing – even if the prospect of getting better than Richard Hell does sound frightening.