Unmasking comics: How an existential realignment can unstuck the industry

A recent visit with a friend turned into an impromptu therapy session.

We talked about how, at the ripe old age of 40-ish, we were both unmasking — him from personal issues and me from autism. More than feeling good to share with someone so close, we agreed on at least one thing: There’s a certain mix of relief and power to simply asking the right questions. To disregard what you had known about your life, abilities, dreams, etc., and start asking where you are, where you’re headed, and how you’d like your life to turn out.

And I think comics are very much in that same boat.

What got me thinking about all of this is twofold. The first thing is my recent interview with Flying Goat Press’ Sebastian Girner, who framed comics very much as a “shantytown.” Sure, those are hard words to hear for anyone even tangentially involved in this industry, but it’s true — comics have long been regarded as a creative dead-end by fans, outsiders, and even creators themselves. (By that, I mean comics is both isolated and everyone else can peer/dip in as they see fit given, and that promotes “weakness” within comics or at least a general sense of inequality.)

It’s an idea made all the more real following the recent purchase of Diamond Comics Distributors by Alliance Entertainment. More specifically, an interview with Alliance head Bruce Ogilvie, who very much regarded the comics “chunk” of the company’s acquisition with a mix of ignorance and disinterest. And whether you like Ogilvie/Alliance or not isn’t exactly the point — the actual point is that even folks paying millions to buy something as vital as this industry’s biggest distributor don’t see the value of comics.

The Alliance “issue” was further complicated when Diamond subsequently tried to opt out for a second bid (from Universal Distribution and Ad Populum), only for Alliance to sue to get their bid finalized, which seems to have settled the matter (at least for now?) I think it’s all just more proof that comics collectively struggles with its place in the marketplace, and the world still has a specific, slightly diminished view of the medium at-large.

It’s really hard to blame anyone when you understand even the basic history of comics. From comics’ own “birth” in the early 20th century via the funnies to speculators blowing up the market in the mid-90s and down into Marvel’s cinematic universe growing fat off the backs of still-living creators, the medium and industry have been eternally relegated to the sidelines. This surface-level breakdown is still missing especially important events/moment, and it ignores that comics — at least from a sales perspective — are doing quite well right now. (There’s also the matter of what I’d call a rather sustained “heyday” from ’60s to the ’90s, even as there were clear issues/happenings.)

Still, what matters for the purpose of this specific essay are the ideas of history and perception, and in that regard, comics has a major-ish problem  reconciling its value with how its regarded. The arc of comics over the last 125 years or so has been one marked by this profound other-ing effect. That it’s been easy for the rest of the world to relegate comics to its own misfit island, and to pull it back to the mainstream as it sees fit. (Which, in addition to Marvel includes a surge in comics shows/films like the massively popular Invincible).

(Editor’s Note: If you really want a proper deep dive into comics history, read David Hajdu’s excellent The Ten-Cent Plague: The Great Comic-Book Scare and How It Changed America.)

Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, creators of Superman. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

As much as everyone else really ought to reconcile with how it regards comics as some infrequent golden mine, the industry itself and its many stakeholders certainly have their fare share of the blame.

And by that I mean, as much as we’ve all been dumped on our own island collectively, comics has often relished that place. For one, it’s the way great art is made: At a distance from the world, where we can see all, synthesize accordingly, and then craft stories that explore the human condition free of the influence and bureaucracy that dominates Hollywood and even mainstream publishing.

But this place outside the churn of it all has other side effects (intended or otherwise), and this great distancing has made it so comics at-large isn’t accountable to anyone else but ourselves. Which, again, that’s great for art, but it doesn’t exactly help in terms of generating attention or doing much to fight against the continued attacks of the medium’s validity and significance.

Not being interested in this ongoing debate is, once again, central to comics’ fighting spirit as a misfit, and why the industry is so robust in its efforts to tell weird and wonderful stories as it seems fit. At the same, though, it’s this continually guarded posture that prevents comics from being regarded with the merit and value of film, TV, books, etc.

It’s the ultimate Catch-22: Comics wants its very own space to create and flourish, but in doing so are always several steps removed from the machinery that makes other forms of media these financial and cultural powerhouses. (Again, recognizing that comics is still seen as important enough to use as the basis for TV and film, but that it’s done so in a way as if Hollywood is doing us a favor by making billions and offering a pittance in return.)

