From memes to monographs: how an Instagram page evolved into the Italian magazine of weird politics

Back in 2018, Mattia Salvia, then an editor at Vice Italy, began curating a Facebook page, later moving to Instagram, as a personal archive. His aim was simple: to collect quirky images and videos that seemed to capture the absurd spirit of our times. There was no grand plan, no strategy to build a following. In fact, Salvia doubted anyone would care about a feed filled with the kind of surreal content he was collecting. At the time, it featured, among other things, cows in Russia wearing VR headsets to simulate green pastures and boost milk production; a fashion show in Saudi Arabia with no models, just drones carrying dresses down the runway; the Archbishop of Malta in procession aboard a Porsche pulled by fifty children; the players of Akhmat Grozny, a football team owned by Chechen leader Ramzan Kadyrov, lounging on the bench under Louis Vuitton blankets.

He was wrong. Soon, others were just as captivated, and the Instagram page Iconografiexxi, boasting now almost 80.000 followers, started to gain in Italy a cult status among the lovers of the weird corners of internet and politics. After experimenting with a fanzine, Salvia and a few friends began to wonder: could there be an untapped niche for a print magazine that explored these cultural oddities with journalistic depth? They launched a Patreon campaign to find out, and it worked. By 2021, Iconografiexxi had evolved into Iconografie, a quarterly print magazine that sees the bizarre not as funny viral content, but as a way to make sense of the contemporary world.

The Fix spoke with Iconografie’s young editorial team Mattia Salvia, Alice Massone, Alessandro Massone (no relation), and Alessandro Colombini to understand how a spontaneous digital collage became one of Italy’s most original small-scale media.

Mastering the art of spotting patterns

Salvia admits that a certain inspiration for Iconografie comes from VICE, where he worked for 5 years in the Italian division. “VICE had this ability to spot and write about cultural shifts before anyone else, treating serious topics lightly and light topics seriously. When VICE shut down, that legacy in Italy—its way of telling stories—broke into a thousand streams,” Salvia explains. “Iconografie is definitely one of them.”

Now in its fourth year, the magazine has released 17 quarterly issues—each one a monograph dedicated to a single theme. Topics have ranged from the political symbolism of food to the aesthetics of conspiracy theories, and the shifting visual language of 21st-century warfare. While the Instagram page continues to offer daily snapshots of the absurd and serves as an entry point for newcomers, the magazine zooms out—offering context, analysis, and a deeper look at the patterns behind the pixels.

“One of our recent issues focused on cosplay in contemporary politics,” the team explains. “We kept noticing images on Instagram of protesters dressed as TV characters—or even political leaders dressed or acting as historical figures. Once is a coincidence. Twice, maybe. But three times? That’s a sign there is a trend worth unpacking in print.”

You need money to make money

Alessandro Massone explains that each issue is published with a print run of around 1,500 copies—roughly 70% of which are distributed through subscriptions and the rest sold individually online. Select issues are often reprinted, typically in additional batches of 300 to 400 copies.

Revenue follows a similar pattern: around 70% comes from subscriptions and single-copy sales, while the remaining 30% is generated through commissioned work for third parties. “Iconografie doesn’t carry advertising,” says Alessandro Massone. “First, we’re too small to attract advertisers. Second, the nature of the magazine makes advertising incompatible—it would mean changing the project and the product itself.”

Still, the team is open to experimenting with alternative marketing strategies. One idea under discussion is forming collaborative partnerships, connecting specific issues with external sponsors in ways that preserve editorial independence. “Financially, it’s not always easy,” reflects Alice Massone.

Currently, Iconografie is also available in about 15 independent bookstores across Italy, and can be ordered through major national chains. But scaling up remains a challenge. “It’s a vicious cycle,” says Alessandro Colombini. “To make more money, you need money. Getting into more bookstores would boost our revenue, but that requires investment in better distribution infrastructure, something we simply can’t afford right now.”

Inspired by models like Popular Front, a project known for its independent war reporting  and documentaries that has also evolved into a streetwear brand, Iconografie is exploring merchandise as a way to support its work. For now, though, this revenue stream remains modest.

