I Stopped Letting Old Magazines Collect Dust — My Low-Stakes Hobby Brought Them to Life Again

A few years ago, I noticed my downtime had devolved into hours of doomscrolling on the sofa. Like many other people, I was caught in a loop of passive consumption that left me feeling hollow. Constant screen time, I realized, was flattening my creative drive. Feeling stripped of all inspiration, I decided to spend a Saturday afternoon entirely offline. As I brainstormed ways to pass the time, I thought back to one of my favorite childhood pastimes: the art of collage.

For millennials who grew up in the ’90s and early 2000s, collaging was a total rite of passage. I’d spend hours covering three-ring binders, the inside of my locker, notebook, and bedroom walls with cutouts of celebrity crushes, teen fashion, and phrases snipped from magazines. Revisiting this analog craft as an adult felt instantly familiar — and, more than that, entirely transformative. What started as a simple way to unplug became a full-blown passion. Today, I have a dedicated workspace for this hobby and boxes filled with vintage magazines, mid-century fashion catalogs, old issues of National Geographic, and photography books. 

After that Saturday when I first started playing around with cutting out images and pasting them into fun, nonsensical designs, I found myself craving more of it. So I kept at it during my spare time. Eventually I began studying how entirely unrelated images could come together to birth a new narrative. Feeling inspired by different collage artists, I started experimenting and set out to do just that. I didn’t pressure myself to create anything profound (or beautiful, even). I just liked the way it reconnected me with the uninhibited, curious mindset of my youth — back when making things was just about the pure joy of creation. 

Gathering raw materials became half the fun. Now, every time I scour estate sales and online sellers for vintage print media, it feels like a treasure hunt. When I go to thrift stores, I run straight to the bookshelves, sifting through for art and photography books, before I look for anything else. Over time, I began sharing my finished pieces with loved ones. Instead of buying friends and family birthday cards, I make them one with my own two hands. I’ve also gifted them framed pieces, from surreal images that would look well in their home, to compositions inspired by their favorite lyrics. 

In a digital world where my entire workday is spent in front of a computer and my free time revolves around tapping on glass, there’s a profound, almost radical shift I felt from going analog. For me, collaging forces a quiet kind of presence. I don’t speed-scroll through books and magazines, but rather flip the pages one by one. It’s a grounding rhythm — the hunting for images, the crisp resistance of paper against blades, the tacky drag of a glue stick, the deliberate arrangement of cutouts. 

With collage, I can slow down and be present. The process requires an intentional focus that’s hard to come by amid all the digital noise. I can hear my own thoughts. My mind wanders without a destination. If I had to describe it, I’d call it a type of meditation. 

The beauty of the art is imperfection. In collage, a tear or smudge of glue isn’t a mistake — it’s texture and character. Diving into the craft has permitted me to be messy in my own life. It reminded me that there’s no such thing as perfection. And it helped me feel like a kid again.

If you’re drained by the perpetual pull of the screen, try picking up an X-Acto knife and a pair of scissors. Make a mess. You don’t need an artistic bone in your body to start — you just have to be willing to put down your phone and see what happens.