It’s probably worth mentioning here that perhaps comics as a whole might not want to “unmask,” as it were. There’s some real upsides to remaining insular: It feels like you’re building a community around great art, and there’s a certain freedom to develop works as a kind of shared language of comics’ true scope and power. That, and in some ways we’re all perpetuating comics’ continued “outsider” status because that’s what most of us have grown up with, and there’s a certain romanticism to that (especially in age obsessed by rampant nostalgia). Plus, none of this even gets to the point that comics isn’t exactly a money-making beast like some other mediums, and recognizing and maintaining that “leanness” is crucial for the industry’s sustained success as pop culture’s annoying stepchild.

I’m guilty of all of this as a reporter/critic and fan, but I’d also argue that it’s gotten to the point we’re holding shut our own filthy cell door. There’s a wealth of people trying to make comics and struggling with deep feelings of being disenfranchised. Heck, there’s basically a whole movement and cultural undercurrent to that famed quote, “Comics will break your heart” — people actively accepting that things suck and that there’s nothing more to do about it than grin and bare it all.

Courtesy of Dylan Horrocks.

At the same time, countless creators have taken to social media and other channels to share their own measly pay rates or other industry horror stories. And those sentiments together tell me people are aware of the issues, desperate to make change, and totally incapable of seeing a path forward. That folks need a change, but think we’re seemingly indebted to this model forever.

And that’s not at all the case.

A few years back, I published a piece about Alex Ross not getting paid certain royalties. My advice for the famed artist, and really comics in general, was to take some guidance from the music biz regarding sampling. Sure, it’s an imperfect comparison, but comics and music have certain similarities. The one thing they don’t share, however, is the inability (self-imposed or otherwise) to take a beating laying down.

Be it Metallica suing Napster in the early 2000s, or Kate Nash selling “bum pics” to raise concerns about the sad state of live music, musicians have stood up for themselves en masse. Clearly the music industry ain’t exactly in top shape these days, but that urge to do what’s right by creators remains strong. If anything, it’s inspired younger artists like Chappell Roan, who has a clear history already of striking back against paparazzi and feckless industry standards to safeguard herself and her art. These musicians have seen what complacency and inaction have done to their heroes, and they don’t want the same even as they face down the might of a multi-billion-dollar machine that has other ideas for their respective careers.

There’s a justifiable level of anger in the music biz, and people aren’t willing to back down even if it complicates the process of creating and disseminating music. It sure would swell if comics could more effectively translate these sentiments from rumblings on social media to decidedly sustainable campaigns for better pay, treatment, etc. Musicians did it because there’s no choice, and no one else was ever going to drop a rope ladder toward self-sufficiency.

So, then, question then becomes, what do we do about it? Because what makes comments like Girner’s so important is that it’s the first real recognition I’ve heard in quite some time that, yeah, doing comics kinda sucks. Yes, people like Girner can’t escape it if only for the love of the game, but his words take a sentiment within the industry (picked up on by my 7-ish years interviewing creators across comics) and elevate it to a new place.

It’s a place, I’d reckon, that takes the frustration, confusion, and general angst of making comics and synthesizes it as, “We’re in a pit of our own creation.” That creators, editors, publishers, etc. have built the walls, thrown out the key, and are forced to reconcile with the ups and downs of life in captivity.

And fans, journalists, retailers, etc. are very much caught in the same kind of enclosure — we’re all forced to deal with the joys of an insular industry as much as it’s also a maddeningly harrowing process trying to appreciate and distribute great art when we’re locked in and everyone else (i.e., mainstream media) is miles away flourishing. So, again, what do we do to break free of this cycle of ups and downs where true freedom is beyond this self-imposed wall if we could just break through the cheaply-poured concrete?

Now, as I and others have done in the past, I could offer some solid solutions. Creators need to consider unionizing wherever they can, and there’s already smaller groups/outlets trying to do just that. Fans and consumers, meanwhile, could move further toward a more direct model of supporting their favorite writers and artists — there’s a reason Kickstarter and Patreon have been huge in the last decade or so. (Truly, it’s time for that to be the default model and not just some ongoing “side hustle” for creators to sustain themselves outside of traditional economic models._

Even comics shop owners could do more: It’s one thing to have books at the ready, but these entrepreneurs have a lot of power in standing up to publishers in the name of protecting creators, the comics, and even their own bottom line. All of these are important things that should be enacted posthaste if we’re going to help creators and the industry truly flourish.

But, mostly, I just want to lean back into my conversation with my pal, and that what we need is the power to ask important questions. All of us must find ways to come clean about the true state of things, set goals that can elevate and uplift everyone, and then put in the big, scary work of making it from where we are to where we need to be.