The magazine currently generates between €100,000 and €120,000 annually, and the number of contributors receiving some form of payment has grown to six.

A transparent relationship with a loyal community

If there’s one thing that immediately stands out about Iconografie, it’s the relationship the magazine has cultivated with its community. Two years ago, the editorial team launched a subscriber-only newsletter offering a behind-the-scenes look at how the magazine is made. From exclusive previews and editorial updates to candid reflections on operational hurdles—like shipping delays or the search for better paper stock—the newsletter has become a window into the life of the publication.

At the end of each year, Iconografie goes a step further. It shares a transparent financial overview: how the year went, how funds were spent, and what challenges lay ahead. Subscribers are invited to take part in a survey, the results of which are later published and discussed openly in a special newsletter edition. “Given that our revenue comes almost entirely from readers,” the editors explain, “those who support us are, in a sense, both customers and shareholders. That’s why it felt natural from the start to build a direct dialogue with our community—one rooted in authenticity and transparency.” Over time, this approach has proven to be not just ethical, but commercially effective.

The magazine also cultivates its readership through a free summer cultural festival and a series of public events. “The festival gives us the opportunity to fulfill one of our core missions: bringing to Italy people and ideas so new and original that, if we didn’t do it, no one else would,” reflects the editorial team. Equally important is the social dimension of these gatherings, which foster meaningful encounters between contributors and readers. While most events are held in Milan, this summer Iconografie is hitting the road, extending its programming to other parts of Italy to broaden its reach and deepen its local connections.

Other media are taking notes

If Iconografie stands out in the Italian media landscape for its ability to address contemporary issues and cultural debates often overlooked by mainstream outlets, Alessandro Massone observes that some Italian media are beginning to show more interest in similar topics. Yet, the outcomes, he argues, remain fundamentally different. “Take the recent image of a protester in Turkey dressed as Pikachu. Some media shared it for laughs or to chase viral clicks. Others used it as a hook to discuss the protests more broadly. At Iconografie, the focus stayed on Pikachu, and we rather explored the role of pop culture in today’s protest movements.”

While Iconografie continues to offer a fresh and original perspective, it faces growing challenges. The magazine has long drawn inspiration from social media, but those sources are becoming increasingly polluted or simply unusable. “It’s not just about Musk and Twitter. What’s really broken is the connection that once allowed content from random people in distant parts of the world to reach us, thanks to experts who helped make sense of it. There’s much less use of social media for citizen journalism, which used to be a way to discover images and trends before they went viral.

That means we’re exposed less to the strange, fascinating details, and more to the things everyone’s already seen, like Donald Trump announcing the bombing of Iran with the Juventus team behind him,” reflects the editorial team. To adapt, Iconografie is rethinking how it uses Instagram, experimenting with Reels and focusing more on thoughtful commentary and analysis.

The road ahead

If 2024 marked the year Iconografie shed its amateur skin and stepped into a more editorially mature phase, the road ahead remains far from smooth. “Because of limited time, financial constraints, and sheer exhaustion, the team is constantly stuck in the present,” reflects Colombini. “We’re always dealing with the immediate demands of keeping the magazine running, which makes it hard to focus on the future—on the kinds of projects and initiatives that could ensure long-term growth.”

According to Salvia, the Iconografie has yet to reach a point of stability.

“Over the past year, that segment has grown from 17% to 30%, so there is hope.” Still, Salvia is clear-eyed about the magazine’s trajectory: Iconografie isn’t scalable. “It’s a niche publication, and it always will be. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. If you look at the Anglo-American market, there are long-standing magazines like New Left Review or others, that stay the same size but manage to feed five people for thirty years. For us, achieving that would already be a great success.”

There is, however, another reason for optimism. Alessandro Massone believes Iconografie is uniquely positioned to weather the so-called “Google Zero” moment, the feared future in which platforms no longer drive traffic and publications must rely solely on their own networks. “We’re already built for that,” he says. “We don’t need a fixed number of monthly views to survive. We don’t chase Google trends to generate traffic. Our model is different, and that might just be our strength.”

Source of the cover image: courtesy of Iconografie