And that process begins with questions of a truly systemic nature, those queries that really cut to the core of our shared situation. Because, sure, solutions are readily available, but if I’ve learned anything so far, it’s that the comics industry’s biggest failing right now is knowing itself in a way that moves from mere “grumbling” to meaningful changes and shifts. Sure, solid fixes are great, but maybe what we need right now is more far-reaching and complicated to fully enact.

Here are some of the bigger/juicer queries I mull over with sustained frequency:

• With regards to unionizing, wouldn’t even the Big Two have to yield if creators banded together?
• Is IP farming the wave of the future for comics, or is it just another speculator’s boom?
• What can we meaningfully learn from manga (creatively and from a business standpoint) to adapt to a changing audience, and what needs to be ignored in the name of preserving comics’ singular identity?
• How much are comics creators listening to fans in terms of how they tell stories, subject matter, etc., and do they need to do more or less of that?
• Similarly, are fans supporting creators in a meaningful, long-term way, or are they simply buying books they like as a means of propping up an outdated creative-business model?
• How do we make comics actually endearing to young generations, each of which are both increasingly savvy and also more inclined toward group-thought? And do we even have to care about folks who may never see the need to invest (financially, emotionally, etc.) into comics?
• What happens to comics collecting when Boomers and Gen X start dying off, selling their collections for other purposes, or just fall off in general?
• Are platforms like TikTok and Instagram (among some others, perhaps) really a good place to push comics, or is this just another layer of insular behavior in an already insular industry?
• Can we admit to ourselves that success stories like the Invincible TV series are good for its creators, Image, and clearly Amazon but that power and influence doesn’t exactly carry over?
• Why do I care about comics in 2025, and is it the same reason why I did in 1994 (and how much does that matter)?

Those are just some of the questions I have right now. Your own list may be drastically different, and I’d hope it would be so we’re not all getting the same out of this or putting the same time/energy into comics. And some of these questions may be easily answered already. (And, conversely, some of them can’t ever be truly answered, which in and of itself has heaps to tell us about the state of it all).

The process of unmasking, for any discernible purpose, is about stripping away the fear and uncertainty and making an honest assessment of what works, what doesn’t, and what we do about it. It seems like comics sort of does that already, as creators have hinted at Girner’s own comments in a kind of semi-serious, semi-sarcastic recognition that comics is, indeed, a most cruel mistress.

But the thing about working and operating in these situations is that eventually the blame falls solely on our shoulders. We have the power to make things better for ourselves and each other, and we can only do that if we grasp some level of accountability of our own accord. (Not to labor the point too heavily, but some level of complacency by a segment of the American populace did land us with Donald Trump’s second term.) It’s never easy — my own unmasking has been an emotional and physical nightmare as much as its been a life-changing catharsis — but then that’s the dang point.

Avoiding these hard questions, or shaping your problems/concerns as these pseudo-memes/jokes, has driven comics deeper into its self-imposed isolation. If we’re going to come out of it to an extent deemed worthwhile and healthy, then people need to take stock both on their own and in the collective town square (social media, conventions, behind-the-scenes meetings, etc.) Until we do, what’s going to happen is more of what the Alliance-Diamond purchase has promised: Comics is seen as just barely valuable enough —enough to perhaps profit from, but clearly not enough to regard the people who actually do the work and care with any esteem or respect.

Did we do all of this ourselves? No, because the world is full of monsters. But right here, right now, we can see the arc of how one single moment in comics’ massive history might turn out, and we can do something about it. Even if that’s just asking important questions about who, what, where, when, and why, it certainly beats more insular moaning and half-hearted disbelief. Even if the answer is somehow to let a moment like this land how it may, at least we can say comics collectively did something to understand its place in the grand scheme of art and commerce and decided this kind of treatment and placement is OK.

Courtesy of Marvel.

Maybe you don’t agree, but nothing happens whatsoever until we start putting in the ugly work of staring ourselves down and nakedly, honestly asking questions and being unafraid to confront ourselves with any resulting, extra painful truths.

There’s a reason it’s called “unmasking” — it’s very much an ongoing, decidedly active process. The more you do it — peeling back layers with brutal efficiency — the harder it gets to reconcile with these ideas and developments. The upside, then, is that you eventually reach a place where you’re used to the discomfort, and you’re supported by a mission to find a way to live as earnestly and openly as possible.

From my own experiences so far, I promise you that a little understanding is worth days-weeks-months-years of pain and discomfort. But nothing ever happens if you don’t sit down, talk it out, and figure out where you need to go.